literature as a portal to truth

Some literature is crap.  But some of it is very good.


I was just having a brief conversation (it is never too late to discuss literature) via text with someone who recommended a book to me, and I was giving my thoughts of the first few chapters I've read thus far.  My friend read this book about a year ago, so it's been many books ago that he read it.  Even so, the author was able to leave a lasting impression.  He achieved a specific affect in us as readers that is rather astonishing.  I'm impressed, but it also makes me wonder how different all of us really are.


Do you ever notice how people who are really successful in life always say (in interviews and such) that they were bullied or picked on?  Well, who wasn't?  You'd have to be the worst kid ever to be not picked on at some point because everyone would fear you your whole life.  I guess my point is - and I'm being brief as I need to go to bed - that as different as we all are, perhaps we are all made of the same glue.  Perhaps we all feel terribly unique and singular - our own island - when really, we are in fact part of a whole after all.

the land of green waves

An adventure awaits me
In the land of waves
Of deep emerald and jade
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in honor of Groundhog Day

First of all, I realize that it is not Groundhog Day any longer.  I lost track of the time.  Secondly, I am not really obsessed with Groundhog Day.  I'm just attempting enthusiasm, and I decided to save sharing these clips until the actual holiday.

So in honor of Groundhog Day, I wanted to give anyone reading this the chance to view 12:10 pm, which I mentioned last posting.  It is split into three parts, and the quality isn't tip top, but from what I understand this film is very old and it's difficult to find on hard copy, so I hope that it is enjoyable nonetheless.  And yes, that is the dad from That '70s Show.

Part 1:



Part 2:



Part 3:

going green and some thoughts on deja vu

One of my favorite authors of all time, thanks to preludetoapparition is John Green.  I received Looking for Alaska as a gift some years ago, and it remains one of my all-time favorites.  That said, it is a mystery as to why I haven't read John Green's other books yet.  I think it has been part forgetfulness (there are a lot of books out there!) and partly distractedness (I am in college).

Anyway, I keep having this weird deja vu lately.  The unfortunate thing is that I can't think of a good example for you - it's kind of like when you wake up from a really freaky dream and you're kind of laying there and wondering what it all means.  Five minutes later you are in the bathroom brushing your teeth and you've forgotten the whole thing, but you know that it was crazy.  That's how it is with my deja vu.  It is usually something like a number.  For instance, before I started writing about Groundhog Day (film, 1993) the other night, I discovered a short film with the same premise as Groundhog Day.  The film is called 12:10pm and I found the film at exactly 12:10am.  This is a tidy coincidence of numbers.

Ah, but here's the rub:  My ultimate deja vu-ey experience of the week was when I happened upon John Green's online network of Nerdfighters.  The concept is too difficult to explain all at once, and my finger hurts so I don't want to type for too long.  Basically, I discovered the network before I realized that it was John Green who made it.  I only realized it when I saw the link to his personal website, which I had visited a couple of years ago.  Weirder still, I decided to join the Nerdfighters network as a means of procrastination, and discovered that I had already created an account???  That's kind of creepy.  It seems that a different network that I joined last year concerning a totally different topic uses the same service as Nerdfighters, and therefore, I have been a Nerdfighter (sort of) for at least a year without really knowing it.

It's just all very overwhelming.

It gets better:  In case you didn't already think me insane with all of this talk of "Nerdfighters," I will add that when I was watching the previously mentioned short film 12:10pm the other night, there was a link to an episode of this show called Merlin that the BBC produced last year or something.  I thought it sounded awful, and it really was awful, but I clicked on the link to the Youtube video just to be sure.  While I was appreciating how incredibly bad Merlin is, I then scrolled through the other videos that the user had uploaded (in addition to every single episode of Merlin ever made).  One of the videos was titled . . . wait for it . . . "Why I am a Nerdfighter."

I was so freaked out.  What is going on with all of these Nerdfighters?  Where are they coming from?  Why is John Green a Nerdfighter?  Are these people fighting off the nerds, or are they embracing nerd-like existence?  And how could there possibly be any connection between Groundhog Day and Nerdfighters?  And Merlin, for that matter?

We report, you decide.

disconnected - from the universe!

