Who Cares? Let's Buy That Thing We Don't Need.

I was talking with a coworker last night about Apathy. It's so weird to witness so many uprisings in the East about failing leadership and/or despotism. Our country has gone through many questionable changes in government and curious- downright outrageous events have surfaced with mild repercussions, facing a terrifying reality. NO ONE CARES. It seems like with the increased use of social media to convey news and entertain we are all losing a very valuable ability to acquire knowledge by reading more than 140 characters and feeling horrifyingly satisfied with that modicum of information. We also seem to be losing our sense of humanity and compassion. More than once I've seen something wildly inappropriate be tweeted about a celebrity, lacking an ounce of decency or tact, and all of this goes unnoticed save me (though I'm sure I can't be the only one). I always feel so self righteous (but also awesome) about responded to weird "twedlines" (I just made that up). For instance, a celebrity died and instead of writing something like "*Celeb name here* dies at *age here*" this fool wrote *Celeb name here* DEAD. With a little extra finesse that headline wouldn't have been so insanely devastating and careless, which is a perfect segue into my most controversial blog post that will ever grace the interwebs.

OSAMA BIN LADEN DEAD. *Commence patriotic bs*

Twitter was blowing up on that fateful day the human embodiment of terrorism died. Fireworks exploded, people were dancing in the streets, it was like a good ol' fashioned New Orleans funeral except everyone was literally celebrating the death of someone. It wasn't one of those parties held in memory of the departed. It was a crazy dance party in celebration of the end of someone's life, wishing them to the deepest depths of hell. I am by no means condoning any of the inexcusable, unspeakably evil things he did, but I am questioning the reality of it all. Though he is dead this does not mean terrorism will cease. All this means was that a figurehead has been taken away from a diabolical group of fanatical maniacs, but they still exist and we probably just pissed them the f&@k off. The causalities of his ceaseless tirade against America will not be brought back to life, their families may feel some relief and find a bit of solace in revenge, but ultimately those people that were lost are still gone. And now Osama's gone and there will probably be some kind of ridiculous retaliation against the US. Death and more death. Killing and more killing. I will never understand how power can be gained by taking lives. I will never fathom war and its important roll in what is means to be patriotic in this country. I will never forget how much I cried when I saw that episode of Intervention about a soldier who returned home completely broken after seeing his superior die, subsequently killing himself and his family slowly with alcohol abuse and severe depression. I will never forgive this government for sending all these young people to face an atrocity unimaginable to privileged upper class America, yet vehemently defended by the same blubbering bigots.
And all Americans seem to be good for is consuming while all of this happens. Instead of getting angry about billions of tax dollars going to a war more than half of the country has no idea is still going on, apathy has settled so snugly into the masses. Blanketing us so gently with its warm, blissful ignorance Apathy squeezes us ever so gently so as to entice Lethargy. In turn, we become empty shells ready to be filled with whatever garbage is deemed necessary to fill us with so we don't see the "big picture." Recently, the death of Bin Laden has been keeping us from wondering why there are starving children on the streets, why food production is so unsanitary and dangerous, why not everyone has equal rights, why education is more of a privilege than a necessity, why rent is so damn high, why our lives are dependent on green paper a metallic round things, why the hell Donald Trump would ever utter a word about anything remotely topical and believe he sounds the least bit intelligent. All of these things we are forgetting in lieu of one person's death. There's still a war going on, there are still people dying in mass genocide, there's still human trafficking, there are still giant corporations exploiting helpless people, the AIDs epidemic is still an EPIDEMIC. Instead of relishing in the death of this guy, how about we start a revolution and change this world for the better. Humanity can't be completely lost. Can it? Where's the love?



I'm out.

Creatively Challenged

I have such talented friends. Painters, Sculptors, Photographers, Editors, Designers, Actors, Musicians, Drag Queens... the list goes on... into tiny micromanaged categories. However, when I think of me and what I do I hardly consider myself an artist or even creative. I've been beating myself up recently for being unable to find enjoyment in anything creative- save writing. This contradiction has not gone overlooked. Writing is creating, I suppose. I don't understand my ambivalent reality at all, and I don't like it and I'm always trying to refute its unstable implications. I rarely draw except when I doodle which I haven't done in months. I don't make things unless that counts putting together a sandwich. My hands are tools I stare at in dismay wondering where in my life they surrendered to a life of banality. I don't own a camera but use Instagram like it's no body's business, but I would hardly call myself a photographer. I've been feeling less enthused with the idea of being called a "writer," for the simple, narcissistic fact that it just doesn't seem cool anymore. When the age of the internet began so did the fall of the writer. Bloggers took over the internet and made actual writers redefine themselves and what it was to be a writer. They are now all unemployed... or working terrible retail jobs... Jk. I have no idea (but probably). Then again, what is a blogger? A writer. As defined in the dictionary a writer is: writ·er/ˈrītər/Noun
1. A person who has written a particular text. In that case there is no difference between a blogger and a writer. Oh, but there is... there has to be or my efforts have all been in vain. Is blogging going to be my life? Should I succumb to the inevitability that sharing my ridiculous thoughts on the internet will eventually be my career. I can't. Oh, but I can. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? This whole argument is a plethora of insane discrepancies and unfair assumptions.

