Social Weening

It was a time of riding the highpoint of a wave-- feeling invincible, unstoppable, like everything has been sorted out by colors and water temperature and just waiting for its turn to start.  Much like an amusement ride, everything at some point must break down and undergo maintenance before casualties arise or the whole thing collapses and becomes nonviable.  When exactly should one jump ship?  If you are the captain, you are held by maritime law to stay aboard till every last soul is off in times of emergency.  This is accountability.  Not many other instances in life share such strict policy.  It may be continual sleep deprivation, being overloaded with stress, perhaps even just giving out all hope, but I can't help but wonder when the point was that I jumped off and onto someone else's boat.  

In recent time, I have come to notice that certain everyday habits have become pointless, like so many forgotten rituals.  It was when I realized that I hadn't been spending time with myself that I noticed exactly that what I was spending time with was a completely empty endeavor.  Social media has been praised for bringing the world together, connecting long lost friends, family, and just as a great way to stay "in touch".  I recall Al Pacino's sonnet from The Devil's Advocate,

"Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, don’t swallow."

This is exactly what I feel about social media in terms of "staying in touch".  Maybe I’m wanting more than "in touch".  Maybe I prefer embrace over this mediocre styling of friendship--acquaintanceship.  There most definitely must be a correlation between suicides, facebook and bullying, but one has to ask if there's more to it than a simple equation of facebook+bullying= suicide.  Where are the variables, and why aren't people looking at the facts that aren't written on "the wall"?  

I come from a generation of people who were on the tail end of the wired age-- a lot of people my age were the remote control for the TV when the channel needed changed.  Leaving the house randomly and playing unsupervised outside at an undisclosed location was a normal thing for kids.  If you called someone, they may not have answered...  because they weren't home.  It's always been a curiosity for me to think about a post apocalyptic world where humans are just shadows burned into walls and aliens scavenge through our dumps to recreate our everyday lives.  Would they have museums that feature the echoes of society through the chips and salvaged tapes of answering machines?  It was not uncommon to come home to a blinking light on that soft white box, excited to hear the voice of the person who reached out to talk to you, missed you, and wanted you to know that they had tried.  Their voice having intonation, pitch, sincerity while it is delivering a message meant only for you.  It was like receiving flowers or being eight years old and answering the door to an unexpected care package from your mother.  These things are all unexpected and usually wanted.  What happens when life becomes more immediate?  When there is no longer a need for answering machines or home telephones?  When you are a walking communications hub that can track that package from anywhere in the 3G LTE network across 48 states and most US tributaries?  Does life evolve to compensate for everything happening so fast?  If it's been so slow for so long, how do we handle everything becoming so different so suddenly? 

Popularity surged facebook through the roof, bringing it up from a strictly college student user base to the masses--seniors, high schoolers and even children.  I've spent a lot of time on there.  In fact, a good 8 or so years of my life is chronicled through photo albums and what must seem like miles of status updates, notes and random link postings.  I was the first in my family to have a facebook, and now both of my sisters have one, my sister's daughter has one, my dad has one (for coupons), and even my dad's cat has a facebook.  The internet opens doors for trollers and non trollers alike, with facebook being the ultimate in troll interfacing technology.  Everyone has probably had at least one run in with a jerk that just won't let it go or starts sewing some ludicrous sweater of drama over a particular thread.  Everyone is watching, neither party can back down until the floor drips with the blood of the victor's enemy.  We are "friends" with these people.  At what point did the concept of "friend" take on the same properties as that weird, watered down, orange drink McDonalds used to sell for grade school functions?   Where is the value in the term if we ourselves don't assign it any?  

Of our 700 friends on facebook, it's easiest to send out birthday invitations to the 60 or so people we would actually like to see on our special day, maybe expecting about 30 or so at the most to actually show up.  The day arrives, and only 5 people you invited show up.  You peruse your "feed" while drinking a beer, looking at the pictures being posted of all the people you wanted to see that night out and about, when they rsvp'd yes, all the while trying to figure out how in the world you're going to finish all 120 of these damned jello shots.  It's hard to be happy when you feel like you've been forgotten by all these people that were once a major part of your life in favor of doing what they do every weekend, then blatantly posting and bragging about it where you can see it.  Thank goodness everyone's eaten all those tiny hotdogs!  Old Mrs. Dinsmore doesn't need any more of those!  