I'm watching a documentary on hulu called "Disconnected."  It's about these college students who decided to go three weeks without touching a computer.  I'm kind of jealous and want to perform this experiment as well . . . I was even coming up with preliminary plans and thinking about asking friends to participate.  But then I realized that it is literally impossible to be in school in 2010 and not use a computer.  It is mandatory, and you can't do your work without one.  I don't think this is a bad thing, and I think that the internet makes life way easier.  Judging by the model of cell phone that these students are using, I think it's safe to say that this documentary was filmed around 2005.

Ok, I just checked and it came out in 2008.  Seriously?  They are using Nokias with antennae.  I haven't seen a phone with an antenna in years.

The point is, this thing was made in Minnesota, and people in Columbus use computers, so I can't give up my computer for three weeks.  Furthermore, I would never be caught dead in . . . Minnesota.  Also, thirty two minutes into this documentary, I'm about to turn it off, and my major piece of constructive criticism is that this guy needs to seriously consider putting his shirt back on.  If you are too tired to put your shirt on before you start filming yourself in your bathroom mirror on Saturday morning, maybe you should wait five minutes and come back to that thought, because you look like a tool.

I think that instead of giving up my computer (because let's face it, why would I do that, really?) I will try to keep track of how many times I look things up throughout the day, on average, for a week or so.  Someone called me "google girl" recently, because I almost constantly use a computer or my phone to look up random facts.  You know those moments in conversation when you and the person/people you're with can't remember something, or you want to know something?  In 1995 you would just say, "oh well, I guess we'll never know!"  But today, you can know.  You can know almost anything that would normally require searching through books, and it's usually pretty instantaneous.  So I look it up.

groundhog day

Groundhog Day is coming up, and I hadn't thought about it except the movie Groundhog Day was on Comedy Central this evening.  I just finished watching, and I happened upon this discussion online somewhere regarding how many times Phil Connors must have repeated February 2nd.  It's all very rough estimating, but apparently the director said that in the final cut of the film, the production team assumed that Phil wakes up on Groundhog Day for about 10 years straight.  That's a long time.  Even worse, the original script was based upon the assumption that Phil relives February 2nd for approximately 10,000 years.

Of course, I never thought it was any longer than a month or two, and probably because I first saw it when I was little.  But knowing that Phil Connors could potentially have spent 10,000 years waking up to Sunny & Cher's "I Got You Babe" every single morning, I don't blame him for trying to kill himself multiple times.

I know this post is pretty specific, but bear with me.  Just imagine living the same day over and over and over.  That would be pretty frustrating, because any progress you made with the world surrounding you would be totally erased every day.  I'm surprised that Phil was able to reach a point where he could just be good for the sake of being good; that he could truly love Rita and be fine with her never knowing about the thousands of conversations they had enjoyed by the time Phil had escaped the time loop.

This is the thing that most puzzles me:  It's February 3rd.  At last, Phil wakes up and the first thing he hears is not "Don't forgetchyer booties, cuz it's cooold out there!"  After seemingly endless days when the basic assumption is that his actions will have no consequences, how could Phil ever go back to living a normal life?  And how could he not tell Rita or anyone else what had happened to him?  It's probably February 3rd that sets Phil over the edge, not Goundhog Day.

not wild about my ideas for this title

I am happy and positive!  I just felt like putting something up that isn't a downer or cynical.  I am grateful for my cozy bed.  I should be sleeping instead of laying awake and typing this, but it can't be helped.  I went on a bit of a youtube binge (awful).

You know what's nice about having a roommate?  You have someone around with whom you can do something stupid and random on a weeknight, and I think we really cheer each other up.  And if we're already happy as clams, we just make each other happier by singing really bad 80's music while unloading and drying dishes from the dishwasher or turning the national anthem into an ode to our mothers.  I'm not joking, this actually happened.  Not really sure how.  Also, I've learned that it really is better to not run the heated-dry option on your dishwasher, because the extra heat is damaging to your plates/glassware/plastics, and also you are saving energy.  I've also learned that it is not a good idea to wash your plastics in the dishwasher, because the heat causes the plastic to melt a bit and sort of redistribute onto other items, and you start digesting plastic.  This does not sound appetizing.  If you don't believe it's true (it is) or you don't care, I guess you can just appreciate the opportunity to avoid warping your tupperware, as almost all of mine eventually does.  I do still wash tuppereware in the dishwasher a lot, though, because I'm lazy.  I once ruined a perfectly good blender by putting the jug part into the dishwasher, which was freakishly hot at Riverwatch.  And I don't even know why I had a plastic blender, but it worked great and then it sort of melted into a weird tilted shape and wouldn't fit onto the motor.  It was a very sad day when this happened, because I love smoothies and haven't been able to talk myself into buying a new blender since then.  It takes up too much space, anyway.  Which brings me to another great thing about my roommate:  She has an immersion blender attachment on her electric mixer, which is basically a blender minus the blades.  We've come full circle.