I used to relish in all types of peoples' indulgences in the internet. I used to take in all the wonderful excitement that buzzed heavily around twitter and facebook, and friendster (is that even real?), and the list goes on. Now, I feel like the internet took something away from me. A solid voice.
In this constantly changing environment with the amount of turn-over in trends and the decreasing attention span of the nation it's terrifying to think of where I'll fit in. If I'll fit in. How I'll fit in.

I'm rambling again. It's becoming a horrible habit.

Apologies.




I'm out.

Interspew

Interviews- N. One of the most devastating realities in our culture, where desperate job seekers are thrown into an incredibly awkward begging process incited by generic questions and assuming holders of their future. I'm not sure if there's anything I dislike more than having to sit in a group of others all outwardly hoping they give the most enticing answers and that you screw up. Group interviews are worse than one on one interviews for numerous reasons, but the one that gets me the most frustrated is the fact that in a setting like that people tend to be a little bit apprehensive to show themselves. It may be out of insecurity or from sheer, incapacitating shyness which I guess can be a result of insecurity. Anyway, that's not always the case for the "quiet interviewer" as I have now dubbed that person we've encountered at least once. The person sitting in the corner, staring around anxiously, praying the hour goes by faster. However, these "quiet interviewers" are not necessarily bad workers or innately timid people. In a group interview, though, it's hard to give them a chance if they don't speak. I know I know that's the whole point I suppose, to weed out the seemingly socially handicapped people in turn for boisterous, borderline obnoxious, enthusiastic applicants. Sigh. Something just seems wrong about that kind of logic. I bet there are hundreds of people being affected by this ridiculous group interview process and there's nothing we can do to stop it. All I can do is write about how unfair and inefficient it is and advise anyone who does happen to be thrown into that horrible situation to SPEAK OUT!
Oh and my internet is working again!
Woot!


Mumford & Sons are my new favorite!

I'm out.

Numb3r5

For most of my adult life I have been encountering alarmingly consistent experiences with numbers. For instance, almost every day since I was in college I have caught the numbers 4:20 on a clock. This has nothing to do however, with my serious marijuana addiction. I'm convinced the reason for seeing this number resides in some strange cosmic destiny that I must fulfill. What destiny? I have no idea! And no, I am not as avid a pot user as one might assume haha, that was a joke. A terrible one at that considering my age and location and the not so secret predeliction writers have for drugs. I'm not saying I'm a writer. Well, maybe a self-proclaimed one. I do enjoy it's visceral pleasantry that graces my being every so often. Sigh. Man, I am TIRED. I'm barely making sense... May as well keep going.

Another number I see often is 42, just on number off of 420. WHAT DOES IS IT ALL MEAN?! In an effort to allay my frustrations and acquire some knowledge I decide to look up the numbers in Wikipedia and see if anything significant popped out at me. NOTHING DID. Minus my surprise by the amount of mathematical jargon in both articles, however, upon further reading about 420 I learned about some interesting gatherings help every year on- you guessed it- April 20th. Apparently 420 is a BIG deal in Boulder, Colorado. I should ask my friend from there about her experiences on the date. Canada and New Zealand also tend to get a little wild for the green holiday and massive amounts of people come together in a haze of smoke and wonder to enjoy collective euphoric moments. It sounds like a blast.

So, in my research I have found absolutely nothing to quell my curiosity or conclude my confounding inquisition. Wonderful. SO with that I will retire to bed and continue to see these numbers without an iota of understanding.

HELP ME.


Ew. It's edited.

I'm out.

Just Do It

Battling for months with this ongoing uneasiness with life and where I want to be and who I want to be and all that existential garbage prone to a paranoid, absurdly self-aware, judgmental being, I have finally concluded that I need to "Just Do It."* Not only does this apply to my career, but to everything in life. For too long I've been scared to just leap into something without knowing exactly what the outcome will be and not fearing it wholeheartedly with the nerves of a tadpole. So in my continuous attempts to better my situation I shall try a different approach. No more excuses, no more talking, no more half-assed attempts, it's game time. I got my helmet on, and I look ridiculous but I don't care. Complaining about things is starting to wear on my nerves, and I'm sure my friends would not be completely opposed to never hearing me say, "I need to get outta there," ever again. Sorry guys. Also, I really need to focus time on creativity. I haven't written anything decent in months... Infuriating writer's block is to blame for this horrid dry spell. However, so is laziness and apathy, two emotions I've been all to found of for the last few weeks. It's so easy to just not care. It's so easy to just let things happen and not focus on goals. Goals. What a scary word. It has so many weird, complex connotations. It means so much, but can also be so fleeting. Anyway, I need to dedicate time to doing something I've grown to love beyond words haha get it... cuz it's writing. Sigh. Clinging to that ounce of passion I know is floating around in me somewhere I've got to get my drive back. I also think I need to get out of the city for a little bit to help me put things in perspective. I feel like with the constant motion of Brooklyn and Manhattan it's definitely easy to loose a little bit of yourself amongst all the flashing lights, all the moody people, all the sounds. I need to go somewhere not so... loud- all that racket- yes, I'm 85.
Well thanks for reading everyone, I really do appreciate you taking the time out to read my narcissistic indulgences.


