I stood in the back corner of the Harvard book store, moving my eyes quite languidly over the multi-colored spines and lettering. There is nothing in particular I am looking for, simply, enjoying the view. In my right arm, two books loosely sit. Given that I find another more intriguing, either one could be replaced, but I have to set myself to minimum, and also a maximum, of two books. Too many and I limit my chances of coming back to this beautiful book store sooner rather than later, but just one is not enough. I can practically feel the french roast from next door electrifying my weak veins, as my eyes keep focus on a pale blue moderately sized paperback. I reach up, pull down on the top of the spine and shimmy it out of it's cozy little home on the book shelf. Judging a book by it's cover, they say it's bad, but I continue day in and day out. Something on this cover doesn't jump out at me. Is it the font? the overused computer generated portrait of an allegedly calming landscape? Perhaps just the title, or something lacking in the story line. Where is the emotional turmoil and interpersonal connection with the characters? I laugh silently to myself and repeat under my breath "too picky", and return it to the aged oak shelf. I have begun to feel content with my two choices, but still meander through the other aisles, contemplating the other genre choices and reminding myself that it's time to start studying once again. I move out of the way for other shoppers, while simultaneously positioning myself in the route of another. I apologize profusely and slide my feet over once more, closer to the empty cash register adorned with overpriced candies and bookmarks. Smile, nod, say thank you. Good-bye.
It is hot today and I am in a long sleeved shirt. White, 3/4 length sleeves and jeans with the same flip flops I wear everyday. I tuck the new, crisp beautiful books into my tote and continue back toward my car, parked down past the Harvest. I pass by the door way to the MoTu office that my sister once worked in, and remember the oversized Apple computers they used to design the software. I had fantasized about being in that chair one day, but I guess somewhere along the way, it began to look uncomfortable. Harvard looks especially bright today, and I contemplated a stroll through the campus, but it seemed to be bustling with new arrivals, and unfortunately I had to get going to my second job for the remainder of the day. I felt good. I imagined that someone I knew would happen to be walking around Harvard Square at that same moment, see me and think 'My, she looks happy'. When I returned to my car, the smile seemed to melt right down my left arm as I picked the daunting parking ticket from my sleek black windshield wiper. But almost immediately after I felt nothing could ruin this moment for me. These are moments we don't see often, 'relish' I thought, in an almost cinematically gentle whisper. I pull away from the curb and head back where I came from.
I am working hard to quit smoking, and today does not help much. I have nothing in the car, and contemplate stopping by the local convenience store, but I think better of it. Stepping back down the ladder would be an almost perfect way to destroy my overwhelming elation. Cas Haley in the speakers, sunglasses and speed. I imagine myself on the beach with my new books and pair of headphones, that is where I should be driving to, but I am not. I pull into the parking lot, circle and squeeze my Scion into a nearby spot and continue on my way to another few hours of work.
There are somedays that I am thankful for my co-workers. They keep me sane, remind me what laughing right from the pit of my stomach feels like, they take me away from my computer and in front of human beings, both good and bad. But somedays, I wonder what would happen if I left. I would have free time, time to read all those books at a spritely pace. Time to spend with my sisters and friends or perhaps the brown eyed mystery man from the Cambridge church. But I remind myself of how bored I felt when I left. I get consumed in my own thoughts. I write pages and pages and think it could be a book, laugh, and then put it away to never look upon again. Drink the wine, smoke the cigarette and lay back in bed just stare out the window at the street lights behind the wilting tree branches.
How many letters have a written? I imagine how many of the same sullen morbid lines I have jotted again and again. Reminds me of the Spanish vocab drills my 8th grade teacher would ask of us, rewriting the same lines 10 times over, emblazoning them in your mind for days until they'd leak out during sleeping hours the night before the exam. But I digress. Letters, how many? and how many never mailed. Letters to my family, my friends, dead presidents, inanimate objects and customers I've dealt with through the years. Letters that proclaim so much, or absolutely nothing at all. But never read. Never even sealed in an envelope and stamped. Never even torn from the cheap Family Dollar spiral bound notebooks, piling up on the floor in the corner just beneath my bed. For now, the letters stay hidden. I plug in my shiny new fan, peel back the first pages of this new book. Before long, I am sleeping restlessly to the quiet voice of Kris Delmhorst.
To My Dearest __________,
How was your day today? I found a sun spot on my left hand this morning while applying my hand cream. It reminded me of how bright you are. How you had at one time illuminated the darkest places within me. How your smile caused such burns that I merely welcomed, throwing the SPF to the side and shutting my eyes tight against the intense heat. Even in the coldest nights in the deepest of December, never did my lips quiver, my knees quake, or my spine shake. But today I am cold, and it feels quite refreshing.
I awake to a dull slow pounding. I immediately think, in my drunken state, that it is my alarm clock, but after a few more pounds, know that this can not be right. My mind is not spinning, my head feels no pain. Perhaps the TV next door. Damned city, I can hear the conversations of the married couple three houses down. The clock reads 4:27am, perhaps the landlord, it was said that she tends to wake up early. I rise from my bed to round the doorway into the bathroom, the pounding has ceased for the moment. But before I could open the door, it has begun again. I move towards the window in the kitchen, while messily pouring a tall glass of lemonade. Doesn't sound any louder out this way. I make the 25 step trip to the front door and stumble up against the view finder. Nothing. Must be a TV somewhere in the neighborhood, sound on this street can echo like a canyon. Ignore it, back to bed.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Chapter 1 (just to keep track)
I awoke to a pounding sound. My heart? Footsteps? A fist at the door? I couldn’t be sure. Heart and mind cloudy with sleep and sweat, I push myself from my overused mattress and stumble to the broken down door. My eyes refuse to open and my knee meets the wall violently, loud curses fling themselves from my lazy lips. The wood floor creaks achingly under my gentle footsteps to the door and I peer through the viewer, conveniently placed 6 inches above my short frame. Nothing. The hallway is as black as pitch and still as the wind on this painfully humid night. Must have been a dream I reassure myself and dangerously make my way back to the bedroom.