Using social media to be a bully isn't the whole problem here.  Using it to define yourself and/or your popularity is.  We are all hooked to this giant internet teet.  So focused on updates and pictures, memes, videos-- when exactly are we spending time with our "friends", or with ourselves for that matter?  How is this enriching our actual lives?  We're all hiding behind words, and the words can be so loaded that we all throw ourselves into a rock tumbler to smooth out our internet presence to that of acceptable to a mass audience.  There's a false celebration of individuality, but it's facebook... no one is going to be 100% themselves for fear of criticism.  Welcome to social media-- the big high school on a fiberoptic level where everyone is looking to express their likes, and their dislikes even more.  It's one giant homogenized colony of superficial images of beings that are actually much more complicated than they present themselves, but everyone seems to overlook that part.  People aren't so cut and dry, and I am not just the person I was on facebook.  I am much more than that, but because of the evolution of facebook, I don't appear that way any longer. On facebook, I am the cat lady.  I am the weird girl that says silly stuff.  I am not the person that struggles, because no one wants to read about it.  I am not the person that donates to help other people's causes, because people would wonder what my motive was.  I am not the person that expresses all of my thoughts, because that would scare some people, and possibly enrage them.  I am not the person I am on facebook.  I suspect most people would say the same of themselves.  I have had enough of it.  I shut it down.  Along with the immediacy of social interaction it provides, it also brings the immediacy of social anxiety. 

It has been 2 days since it has been shut down.  I have not felt the urge to pick it back up again.  I've decided to take the time that I would be wasting perusing pictures of animals and food, and investing it into myself in other, more productive and self improving ways.  I am pro-choice, and I’m choosing Life over the illusion of a life.  I may return some day, but for now I am on a voyage of an undetermined length and destination, to be left uncharted in the annals of facebook history.  To be represented by actions and not carefully selected pros.  C’est la vie, motherfuckers.  

         

yolo.

It's been an outright peculiar year and a half since I moved into this apartment.  There's been a lot of good, and more recently, more bad.  I guess part of getting out on your own is learning how to live in society and still make ends meet.  What started out as a venture in getting a new apartment with ample space to set up shop has become a constant silent battle with the downstairs neighbor.  She moved out during the summer, but left the hoard she had accumulated in the basement.  A new person has since moved in that is way more tolerable, and also shares the burden of dealing with "the shit in the basement".  I knew long ago that I would not be able to use the basement as a studio space, simply because all space are belong to the landlord's mom.  Since then, I had acquired a wonderful room mate under non so savory circumstances, and was able to enjoy her company up until she acquired an awesome job over in Illinois--far far away.  I've rearranged my habitat and have decided to dedicate one room to crafting, rehabbing and all out art hedonism.  I already have a few projects I need to finish up-- turning a 6 drawer card catalogue into a jewelry box, refinishing this kindergarten chair I found out by the dumpster, roccoco'ing up a faux fireplace, finish sanding and painting my bedroom furniture purple.  Most recently, I am planning on working out a tall lamp shade for a floor lamp I had in my first apartment.  I think it lived about 4 months before my old cat completely let loose the rage on it and ruined the delicate orange paper shade.  I could never bring myself to throw out the actual lamp base because I always figured I could make a new shade for it (and it was ridiculously expensive).  I'm tinkering with the idea of using perforated metal, but I will have to construct a new armature for it since the original one was thrown away, and would probably never have been able to support the weight the base will possibly handle. I already have a lot of metal working tools and my dad randomly bought me metal shears about 6 months back that would be fabulous for this project.  I've found 2 vendors that I should be able to order the sheet size I actually need for this.  I know the materials I want to use, so now it's a question of getting it all together, in the shape that I want, with no sharp edges.  I'm going to get a very cheap lamp from a thrift shop and see if I can construct a mini version so I can work out the kinks for the large scale project.
 