That's all, I think, for now.

learn to live with disappointment?

I would generally like to avoid writing a post when I'm angry, tired, or trying to sort out a problem, but why not?  I'm having a bad night.  Week.  Month.  Whatever.  Someone I trusted at work has humiliated me, and I would never know about it if K hadn't been generous enough to alert me.  The betrayal is just shocking, because I can't believe that after over two years of working together, this person chose such a selfish path.  Not only was I manipulated, but I shouldn't have needed to be handled in this way since I made it clear that I was leaving my job.  I'm coming in on my own time to sort out any details I need to this week, and then it's over.


I want so badly to call this person and demand an explanation, but it's just such a worthless pursuit.  An apology would be unsatisfactory; I doubt any sincerity.


This isn't really the topic I had hoped to write about today, but it's all I've got right now.  I'm just worn out, and I would like to fast forward to Friday and to a good weekend at home.


We have to distrust each other. It is our only defense against betrayal.


True, unfortunately.  Wtf.

blizzard

I am using a font called trebuchet, which makes me feel like I'm hurling my words from a large catapult and over the ramparts of some huge castle of doom.


I attempted to leave home today and return to my current residence, but inclement weather and standstill traffic through most of a certain falcon-infested county prevented me from leaving.  Thus, I will simply have to wait until tomorrow.  The exciting part of the evening commenced when my parents informed me that they had purchased a wireless router for our house.  A technological advance is always intriguing, so I went about setting up the equipment, and voila:  I am online.


This Christmas has been great (other than being sick) and I look forward to keeping the Christmas spirit alive through to the weekend.  I dread taking down all of the ornamentation in our apartment because it must have been very dull without it, like the difference between Kansas and Munchkin Land.  I can't really remember what it was like before we did it.  Paper chains aren't specific to Christmas, are they??


I just noticed that I used the passive voice twice and corrected it.  That's a good sign.

bedside

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emo emo emo

I was about this close to selecting the "Georgia" font, because that's the font my boss asked us to consistently use at work. And then I thought, you know what? Fuck it. I'm not at work. And I'm fucking tired of Georgia.

I wrote a whole other post about 30 minutes ago, and decided it wasn't right. Not only was it bad writing, but it was the tritest shite I've probably ever written. In truth, it was mostly related to faith and how we know what is real or not. Honestly, who hasn't had those thoughts? So who would want to read a whole blog post about doubts? The funny thing is, it's related to one of my oldest posts.

For the majority of my childhood, my mantra (if you want to call it that) was honesty, open commentary, and direct communication. Going with your feelings. Believing what you feel. Using it. I got older, and like most people, I decided that feelings aren't everything, and that impulse shouldn't be the main reason behind every action one takes (don't get me wrong, a little impulse can be good for you).

Two years ago, I experienced the two most lucid days of my entire life. In the midst of this clarity of mind, I wrote about it and I'm so grateful that I did, because I don't think I would still really understand it if I hadn't. I had a revelation in which I determined that feelings "accompany a present logic, justifying it." Amusingly enough, the whole post that I just wrote tonight had something to do with how I wasn't sure I could trust any feelings to justify my faith, and that maybe everything is a big chemical reaction within my brain. Again, I hate writing things like this, because it seems so typical and I feel like a debbie downer.

I was feeling so emo for a while today, too. I was looking around at all these middle-aged people in a horribly bad mood, trying to figure out what they're doing, going behind each others' backs, gossiping, complaining about one another . . . and I just couldn't take it anymore. The mere instance of someone speaking aloud while I was trying to concentrate took me to the brink. (Of what, I don't know. Probably just leaving the room. Which is what I did.) So I went downstairs to get a can of Diet Vernor's (see 17 Sept 2009 for reference), and they were all sold out. W. . . T . . .F? I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who ever buys it. I once made fun of Diet Vernor's, but I have to say that the Diet version has a way better can than the regular Vernor's.  As always people, we report, you decide.

what to write, what to write?