The morning is always a difficult time. My fingers meet the snooze button time and time again over a period of about an hour, until the time catches up with me and I have no time. A quick brush of the hair and teeth, two slices into the toaster, jeans, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt to cover the tattoos and flip flops. Fill the tote with all the necessary items for the day, am I working tonight? Thankfully, no. Two jobs and a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. I pretend to hate it. I make sure I have everything and shut my bedroom door, my knee aches with the memory of my rude midnight awakening and I spend most of my morning commute to work scrunching my eyebrows at negligent Boston drivers and trying to remember that dream, or even if I had one at all. I pull into a parking spot at work, repack all the things that I pulled out of my bag during the drive and slam the door, my sweatshirt catching in the crack. I tug at it violently hoping that it’s just slightly stuck, but instead have to dig deep in my bag to find the keys, unlock the door, pull my sweatshirt out, drop the keys, nail my head on the door, shut it with a furrowed brow and head to my desk.
The day ends in a flurry. I’ve thrown back two or three coffees, I’m not really sure, and I’m on my 2nd liter of water. I wave goodbye to my co-workers, clock out and head to my car, removing my sweatshirt, now that the sun has graced the day with its presence. I slather a generous helping of SPF 30 onto my left arm to properly protect my tattoos from the beautiful rays of the sun, pull to the end of the drive way, slide on enormously oversized sunglasses, and light a menthol cigarette. My ride home is equally as enjoyable as the ride in, clear on the highway for the most part. I gracefully tuck the tail end of my burning cigarette between my thumb and middle finger and flick it forcefully out the window, watching it violently land on the pavement in my side view mirror. I contemplate dinner plans and think if there are any errands I need to run before landing at home. I decide to rightly discipline myself, head home and finish all the projects that I had told myself I would do when I moved in over a month ago.
Checklist:
1) Hang curtains
2) Living room extension cords for lamps
3) Clean dresser and dispose of dead flowers
4) Collect clothing for consignment.
A never ending checklist I must keep in mind. Every time I manage to knock off one thing another three creep upon me. Perhaps I should actually treat this apartment like home, as I never have for any of my previous apartments. I park around the corner as I still do not have a sticker to park on the street I live on, and head inside for the night, which I’m almost sure will end up wasted. My key sticks in the door, but with a little shoulder grease I bash it open and proceed directly to my bedroom. A quick check in the mirror to make sure I’m not dead, dry off the hands and I stand at the center of my room, glaring at the curtains, possibly trying to will them to just simply hang themselves. The truth is it will only take 5 minutes, but it’s 5 minutes that I would much rather be doing something totally unrelated and not nearly as productive. And I begin to ponder, why curtains? Why anything? A topic that I’m sure I will have to sleepily jot about in my spiral bound journal later on in the night with a glass of red wine in one hand and bleeding ink in the other. The stereotypical writer; a drunk. I begin contemplating pouring a glass for myself at this precise moment, but think better of it as I’m trying to save that Renaissance for perhaps a special visit later this week. A special visit that I desperately wish I would stop looking forward to and rehearsing in my head as if I would be tested later. A special visit that is truthfully, not special at all. I propose to throw what seems like a mere handful of laundry from the tower building in the corner into the washing machine and snatch up a chair from the kitchen in order to properly wrestle with the curtains.
With the curtains hung, the washing machine spinning and flowers still rotting away as graciously as ever, I decide on hot dogs for dinner. I gently make slits along the dogs, listening and watching intently as they snap and pop in the fry pan. How did I get here? Why curtains, who cares? Is Boston really my home? Do I really love that dirty water? I feel like a traitor just thinking it in my own head. My disconnection with reality sometimes feels so great that I feel like my own overcooked hot dog. Burnt around the edges, just enough that my friends want to ask me what’s wrong, but still soft and juicy in the middle, laughing at the politically incorrect jokes and the consequentially misshapen faces, drinking at the bar and engaging in paper thin conversations and concerning myself with the placement of my bra strap. I’m thinking too much about it. This is too intense of a thought process for a simple Tuesday night. Slowly turning the burner to off, I roll the hot dogs over for one more quick sizzle. I empty the contents of the pan onto my brightly colored dinner plates, which I hoped would bring some life to this kitchen, but only make me sad each time I remember that I spent $8 per plate. I numb myself by the light of the History channel, my mind spinning until finally I shut it off and turn myself in for the night.
One glass of wine, which I am making up for because I didn’t drink with dinner. Another to warm my sullen bones. Perhaps a third just because I love the way it makes my letters look on the $.99 pages. I wish I could cry tonight, but perhaps the sodium in the hot dogs has dried me up. I keep writing. Write here, write now. Writing the wrongs, the cigarette burns, the humiliations and catastrophes in a mere 24 hours. Write. My pen bleeds and smudges, streaking my palms and finger tips like black blood. Or perhaps it is my blood and I just have no color left in me. I contemplate rising for another glass but my movement is muddied and thick. Twenty pound toes, and fingers with such fortitude. I continue on writing, not so sure what is with the fascination to fling myself so violently against this page, but I am here and I am not leaving. I linger for moment on the deep brown eyes of the kind face sitting opposite from me in last nights Al-Anon meeting. I didn’t catch his name, but perhaps it could be Dave, or Ben, or Mike. The options are endless, but what’s in a name truly. I ponder how perfectly the tiny tornadoes of toxic air flittered around his thick digits while waiting for the bus. Around mine, they seemed significantly less graceful, almost menacing and malicious in nature. My attention to this single detail irritates me and I try to move on, but somehow I always manage to motion back to some utterly mindless simplicity surrounding the mystery of Dave/Ben/Mike…. Whatever his name is.
My eyes lids begin to droop with a soupy movement. I drink down the last sip of wine, feeling one last wave of warmth move over my thick body. Click off the light, and rest my bones.
The morning is always a difficult time. My fingers meet the snooze button time and time again over a period of about an hour, until the time catches up with me and I have no time. A quick brush of the hair and teeth, two slices into the toaster, jeans, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt to cover the tattoos and flip flops. Fill the tote with all the necessary items for the day, am I working tonight? Thankfully, no. Two jobs and a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. I pretend to hate it. I make sure I have everything and shut my bedroom door, my knee aches with the memory of my rude midnight awakening and I spend most of my morning commute to work scrunching my eyebrows at negligent Boston drivers and trying to remember that dream, or even if I had one at all. I pull into a parking spot at work, repack all the things that I pulled out of my bag during the drive and slam the door, my sweatshirt catching in the crack. I tug at it violently hoping that it’s just slightly stuck, but instead have to dig deep in my bag to find the keys, unlock the door, pull my sweatshirt out, drop the keys, nail my head on the door, shut it with a furrowed brow and head to my desk.