I've been pouring through craiglist ads looking for a cheap desk that I find remotely aesthetically appealing.  I've spotted a few, but haven't stumbled on any I want to commit to.  I will probably need to get a table as well and maybe a book shelf to house things.  I've brought over my old cork board, so I'll need to start pinning things up soon-- collecting random clippings and momentos.

Another thing on my list is to start using sketch books again and doing a little collage work here and there.  I found an old one that actually spanned most of my college years.  I was going through it the other night and remembered how much I actually liked using sketchbooks.  It made me think of how much more different my life was 3 years ago and how much happier I was then.  I guess I've sort of hit a wall.  I know what I need to do, and that's get back on the art wagon in one way or another.  I'm a much happier person when I'm making. 

In recent history, a person I knew had told me that they had no hobbies and that they thought they were a waste of time.  Coincidentally, that person turned out to be a waste of time.  Don't be that person.  Hobbies are normally a way to explore your interests.  A person with no hobbies isn't interesting.  I'm sure there's some relative witty quote I could insert here from Mark Twain or Oscar Wilde.  Pretty damn sure.  Instead, I will close this with a qoute from Candy Darling that I feel sums up the state of things in my life currently:

"Dear Diary, I try to get what I want, whenever it's possible. I have always found that socially unacceptable people make the best lovers because they are more sensitive. I can be happy and fulfilled. I will never doubt it. I can not afford to. Each thought, each movement turned into a great moving force. Love Candy."

And with that, I begin my motion forward to manifest my destiny. 

Dreams

I had an odd dream last night that I was going to go back to school to become a botanist, but that was only after I dreamt of thinking about going to get my teaching certificate.  That part of the dream was disturbing to me...  I visited a school that was pretty much a series of motor homes.  I went to the rv where my niece had kindergarten, and was greeted by the teacher, an early twenties-something woman, who coincidentally had no nostrils to speak of.  After climbing aboard, I noticed the obvious flaw between the volume of the coach verses what appeared to be the volume when I had viewed it from outside-- it was much more massive than the width of a single lane.  Further surprising was that inside of this massive mobile classroom was my grandfather.  He's been dead for over three years now, which isn't really surprising at all; but, I don't commonly dream of dead people, or people in my family.  He was smiling around all the children, but he was like he was just before he died.  He had had a fever that damaged his brain a few years before he passed, and it left him in a state of mind where he always reminded me of a child.  His entire memory of everything after 1982 had been almost entirely wiped clear.  I always thought he pretended to know me because of the way he acted when he first had recovered from his fever.  I think in truth, if he did remember me, he was probably embarrassed that in all the years I lived in his home and visited, that he honestly knew nothing about me, but rather only knew the idea of who he wanted me to be.  When I was a senior in high school, he had to give me a ride home from his house.  With traffic, it took nearly 45 minutes to traverse the five miles to my father's house.  In that 45 minutes, my grandfather held me captive to his lecture on me going to college for computers.  I responded to him that I wanted to do something with art, but computers kept flowing from his mouth like winged razor blades into my ears.  Once we arrived in my father's driveway, it only continued for another 45 minutes.  I sat there with my hand on the door handle, giving off every possible polite indication that I was ready to exit that tiny saturn and leave that one-sided conversation inside it, but it just kept going.  Knowing freedom was a mere 15-20 feet from me, and being able to see it, was truly tormenting.  My point is that he didn't have a single clue.  Oddly enough, it wasn't until after his fever that he would randomly offer up compliments and support for my chosen career.  the dream made me feel awkward for many reasons, but mainly because it made me remember that incident, and because of how many opposites there were.  All of the children were sitting in a horse shoe formation in front of him, and he was smiling the way he did after the fever (a genuine, unforced smile).  He was occasionally clapping his hands when he laughed and getting tested by the children.  I had to wake up for work at this point, but I just remember walking around them and staring at him, because he's dead, but he was there.  he was exactly how he looked pre-mortem, down to the curly side hair and every liver spot, like it wasn't a dream-- I felt like I could reach out and poke him.  I'm not going to get into the semantics of our relationship, but having him show up in my dreams that vividly is enough to bother me for weeks.  Even more so that it was in a dream where I was thinking about going back to school. 