I never really know. I want to write a book about the Hundred Years' War, but there isn't enough time for that right now.

I've been wondering why the house of Caesar Augustus had to be so darn confusing and full of people who were married three times and had several adopted children.

That's about it. I have to go to the store of liquid gold now. Bye!

my pumpkin!

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Spooktastic!

A sign from the haunted statehouse tour earlier this month
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year(s) in review, and thoughts on being "challenged"

So I just read through some of my older posts and am fairly impressed with my command of the English language.

And now for something completely different!

I'm very excited for Halloween and my costume is going to be fantastic. It involves a lot of gold and black, or at least I expect it to at the moment. I have a vision.

Tomorrow I will be a vision of crispness because I just used some pretty effective starch throughout the course of this evening's ironing party. Ironing is something that I always leave to do in the morning, because I always plan to be up and moving earlier than I am actually physically capable of. I have written extensively on this topic. So of course, my white shirts (of which I have probably gone through dozens in the past couple of years from the sheer amount of time I spend wearing white button-down shirts) are rarely pressed with any extreme amount of attention, my makeup consists of making sure I don't look like a zombie, and whatever time is left is spent on making sure that my hair isn't going in some wild direction.

I hate it. I hate having to get up so early, because when I don't have the time to polish, the day just doesn't go as well. Call me high maintenance. I mean . . . I am high maintenance. But at least I have come to a realization of how much maintenance I require. The amount of time I spend getting ready has to do with the fact that I am a detail-oriented and/or perfectionist-type person by nature, combined with laziness because I am always sleep-deprived. Something as simple as getting ready for work is a major task because I have a certain routine I like to follow, and I am completing the routine almost as if I were a zombie. Who are we kidding? I am a zombie.

I have become convinced that the world is against us. "Us" is a people who simply cannot go to bed before, say, 11:00pm on a regular basis, and who also require at least 10 hours of sleep to be truly happy in life. We live amongst you and are generally undetected, if not for the bloodshot eyes and the listless, dazed expressions we wear. We (the royal "we") are chrono-impaired. Challenged, if you will. If I could go to bed, say, right now (approximately 12:10am) every night and wake up around 9 or 10, I would be springing out of bed, bright eyed and exhilarated! Ready to go!

But it is actually not to be; not until I am an author who has sold millions of books and can self-regulate and/or help to raise awareness for our disability. Until then, working hours will begin at painful times and my productivity will peak when everyone is leaving for the day. The time I am ready for breakfast most people would refer to as brunch on a Sunday; lunch would be at 3 or 4pm, and dinner would fall in around 9. Shops will close when I'm ready to do my errands (with the exception of Kroger). And etc.

I could go on and on . . . but I won't. I'm sorry, you will have to be deprived of my witticisms on this topic henceforth.

After all, it is time for bed. And I must make up for my physical impairment with as much rest as possible.

blogging.. writing.. now..

This is a blog. I am eating the last bite of my ice cream. I am also ironing clothes for work tomorrow. My life is riveting.

I know you are dying. Dying for more information. Something... To sink your teeth into. Do not fear, my dear reader, for it shall be granted. I beg your patience. Prithee return within the hour hence and I shall write again.

Tralala.
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this is a post

It is a beautiful day today. I'm happy that it's brisk outside and that I can wear coats and scarves again, because they keep me warm, cozy, and happy. Kind of like when I'm in my bed.

Speaking of my bed . . . when I woke up today, I discovered that there were some little red bumps on my right hand. I pursued the matter further and found that there were more bumps all over both of my hands and wrists. It appears that in my sleep a spider bit me about thirty times. I'm not exaggerating . . . there are over thirty little bite marks on the backs of my hands. Fortunately, they look better now. Unfortunately, there was a spider in my bed while I was sleeping. That is incredibly disturbing. How large? How hairy? How menacing? Did it crawl into my mouth, or my hair? We will never know.

The weekend went much too quickly, as weekends are wont to do. I think I shall now select a film and enjoy some domestic activities whilst I watch, like cleaning and preparing dinner.

blue

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coffee

I want coffee, but not just a cup of coffee. I want to go somewhere in the middle of the day with my best friend and sit watching the rain outside, holding our warm cups in our hands, talking, reading, writing.

enough said

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