The day ends in a flurry. I’ve thrown back two or three coffees, I’m not really sure, and I’m on my 2nd liter of water. I wave goodbye to my co-workers, clock out and head to my car, removing my sweatshirt, now that the sun has graced the day with its presence. I slather a generous helping of SPF 30 onto my left arm to properly protect my tattoos from the beautiful rays of the sun, pull to the end of the drive way, slide on enormously oversized sunglasses, and light a menthol cigarette. My ride home is equally as enjoyable as the ride in, clear on the highway for the most part. I gracefully tuck the tail end of my burning cigarette between my thumb and middle finger and flick it forcefully out the window, watching it violently land on the pavement in my side view mirror. I contemplate dinner plans and think if there are any errands I need to run before landing at home. I decide to rightly discipline myself, head home and finish all the projects that I had told myself I would do when I moved in over a month ago.
Checklist:
1) Hang curtains
2) Living room extension cords for lamps
3) Clean dresser and dispose of dead flowers
4) Collect clothing for consignment.
A never ending checklist I must keep in mind. Every time I manage to knock off one thing another three creep upon me. Perhaps I should actually treat this apartment like home, as I never have for any of my previous apartments. I park around the corner as I still do not have a sticker to park on the street I live on, and head inside for the night, which I’m almost sure will end up wasted. My key sticks in the door, but with a little shoulder grease I bash it open and proceed directly to my bedroom. A quick check in the mirror to make sure I’m not dead, dry off the hands and I stand at the center of my room, glaring at the curtains, possibly trying to will them to just simply hang themselves. The truth is it will only take 5 minutes, but it’s 5 minutes that I would much rather be doing something totally unrelated and not nearly as productive. And I begin to ponder, why curtains? Why anything? A topic that I’m sure I will have to sleepily jot about in my spiral bound journal later on in the night with a glass of red wine in one hand and bleeding ink in the other. The stereotypical writer; a drunk. I begin contemplating pouring a glass for myself at this precise moment, but think better of it as I’m trying to save that Renaissance for perhaps a special visit later this week. A special visit that I desperately wish I would stop looking forward to and rehearsing in my head as if I would be tested later. A special visit that is truthfully, not special at all. I propose to throw what seems like a mere handful of laundry from the tower building in the corner into the washing machine and snatch up a chair from the kitchen in order to properly wrestle with the curtains.
With the curtains hung, the washing machine spinning and flowers still rotting away as graciously as ever, I decide on hot dogs for dinner. I gently make slits along the dogs, listening and watching intently as they snap and pop in the fry pan. How did I get here? Why curtains, who cares? Is Boston really my home? Do I really love that dirty water? I feel like a traitor just thinking it in my own head. My disconnection with reality sometimes feels so great that I feel like my own overcooked hot dog. Burnt around the edges, just enough that my friends want to ask me what’s wrong, but still soft and juicy in the middle, laughing at the politically incorrect jokes and the consequentially misshapen faces, drinking at the bar and engaging in paper thin conversations and concerning myself with the placement of my bra strap. I’m thinking too much about it. This is too intense of a thought process for a simple Tuesday night. Slowly turning the burner to off, I roll the hot dogs over for one more quick sizzle. I empty the contents of the pan onto my brightly colored dinner plates, which I hoped would bring some life to this kitchen, but only make me sad each time I remember that I spent $8 per plate. I numb myself by the light of the History channel, my mind spinning until finally I shut it off and turn myself in for the night.
One glass of wine, which I am making up for because I didn’t drink with dinner. Another to warm my sullen bones. Perhaps a third just because I love the way it makes my letters look on the $.99 pages. I wish I could cry tonight, but perhaps the sodium in the hot dogs has dried me up. I keep writing. Write here, write now. Writing the wrongs, the cigarette burns, the humiliations and catastrophes in a mere 24 hours. Write. My pen bleeds and smudges, streaking my palms and finger tips like black blood. Or perhaps it is my blood and I just have no color left in me. I contemplate rising for another glass but my movement is muddied and thick. Twenty pound toes, and fingers with such fortitude. I continue on writing, not so sure what is with the fascination to fling myself so violently against this page, but I am here and I am not leaving. I linger for moment on the deep brown eyes of the kind face sitting opposite from me in last nights Al-Anon meeting. I didn’t catch his name, but perhaps it could be Dave, or Ben, or Mike. The options are endless, but what’s in a name truly. I ponder how perfectly the tiny tornadoes of toxic air flittered around his thick digits while waiting for the bus. Around mine, they seemed significantly less graceful, almost menacing and malicious in nature. My attention to this single detail irritates me and I try to move on, but somehow I always manage to motion back to some utterly mindless simplicity surrounding the mystery of Dave/Ben/Mike…. Whatever his name is.
My eyes lids begin to droop with a soupy movement. I drink down the last sip of wine, feeling one last wave of warmth move over my thick body. Click off the light, and rest my bones.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Family
This weekend while at my best friends house, her husband was watching a show called "Gamer Generation". Now I don't know what channel it's on, or what time it normally plays, as they embrace the wonderful world of DVR, but I can tell you this: it was cool from several different aspects.
The basis of the show that I somewhat caught from joining half way through was that it was based in the middle east and it was focusing on First Person Shooter games that are marketed in America. The show focused on how they feel that Arabs are ususally depicted as the enemy in these games and also how researchers felt that the severely aggresive nature of the games was affecting the aggresive nature of the player. One researchers believed that there was no affect, but after conducting tests, found that there was a significant affect on the brain while someone is playing a First Person Shooter, and the aggresive tendencies can become much more intense. The other factor to incorporate is how young adults perceive theses games. Do they understand that is satirical and mocking fun? Or have they immersed themselves in the alternate reality. The matter reaches all over the world, and through all races and ages. How do video games really affect our social behavior?
Well I'm sure it's an enormous topic, one that truthfully I can't speak to all that well, nor have the time and space in this blog to deeply and thoroughly investigate into. I have never been a video game player. I have dated many video game enthusiasts, but now, at my ripe old age of 24 I feel like guys that have immersed their lives in a video game (take World of Warcraft for example) just need to get a life. It cliche, but it works. I dabbled in Sonic the Hedgehog back in the day, and the closest I got to any real destruction came from the classic Wolfenstein. But given I'm a female, and I think it's pretty obvious that most female are not usually drawn to the death and destruction that a First Person Shooter game brings. We'd prefer the cutsie Little Big World, or a personal favorite, Rachet and Clank. It's clear in research all over the country that First Person Shooter games can lead to a desensitized, anti-social and more aggressive nature. http://www.independent.com/news/2009/may/17/your-brain-video-games/
It's interesting from a cultural and musical perspective because you want to look at the kids. What happens in their minds to feel like these actions are okay? I understand for many there is the fore-thought that the game is fake, but for some younger players, they can not understand the difference. There is is most certainly a power handed over to the player that they do not get in the real world, that draws them into these positions. The ability to control ones fate is an intoxicating and addicting feeling I can only assume. A similiar situation has basically surrounded the careers of serious metal musicians, ie. Marilyn Manson or Rob Zombie. Marilyn Manson more so because of his unique attire I propose. I remember many years ago the kid that were arrested for a shooting, claiming that the lyrics of a Marilyn Manson song told them to do it and I watched in the den of my parents house, shaking my head quietly. I think the kid was about the same age as me at the time.