Story of my life.

***Let it be known I denounce any affiliation with Nike, for obvious political/moral reasons. Damn them for creating such a relevant tag line.***

I'm out.

Will You Be My Friend?

My mother was in town which put an abrupt halt to the festivities last weekend was to entail. At first I was a little irritable, as EVERYONE decided to have parties that very weekend, but the feeling was fleeting because well my mom's awesome. Sigh. She bought me enough food to feed a third world country and enough paper products to stock an elementary school for a year. In her absence, I have been feeling a pang of homesickness that has not shown itself EVER. However, the sickness is not really for home, but for my family, though the warm Miami weather does not hurt.

Anyway, enough about that. I want to talk about meeting people online. At first the entire concept horrified me, made me want to runaway screaming, bleeding from the eyes... I've been watching way too many horror movies...ok, just Pan's Labyrinth.
Anyway, the whole idea of meeting up with people on the internet has been instilled in us since we were young as being not only dangerous but incredibly stupid. However, sometime within the last 5-10 years this idea shifted from "DON'T EVER DO IT!" to, "Eh, if they don't seem too psychotic and you meet in a public place, I guess it's alright." What made this change? Obviously the social media explosion and our dying ability to go out and meet people in person- COLD, with no chitty chat behind the comfort of your computer screen before hand. Though, it's convenience is not to be ignored. Like I said in an earlier post, it's hard to meet people, but by being online some of that nasty pressure is relieved and gives a bit more leeway for honesty, or straight up lying. Sigh. I guess that argument can truly go both ways- a blessing and a curse. It's interesting to see whether or not any lasting relationships will come of it... in my case. I have friends that have found significant others online, but my curiosity lies in the question of "Can you make friends online?" We shall see, I suppose. Ought to be interesting. Hope I don't get killed in the process.


Random Note: I would like to thank Portlandia and, subsequently, YouTube for turning me on to Washed Out and Air France. Also, I would like to thank my upstairs neighbors for being kind enough to lend their Internet for a bit. Thank you. Adieu.



I'm out.

A Tale of True Ninnies: A Story About Hope Lost via The Internet

As a result of being utterly unable to figure out where my main Internet box is I am resorting to using my iPhone to update. Why don't you go to the coffee shop next door, you're probably saying. Why don't you just go to a friend's house you're probably chuckling. Well, there is a simple, yet stupid answer for that. I've kind of always wanted to test the capacity for this here iPhone. Is it as convenient and necessary to my existence as I've always thought it to be? YES, yes it is. It's convenience is to a startling degree. I'm not sure whether I should be excited or horrified that the thought of losing it make me shudder. Definitely horrified. Anyway, it's been a while since I've updated, mainly... excuse me, SOLELY because of this whole Internet debacle. Explain the situation? Why, I would love to: A few weeks ago the Internet just decided to stop working. Thinking it was just a matter of unplugging the machine and turning it back on I did not panic. Then, after doing that oh 5 times and then frantically calling verizon I realized the problem was external. Verizon would have to send a technician to fix the problem. Sighing with relief, thinking that would only take like 15 minutes, I immediately scheduled an appointment a few days later, being off and extremely ready to get my Internet service up and running again. The technician came in the morning, poked around the router, went outside for 10 minutes, came back in and told me there was nothing he could do. "You have to find out where the main cable box is in order for me to fix it." I thought to myself, how the bloody hell would I know where that is? And yes I tend to think in a British accent. So he left with a quickness of a thousand winds and didn't look back. I remembered there was confusion when they first installed the Internet and I remembered something about them wiring it through an auto body shop behind my apartment so I call the technician and tell him that and all he says to me is "No, it's in a abandoned building by your apartment," and abruptly hangs up on me. At this point I'm furious so I call Verizon back careful to keep my temper in check because obviously it's no fault of whoever picks up the phone but of that crass a-hole know-it-all. Oh gawd, he's probably right. So the battle commences. They're telling me I have to find out where this mysterious "main box" is and I have to call them once I've found it. This search has resulted in hours of brain-cramping super sleuthing and many awkward phone calls to strangers and it's almost been 2 weeks since the Internet's stopped working. I'm at my wits end trying to resolve this insane situation. So, what I'm really asking is.... Can I use your Internet?

Sent from my iPhone



I'm out.