A little low and feeling out the world

I haven't written in this for a while.  Strange enough, it seems like six months of my life have melted away into some meaningless notion of empty adulthood.  The more I become introspective about it, the more it bothers me.  I've known people who have gotten into this pattern and never come out.  I can't do this for very much longer.  I guess one could say that I am not cut out for working mundane jobs or just always having the same thing happen to me. 

I started taking chantix two weeks ago, but I keep slipping up.  I've cut back on smoking by quite a lot.  I can go the whole day without anything.  I just keep buying cigars in the strange hope they'll make me feel better when I feel depressed (a growing trend these days).  I want to smoke more when I have some emotional turmoil.  It's sort of like a checks and balances type thing-- I think smoking is to me what scissors are to a cutter, which makes quitting so much harder.  The pills make it taste horrid, and I no longer get the comforting rush anymore.  It smells terrible as well.  I can't believe I didn't notice how gross it was while I was doing it.    I could say the same for some people I've dated. 
And I leave you with some mogpoj gibberish:

Turn away, turn away my only son.
You've had your fun, now the damage is done. 
You can love her and leave her, but you can't make her stay--
Oh son, spare yourself and just turn away.

You turn your cheek when you hear them say,"it'll get better some sunny day"
They spat in your face and you just smiled away.
It can always be worse, then night turns to day.

Turn your cheek and just look away.
My son, better things are coming your way.
They may laugh in your face, but it's better that way.
Turn your cheek son and find your own way.

Moments are measured in blood and mistakes made of fear. 
When the time comes, we all fall as hard.  The unknowing means nothing when it's known to be variable.
son you're as big as a mountain-- no man you will follow.

And to discredit any hint of seriousness, I've included a Mowgli pic. 

So much waiting!

My new job is going well.  It's a little stressful at times, but that's any kind of assistant job.  I'm well on my way to getting a studio together.  My best friend said she'd loan me her two kilns, which will be awesome because i'll get to retrofit them with electric kiln sitters and so some maintenance on them.  I love messing with stuff like that!  I'm starting to look around for used wheels.  After that, the search for local studio space is on.  I can't say just how frustrating it is to not be able to do what I want, but after I get everything together, it will be more rewarding.

Among other things, the last 2 months have started to get to me.  Last night I went out with two of my lady friends to go see some industrial bands.  Serendipity smiled upon us, and I once again remember how wonderful life can be.  It's so easy to forget when you're somewhat in between a rock and a hard place.  I'm just hoping the after glow will stay with me for a long time.  Joy, even when exposed in small amounts, should never have a half life.

New Job 2012

I just started a new job as an administrative assistant today.  I like it a lot so far.  It keeps me so busy that the time just flies.   The building that I work in houses a branch of the FBI as well.  Apparently someone in my office went to the men's room and found a holstered gun sitting on the back of the toilet.  He went back to the office and was talking about taking the gun to the FBI's office...  The other staff thought that was a risky plan...walking through the door of the FBI with a gun in your hands...  hahaha.  He ended up covering the gun with some paper towels, then went down to their office to tell them.  The part that really kills me is that a federal officer not only left his gun in a bathroom, but didn't even realize it until someone came to tell them.  I can't even begin to imagine how much flac that guy got from everyone else in his office for that.  It's almost as hilarious as the Simpsons episode where Henry Kissinger's glasses fall off in the toilet and Homer reclaims them from the bowl. 

Hellllo Dolly!