I think that just the idea that we are positively drawn to the idea of having control of another life becomes the basis of the argument. Do we feel like because we can not control our own fates, the idea of controling someone else's is that much more seductive? Our own lives are not something that we find interesting, so thus we cling to gossip and propaganda surrounding celebrities, from their frosted tips down to the designer toe rings. It seems as thought for a lot of us, our own lives are just not sufficient. We're not living our lives to the fullest, we feel we're missing something, an opportunity or the chance of a lifetime. We feel like we're living vicariously through these stars in the magazines, trying to act and look like them as best we can to ensure we are the image of perfection. So does this same image transcend through music? Absolutely. Through video games? it would just about seem so. The concept seems to be about the same, except that the image is something twisted, angry and violent. They are trying to create for themselves a persona in which they can control their fate and the fate of others. A persona where they are powerful, invincible and free in every sense of the word. This persona can become completely mind altering to someone who carries an anti-social personality and does not feel connected, personally and emotionally, to a community in the real world. They find a home with the others with these same tendencies and the online community grows until such things as marriages happen. It seems like a total unplugging from the real world. A true Matrix.
Have we all kind of become like this, perhaps to much less of an extreme? With our blackberries and iPhones? I mean, I know that I've written about this already, but it always seems to become interconnected as you pull from all the different aspects of society. No matter if it be the video games or the palms to television. We have consumed ourselves with the idea of becoming someone else. I mean, something as simple as coloring your hair. I'm guilty, I'm a natural blonde and I colored my hair red about 6 years ago and about 4 years ago went black. I have no idea what I would even look like as a blonde. oh well, people say it suits me, perhaps it's the tattoos.
Now, letting go of all these fantasies and and whimsical notions is like admitting to alcoholism or drug addiction. It is something that we feel is okay for ourselves, until someone throws it in our face and we begin to question our nature at some point or another. Some realize something is wrong, most others simply write it off. I recall my moment, and everyday I try and remind myself about what it is that makes me who I am and more specifically, like no one else. I do not need video games, or celebrity gossip to feel apart of something, I am a human being, a part of the human race. If that community isn't small enough for you, I'm not sure what is. We have to share the earth with so many others, and even though not one of us shares the same fingerprint or laugh and smile, we're all pretty much family.
So don't hurt each other.
The basis of the show that I somewhat caught from joining half way through was that it was based in the middle east and it was focusing on First Person Shooter games that are marketed in America. The show focused on how they feel that Arabs are ususally depicted as the enemy in these games and also how researchers felt that the severely aggresive nature of the games was affecting the aggresive nature of the player. One researchers believed that there was no affect, but after conducting tests, found that there was a significant affect on the brain while someone is playing a First Person Shooter, and the aggresive tendencies can become much more intense. The other factor to incorporate is how young adults perceive theses games. Do they understand that is satirical and mocking fun? Or have they immersed themselves in the alternate reality. The matter reaches all over the world, and through all races and ages. How do video games really affect our social behavior?
Well I'm sure it's an enormous topic, one that truthfully I can't speak to all that well, nor have the time and space in this blog to deeply and thoroughly investigate into. I have never been a video game player. I have dated many video game enthusiasts, but now, at my ripe old age of 24 I feel like guys that have immersed their lives in a video game (take World of Warcraft for example) just need to get a life. It cliche, but it works. I dabbled in Sonic the Hedgehog back in the day, and the closest I got to any real destruction came from the classic Wolfenstein. But given I'm a female, and I think it's pretty obvious that most female are not usually drawn to the death and destruction that a First Person Shooter game brings. We'd prefer the cutsie Little Big World, or a personal favorite, Rachet and Clank. It's clear in research all over the country that First Person Shooter games can lead to a desensitized, anti-social and more aggressive nature. http://www.independent.com/news/2009/may/17/your-brain-video-games/
It's interesting from a cultural and musical perspective because you want to look at the kids. What happens in their minds to feel like these actions are okay? I understand for many there is the fore-thought that the game is fake, but for some younger players, they can not understand the difference. There is is most certainly a power handed over to the player that they do not get in the real world, that draws them into these positions. The ability to control ones fate is an intoxicating and addicting feeling I can only assume. A similiar situation has basically surrounded the careers of serious metal musicians, ie. Marilyn Manson or Rob Zombie. Marilyn Manson more so because of his unique attire I propose. I remember many years ago the kid that were arrested for a shooting, claiming that the lyrics of a Marilyn Manson song told them to do it and I watched in the den of my parents house, shaking my head quietly. I think the kid was about the same age as me at the time.
I think that just the idea that we are positively drawn to the idea of having control of another life becomes the basis of the argument. Do we feel like because we can not control our own fates, the idea of controling someone else's is that much more seductive? Our own lives are not something that we find interesting, so thus we cling to gossip and propaganda surrounding celebrities, from their frosted tips down to the designer toe rings. It seems as thought for a lot of us, our own lives are just not sufficient. We're not living our lives to the fullest, we feel we're missing something, an opportunity or the chance of a lifetime. We feel like we're living vicariously through these stars in the magazines, trying to act and look like them as best we can to ensure we are the image of perfection. So does this same image transcend through music? Absolutely. Through video games? it would just about seem so. The concept seems to be about the same, except that the image is something twisted, angry and violent. They are trying to create for themselves a persona in which they can control their fate and the fate of others. A persona where they are powerful, invincible and free in every sense of the word. This persona can become completely mind altering to someone who carries an anti-social personality and does not feel connected, personally and emotionally, to a community in the real world. They find a home with the others with these same tendencies and the online community grows until such things as marriages happen. It seems like a total unplugging from the real world. A true Matrix.
Have we all kind of become like this, perhaps to much less of an extreme? With our blackberries and iPhones? I mean, I know that I've written about this already, but it always seems to become interconnected as you pull from all the different aspects of society. No matter if it be the video games or the palms to television. We have consumed ourselves with the idea of becoming someone else. I mean, something as simple as coloring your hair. I'm guilty, I'm a natural blonde and I colored my hair red about 6 years ago and about 4 years ago went black. I have no idea what I would even look like as a blonde. oh well, people say it suits me, perhaps it's the tattoos.
Now, letting go of all these fantasies and and whimsical notions is like admitting to alcoholism or drug addiction. It is something that we feel is okay for ourselves, until someone throws it in our face and we begin to question our nature at some point or another. Some realize something is wrong, most others simply write it off. I recall my moment, and everyday I try and remind myself about what it is that makes me who I am and more specifically, like no one else. I do not need video games, or celebrity gossip to feel apart of something, I am a human being, a part of the human race. If that community isn't small enough for you, I'm not sure what is. We have to share the earth with so many others, and even though not one of us shares the same fingerprint or laugh and smile, we're all pretty much family.
So don't hurt each other.
Friday, July 10, 2009
The Skin.
I feel like writing today and not having any point in mind. Considering that I really only have one follower, and I highly doubt there is much of anyone else out there that happens to stumble upon the tragically incoherent rambling mess I claim to be this blog. When I started up the blog I, for the most part, had an idea in mind. That's usually how projects start; an idea, a concept, a plan. There are so many ways to plan and create and develop and execute ideas. And everyday, everywhere there are people doing just that. I began a blog the first time when I was a senior in college because I was working on a business plan for my Entreprenuership class. My business was to be a free music business publication that would deliver music industry news, instead of the typical hot spots and best places to catch the local bands. I started the idea because as a broke college student I was frustrated that everytime I wanted to read up on some industry news it always came up through a paid site, or if it was on a free site it was already old news. My entreprenuership teacher asked, as he asked of everyone in the class, "what makes it different?" and 9 times out of 10 I really didn't have an answer, except that I felt the publication would be a resource for news and not album reviews.
Creating a publication for music industry news was just one of my many aspirations as a confused and overwhelmed college student. I wanted to go to law school, I wanted to do lots of different things. I will admit that never once did I wake up and say I want to work for a record label and of all places, that is where I found myself. I have no complaints, and I am thankful everyday. The industry has not only taught me a lot about business and people, but also about myself and the things that are important to me.
Something that is probably more of a negative aspect than you would think is that I tend to pinball between not really having any desire to impress people. The trouble with this is, it would really well in your personal life, but not so well in the professional world. And if you're anything like me, how I carry myself in one life affects how I carry myself in the other. I can't seem to make myself a night / day person. I also notice as I get more confident in my position that I also feel more comfortable outside it, which I think affects the way people associate with me.
Another aspect of myself that affects the way people associate with me, and I've been noticing more and more lately, has been my person.... how shall I put this .... appearance (I guess). To myself, I feel like I look like any other person on the street. I do not go out of my way to create my own "look", I just get dressed and cross my fingers that I remembered to put deoderant on. But the other day I was at Building 19 purchasing some sheets and a bedskirt and I noticed the cashier blantantly staring at the tattoos on my arm. I was a step away from pulling out the cliche "take a picture it'll last longer". I went to get a hair cut, and the stylist seemed comfortable enough with me to talk about ditching her job and going to work on a cruise ship for a while, oh okay that gives me great confidence in how you feel about your job. there are guests that walk into the store I work at part time and will literally stop mid-sentence just to grab hold of my arm and ask a million life questions about what would possess me to cover myself in tattoos, and then they proceed to reveal something about themselves that I would never truthfully care to know. Today when I went to Panera to get lunch I noticed a table with two elderly women who each took a turn while I was in their line of sight to scan my left arm up and down. Why? what's the big deal? what's the difference between my tattoos and wearing a long sleeve shirt with a decorative pattern on the sleeve? oh, that's right, it's permanent and painful and expensive - thus, it must be bad. because my skin is holy and golden like everyone elses so I must cherish it so?
So basically it was those two little old women, harmlessly gumming their egg salad sandwiches on the first sunny day we've had in weeks, that prompted me to come back to my desk and quickly whip up a little ditty while also enjoying a tasty fresh sandwich myself.
I had done a research paper a while back discussing tattoos in culture and how the practice has gone from idealistic to hedonistic. In a few conversations I've had over the past few days some different points have been made, one from someone whom in the past has never said anything positive about tattoos.
While talking with my Assistant manager at my part time job, I mentioned about the hair dress and how uninhibited she seemed about disclosing her desires for other employment and my assistant said "you just seem to have that personality where people tell you things that you wouldn't ever really want to know" and I responded "perhaps they see my tattoos and it immediately conotates an informality and thus, they feel comfortable being informal with me". which is some cases is fine, in other (such as the hair dresser) a bit unprofessional. Another point I thought of the other day when talking to a friend was kind of like a metaphor. We know that there are people out there with identity issues. They feel that the way they look or something about them does not feel appropriate for how they personally feel about themselves. well, I feel right with these tattoos on my arm. I feel like without them, I didn't look right or something. Seems a little weird at first, but the more I thought about it, it made sense to me. No matter how much I tried to wait until I was financially ready to have the tattoos I just couldn't. I wanted them, money or no money. And the pain, well that just happens to be a negative by product but worth it for something that means a lot to me.
Now coming a little bit full circle to saying that these tattoos mean a lot to me brings me to my sister. She has never like tattoos. Every time I told her I was getting more she would give me the whole hour lecture on how it would ruin every opportunity for me and that I would grow up and hate them and wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Now a little while ago she made a comment, and to anyone else it would seem normal, but for my tattoo fearing sister it threw back a little and she may not realize it, but it meant a lot to me. It was shortly after my 2nd sitting and she'd seen it at a family gathering and I kind of gave her an idea of how the rest of the tattoo was potentially going to be finished. The next day we're chatting on Instant Messenger as we usually do in between being responsible and she asked me a few questions about the tattoo and said "I'm actually really excited to see how the whole thing turns out". A simple comment mind you, but for someone who has blantantly discouraged tattoos in almost every step and to say it to someone who was doing this to represent our family including her. well... it meant a lot to me anyway.
Now for those (Lori) of you that haven't seen any of the work done yet, I am more than half through to a full sleeve on my left arm. I had an older tattoo on the forearm that was done to represent my sisters and the path that we've traveled together, but there was more that I wanted to express. I wanted to show everyone a little plastic picture book of my family and tell a story at the same time, so I have several images that I took and put together to represent my family, by way of something that will always remind me of them. An example would be a cardinal for my mother as she LOVES cardinals. A jukebox for my tattoo fearing sister as she will always have an absolutely endless love for music in every form and genre. so on and so forth.