I'm pretty excited about having a job for the first time in two years.  I'm doubly excited that it's not in retail or fast food.  Within the next couple months, I'm going to start looking for equipment to start setting up a studio.  I never had a kiln or a wheel of my own before.  The thought of it is pretty exciting...  I can only imagine it's similar to the feeling of buying your first house, or having a kid... or something.  I've been doing some sleuthing around town and in STL to see what kind of studio space I can get within my budget.  There really isn't a place in my home to set up shop.  The whole basement has a coating of super-fine saw dust on everything.  I'd be afraid to fire a kiln here-- the whole house would go up like a tinder box.  

^^Life^^ (it tastes good like that)

I was wondering when I'd hit the point in my career where things stall out, and apparently it's now.  I really don't think of it as an occasion to get upset, but more of a time to pay my dues and take my licks.  Getting this job has really been awesome for keeping up my moral.  It's nice to feel like a long term goal is actually attainable.  In the grand scheme of things, another year really isn't that big of a deal.  As long as I follow through with my plans, everything will be gravy.









I couldn't sleep the other night, so I partook in my normal "lay there with the television on hoping that it will make me fall asleep by shooting my insomnia with plasma rays--but i know that's not why they call it a plasma tv..." ritual.  For some reason, the screen froze, so i started changing channels to see if they were all like that.  Only half of them were.  I stopped on Turner Classic movies, and had just enough time to snap this image before the television world started turning.  I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Sorry for the insanely long haitus.

Fig. 1  Easter Egg #2 (intergalactic travel)

Things have been really crazy around here since i've come home.  The holidays, welcome home parties, seeing missed friends, and being miserably sick... And on top of all that, I've been chiseling away at filling out applications for grad schools.  I actually went out and picked up some literature on writing application essays, and so far, my favorite book has been Graduate Admissions Essays by Donald Asher.  The book is geared toward more typical masters programs (e.g. business and medical schools), so the examples and samples aren't really art related.  However, I still found this book to be extremely helpful.  It helped me to have a better idea of what I needed to write, and more importantly what I didn't need to write.  Before I read it, I was pretty nervous and was completely lost on how to arrange my thoughts.  But by chapter 8, I had a second draft written and ready for proofing and editing.  I know I sound a little like a commercial right now, but I usually like sharing when something works very well, especially if it may help out someone else some day. The book itself wasn't a bad read, and had occasional easter eggs of unintentional hilarity in it.

Fig. 2  Easter Egg #3 (The presumptuous Author speaks)

So for a little back tracking-- I had a very nice christmas back home with my family.  I was bestowed a lot of kitchen gadgets, and in all the colors of the rainbow!  I got so excited about my new set of spatulas and spoons, that I put away most of what dad had in his utensil pot and put my own in.  I also got a set of prep bowls, a submersible mixer, a couple of fancy knives, and an awesome silicone whisk (which is also rainbow colored). 

NOM NOM NOM!!!

I've been cooking a lot more since I've been home as well.  I've been making a lot of things involving whole chickens and have been tinkering with turnips.  I've made home made chicken noodle soup twice, once for myself, and once again for a friend I accidentally made sick.  I also made a horrendously delicious roasted chicken.  I highly recommend both recipes, especially the soup if you're not feeling well.  It takes some time to make the stock, but it's all worth it.  You feel amazing after eating it.  If you like rice in your soup, you can cook a half cup of rice with 1/2 cup water and 1/2 cup stock, (but just until chewy) and add it in with the vegetables.  Every time I use a whole chicken now, I think about two things:  How it's nice that all the insides and the neck have been removed for me, and how the little fat chickens remind me of Marvin.  I can't help but feel bad, like I'm terrorizing fowl everywhere.

Surely this race of giant pop tarts will rise up and destroy us all!!!

I've also tried my hand at baking Hindbaer Snitter since I've been home.  It was pretty close, but I think I need a little more practice.  I think I'm also saying that so I'll bake it more often to feed my addiction, haha.  The picture was before I cut it.  It looks like a massive pop tart, but I can assure you, it tasted way better.  It never made it past day 2.








And for those of you who made it this far and wondered about the whereabouts of Easter Egg #1,

I present to you Fig. 3:

Fig. 3  Easter Egg #1 (The "Grad school gets you more sex further down the line" argument.)