The point of my first part of the story is that I have come to a conclusion that I want to teach. I want to go back to graduate school for American Studies and look at the Music Industry from a purely cultural perspective and be able to share this different approach with young sponges such as myself in college. I have one moment of doubt almost everyday about my tattoos and wanting to be a teacher and I take a long look at myself and hope that by the time I am out there and teaching tattoos will come with a grain of salt. I don't know if they every truly will. I have imagined my first day in front of the class. Do I wear long sleeves? or do I let them all discuss my tattoos as well as their own for a whole class period so that we can all the distraction out of the way. I think it would be cool to be able to share those things in a classroom setting so that there is a mutual understanding that we are adults and all deserve respect whether it was something we did on spring break, or in memorial to a lost loved one. it's skin, just like the walls in your home, you should be able to decorate as you please.
And I wonder when elderly women with egg salad clogging their sinuses take long scornful looks at my "ink" what they think. Am I irresponsible? irrational? foolish perhaps? do they immediately think that I will grow up having regret? who knows. Maybe they actually really like it and that's why their staring. I'm mad that they're judging me so I judge right back, makes sense...
Anyway, there is no moral of this story or any point to be made here today. It's the close of the day and I just felt that I needed to stand up for myself somewhere in this crazy world wide web. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend.
Creating a publication for music industry news was just one of my many aspirations as a confused and overwhelmed college student. I wanted to go to law school, I wanted to do lots of different things. I will admit that never once did I wake up and say I want to work for a record label and of all places, that is where I found myself. I have no complaints, and I am thankful everyday. The industry has not only taught me a lot about business and people, but also about myself and the things that are important to me.
Something that is probably more of a negative aspect than you would think is that I tend to pinball between not really having any desire to impress people. The trouble with this is, it would really well in your personal life, but not so well in the professional world. And if you're anything like me, how I carry myself in one life affects how I carry myself in the other. I can't seem to make myself a night / day person. I also notice as I get more confident in my position that I also feel more comfortable outside it, which I think affects the way people associate with me.
Another aspect of myself that affects the way people associate with me, and I've been noticing more and more lately, has been my person.... how shall I put this .... appearance (I guess). To myself, I feel like I look like any other person on the street. I do not go out of my way to create my own "look", I just get dressed and cross my fingers that I remembered to put deoderant on. But the other day I was at Building 19 purchasing some sheets and a bedskirt and I noticed the cashier blantantly staring at the tattoos on my arm. I was a step away from pulling out the cliche "take a picture it'll last longer". I went to get a hair cut, and the stylist seemed comfortable enough with me to talk about ditching her job and going to work on a cruise ship for a while, oh okay that gives me great confidence in how you feel about your job. there are guests that walk into the store I work at part time and will literally stop mid-sentence just to grab hold of my arm and ask a million life questions about what would possess me to cover myself in tattoos, and then they proceed to reveal something about themselves that I would never truthfully care to know. Today when I went to Panera to get lunch I noticed a table with two elderly women who each took a turn while I was in their line of sight to scan my left arm up and down. Why? what's the big deal? what's the difference between my tattoos and wearing a long sleeve shirt with a decorative pattern on the sleeve? oh, that's right, it's permanent and painful and expensive - thus, it must be bad. because my skin is holy and golden like everyone elses so I must cherish it so?
So basically it was those two little old women, harmlessly gumming their egg salad sandwiches on the first sunny day we've had in weeks, that prompted me to come back to my desk and quickly whip up a little ditty while also enjoying a tasty fresh sandwich myself.
I had done a research paper a while back discussing tattoos in culture and how the practice has gone from idealistic to hedonistic. In a few conversations I've had over the past few days some different points have been made, one from someone whom in the past has never said anything positive about tattoos.
While talking with my Assistant manager at my part time job, I mentioned about the hair dress and how uninhibited she seemed about disclosing her desires for other employment and my assistant said "you just seem to have that personality where people tell you things that you wouldn't ever really want to know" and I responded "perhaps they see my tattoos and it immediately conotates an informality and thus, they feel comfortable being informal with me". which is some cases is fine, in other (such as the hair dresser) a bit unprofessional. Another point I thought of the other day when talking to a friend was kind of like a metaphor. We know that there are people out there with identity issues. They feel that the way they look or something about them does not feel appropriate for how they personally feel about themselves. well, I feel right with these tattoos on my arm. I feel like without them, I didn't look right or something. Seems a little weird at first, but the more I thought about it, it made sense to me. No matter how much I tried to wait until I was financially ready to have the tattoos I just couldn't. I wanted them, money or no money. And the pain, well that just happens to be a negative by product but worth it for something that means a lot to me.
Now coming a little bit full circle to saying that these tattoos mean a lot to me brings me to my sister. She has never like tattoos. Every time I told her I was getting more she would give me the whole hour lecture on how it would ruin every opportunity for me and that I would grow up and hate them and wouldn't be able to do anything about it. Now a little while ago she made a comment, and to anyone else it would seem normal, but for my tattoo fearing sister it threw back a little and she may not realize it, but it meant a lot to me. It was shortly after my 2nd sitting and she'd seen it at a family gathering and I kind of gave her an idea of how the rest of the tattoo was potentially going to be finished. The next day we're chatting on Instant Messenger as we usually do in between being responsible and she asked me a few questions about the tattoo and said "I'm actually really excited to see how the whole thing turns out". A simple comment mind you, but for someone who has blantantly discouraged tattoos in almost every step and to say it to someone who was doing this to represent our family including her. well... it meant a lot to me anyway.
Now for those (Lori) of you that haven't seen any of the work done yet, I am more than half through to a full sleeve on my left arm. I had an older tattoo on the forearm that was done to represent my sisters and the path that we've traveled together, but there was more that I wanted to express. I wanted to show everyone a little plastic picture book of my family and tell a story at the same time, so I have several images that I took and put together to represent my family, by way of something that will always remind me of them. An example would be a cardinal for my mother as she LOVES cardinals. A jukebox for my tattoo fearing sister as she will always have an absolutely endless love for music in every form and genre. so on and so forth.
The point of my first part of the story is that I have come to a conclusion that I want to teach. I want to go back to graduate school for American Studies and look at the Music Industry from a purely cultural perspective and be able to share this different approach with young sponges such as myself in college. I have one moment of doubt almost everyday about my tattoos and wanting to be a teacher and I take a long look at myself and hope that by the time I am out there and teaching tattoos will come with a grain of salt. I don't know if they every truly will. I have imagined my first day in front of the class. Do I wear long sleeves? or do I let them all discuss my tattoos as well as their own for a whole class period so that we can all the distraction out of the way. I think it would be cool to be able to share those things in a classroom setting so that there is a mutual understanding that we are adults and all deserve respect whether it was something we did on spring break, or in memorial to a lost loved one. it's skin, just like the walls in your home, you should be able to decorate as you please.
And I wonder when elderly women with egg salad clogging their sinuses take long scornful looks at my "ink" what they think. Am I irresponsible? irrational? foolish perhaps? do they immediately think that I will grow up having regret? who knows. Maybe they actually really like it and that's why their staring. I'm mad that they're judging me so I judge right back, makes sense...
Anyway, there is no moral of this story or any point to be made here today. It's the close of the day and I just felt that I needed to stand up for myself somewhere in this crazy world wide web. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Pandora makes a buck
http://www.wired.com/epicenter/2009/05/pandora-predicts-first-ever-profit-next-year/
As you can tell, I'm a fan of anecdotes. I like sharing with my 1 follower (thanks Lori) some little memories of my childhood so that you can how this subject matter has affected me and how, today, I can look upon it's growth as a business in relation to the growth of our culture and with myself as a part of that culture. So here's a bit about internet radio.
Pandora.com: We know it. We love it. It helps gets us through the work day and on to new music that we may or may not have dicovered otherwise. Some great artists that I have found using this application include, but are not limited to: Jenny Owens, Amie Miriello, Laura Marling, Gabe Dixon, Barcelona, Dragonette, Priscilla Ahn, and much more. When I first discovered Pandora, it was from a friend many moons ago. I would log in and listen at my parents house while working on homework or randomly searching the net for something, ANYTHING, worth-while. These were the days before Myspace and Facebook had taken over our precious internet minutes. My first internet radio station that I created was that of Alison Krauss, which is ironic considering my current employment, but I began to notice that there really isn't a lot of stuff out there that is quite like her. So I moved on to some other favorites: Susan Tedeschi, Billy Holiday, Better Than Ezra, Erykah Badu. The options seemed positively endless. Now this is just my first experience, I'm sure others have had equally mind-blowing visits to what became the first and most influential online radio site. As years have gone by, Pandora has been followed by others, a couple of examples being Last.FM and Slacker Radio. TasteKid is also and outlet, but it doesn't play the music, it just tells you who you should check out, thus causing a major loss in points.
Now I know that I'm not the most intelligent music business professional to walk the halls, but I do know that companies need money in order to survive. Pretty straight forward business model. Now, how to get that money is where the challenges have become more and more everyday... it seems. So when I first became a true Pandora advocate, I looked at the site and said "where's the money?" "Show me the money!" right?! as Cuba shouted violently in his studio kitchen into an obsolete cordless phone. I attributed it to advertising, where at the time I really started questioning this site I was also in gritting my teeth through an entrepreneurship class with one of the most eccentric musicians/professors this side of the Mississippi, and just about everything seemed to come back to advertising. It looked to be for a time there, the beginning and the end for most business ventures. But, in taking another look at Pandora, there really isn't a lot of advertising. Maybe one ad that changes as the page refreshes. The design has stayed consistent through the years, simple and straight forward through the years. Granted, as technology has changed, they've kept up, adding mobile applications, videos and even a link to festivals. But it is the iPhone application, among other things, that will give Pandora their first profit ever since their birth almost a decade ago.
Something seemingly unrelated that I saw on the glorious television screen just yesterday was a live performance of the All American Rejects at one of those crazy MTV Spring Break thing-a-ma-jigs. I was watching MTV2 and I couldn't believe the massive crowd of half naked twenty - somethings just swaying and jerking about completely without rhythm. And I thought about the bands that I'm huge fans of, and how they most certainly do not have crowds like that at their performances. Perhaps that's one of the reasons that I like them so much. So what did the All American Rejects do differently then someone like Sam Roberts Band or Gabe Dixon. Is it the lewd behaviour? or the crazy pirate outfits? I'm not sure. Maybe it's just targeting a totally different audience. So I wonder when I look at this crowd is... how many of these people have actually seen the album artwork, or did their girlfriend burn them a copy and tuck in a cutsie unmarked cd sleeve. Or they illegally downloaded it and lost on the hi-res album artwork.
so let's link this to Pandora and how they're about to make their first dollar. They're doing it.
I'm serious. That's the whole point. The labels are drowning in their own tears, so disgusted with teenagers across the country that they can't even bring themselves to work to find some avenue of expoitation. They've basically thrown up their hands it feels like. But not Pandora. They look at that swaying field of tanned greasy bodies and see leafy green dollar bills (perhaps). They were surviving better than the labels were before they even started making any profit at all. Now granted, two different business, two different business models. But they're still entertainment suppliers and they're still business all the same. The money needs to come in as well as go out. But then again, what kind of overhead does Pandora really have to pay, besides maybe some liscensing fees and the cost of running the server, and maybe an IT to maintain the site. They looked at the twenty somethings and said "let's work together" and thus from running a profit-free site they've blossomed into an iPhone application. The application is available for a measley $36 a year, but for a company that has not taken in $1 of profit in the past, that can add up to be quite the sum. It's the prefect answer to a daunting question. What do we do now? we work together. We seize opportunity and we gain success. At least we hope. Now the labels are in a completely different position. How does one create a WEA app. you don't. And any other idea that I've thought of in the last 2 minutes have an answer. An app to follow your favorite musicians? - Twitter. An App to listen to their music for free? - Myspace. An App to look at their photos and comment? - Facebook. It's all there, so where is the opportunity to begin with, better yet being able to seize it. There are other avenues that have been previously discussed. The joint advertising ventures, the merchandising ventures, so on and so forth. But it seems like none of these previously mentioned ideas or feasible, or fair. Or is it just that the labels are too scared. There is something out there and if I didn't have to get going to my second job instead of sitting here at the first one thinging about cool and awesome new ways that a label could make money but won't, I would think of it. But for now, I'll leave it open for tomorrow.
As you can tell, I'm a fan of anecdotes. I like sharing with my 1 follower (thanks Lori) some little memories of my childhood so that you can how this subject matter has affected me and how, today, I can look upon it's growth as a business in relation to the growth of our culture and with myself as a part of that culture. So here's a bit about internet radio.
Pandora.com: We know it. We love it. It helps gets us through the work day and on to new music that we may or may not have dicovered otherwise. Some great artists that I have found using this application include, but are not limited to: Jenny Owens, Amie Miriello, Laura Marling, Gabe Dixon, Barcelona, Dragonette, Priscilla Ahn, and much more. When I first discovered Pandora, it was from a friend many moons ago. I would log in and listen at my parents house while working on homework or randomly searching the net for something, ANYTHING, worth-while. These were the days before Myspace and Facebook had taken over our precious internet minutes. My first internet radio station that I created was that of Alison Krauss, which is ironic considering my current employment, but I began to notice that there really isn't a lot of stuff out there that is quite like her. So I moved on to some other favorites: Susan Tedeschi, Billy Holiday, Better Than Ezra, Erykah Badu. The options seemed positively endless. Now this is just my first experience, I'm sure others have had equally mind-blowing visits to what became the first and most influential online radio site. As years have gone by, Pandora has been followed by others, a couple of examples being Last.FM and Slacker Radio. TasteKid is also and outlet, but it doesn't play the music, it just tells you who you should check out, thus causing a major loss in points.
Now I know that I'm not the most intelligent music business professional to walk the halls, but I do know that companies need money in order to survive. Pretty straight forward business model. Now, how to get that money is where the challenges have become more and more everyday... it seems. So when I first became a true Pandora advocate, I looked at the site and said "where's the money?" "Show me the money!" right?! as Cuba shouted violently in his studio kitchen into an obsolete cordless phone. I attributed it to advertising, where at the time I really started questioning this site I was also in gritting my teeth through an entrepreneurship class with one of the most eccentric musicians/professors this side of the Mississippi, and just about everything seemed to come back to advertising. It looked to be for a time there, the beginning and the end for most business ventures. But, in taking another look at Pandora, there really isn't a lot of advertising. Maybe one ad that changes as the page refreshes. The design has stayed consistent through the years, simple and straight forward through the years. Granted, as technology has changed, they've kept up, adding mobile applications, videos and even a link to festivals. But it is the iPhone application, among other things, that will give Pandora their first profit ever since their birth almost a decade ago.
Something seemingly unrelated that I saw on the glorious television screen just yesterday was a live performance of the All American Rejects at one of those crazy MTV Spring Break thing-a-ma-jigs. I was watching MTV2 and I couldn't believe the massive crowd of half naked twenty - somethings just swaying and jerking about completely without rhythm. And I thought about the bands that I'm huge fans of, and how they most certainly do not have crowds like that at their performances. Perhaps that's one of the reasons that I like them so much. So what did the All American Rejects do differently then someone like Sam Roberts Band or Gabe Dixon. Is it the lewd behaviour? or the crazy pirate outfits? I'm not sure. Maybe it's just targeting a totally different audience. So I wonder when I look at this crowd is... how many of these people have actually seen the album artwork, or did their girlfriend burn them a copy and tuck in a cutsie unmarked cd sleeve. Or they illegally downloaded it and lost on the hi-res album artwork.
so let's link this to Pandora and how they're about to make their first dollar. They're doing it.
I'm serious. That's the whole point. The labels are drowning in their own tears, so disgusted with teenagers across the country that they can't even bring themselves to work to find some avenue of expoitation. They've basically thrown up their hands it feels like. But not Pandora. They look at that swaying field of tanned greasy bodies and see leafy green dollar bills (perhaps). They were surviving better than the labels were before they even started making any profit at all. Now granted, two different business, two different business models. But they're still entertainment suppliers and they're still business all the same. The money needs to come in as well as go out. But then again, what kind of overhead does Pandora really have to pay, besides maybe some liscensing fees and the cost of running the server, and maybe an IT to maintain the site. They looked at the twenty somethings and said "let's work together" and thus from running a profit-free site they've blossomed into an iPhone application. The application is available for a measley $36 a year, but for a company that has not taken in $1 of profit in the past, that can add up to be quite the sum. It's the prefect answer to a daunting question. What do we do now? we work together. We seize opportunity and we gain success. At least we hope. Now the labels are in a completely different position. How does one create a WEA app. you don't. And any other idea that I've thought of in the last 2 minutes have an answer. An app to follow your favorite musicians? - Twitter. An App to listen to their music for free? - Myspace. An App to look at their photos and comment? - Facebook. It's all there, so where is the opportunity to begin with, better yet being able to seize it. There are other avenues that have been previously discussed. The joint advertising ventures, the merchandising ventures, so on and so forth. But it seems like none of these previously mentioned ideas or feasible, or fair. Or is it just that the labels are too scared. There is something out there and if I didn't have to get going to my second job instead of sitting here at the first one thinging about cool and awesome new ways that a label could make money but won't, I would think of it. But for now, I'll leave it open for tomorrow.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Twilight
So I would like to discuss an epidemic that has swept the nation, thy name is "Twilight". This has nothing to do with Music, but everything to do with our culture. Back a few months ago when the movie trailers started for the movie, I had no idea what "twilight" was, what it was about, or that it was even a book. But then people started talking about it and I got a little curious. I love reading, and I love wierd fantasy/mythical stuff, so I thought to myself while reading the cliched quote on the back of the book in Newbury Comics "what's the worst that could happen, it's $10 and I'm sure it'll be a quick easy read if it's meant for teens". So I put my money where my mouth is and Twilight entered my life. Before I started reading the book, I understood going in that the story was comprised of love, and vampires - which I'm sure would thus lead to life threatening situations and inner turmoil. So as I started in to the first chapter I thought, well it's not Clive Barker but this could be good.
Within moments I was hooked. I'll admit that even though Stephanie Meyer may not be the most intellectual and worldly writer (not that I really know many), the imagery was wonderfully bright and the characters quickly and easily painted in my minds eye. You instantly feel sympathetic for Bella because she's alone, but jealous because she's this average, ho-hum girl from out of town and almost instanteously everyone is in love with her. If only it were that easy for us actual normal, average ho-hum girls in high school. But to ensure the fantasty continues she gets the hottest guy in school, and not only is he a "bad boy" he's a freakin' mythical creature! Apparently just the bad boy persona doesn't do it for us anymore, we're numb to the tattoos and bad attitudes and have moved on to murderous villians. The cherry on the fantasy sundae? This vampire has a gentle, romantic, loving side and a sense of self-preservation. And he's fallen in love with the plainest girl around.
- how like life -
After reading through the first book I instantly thought "man, guys are going to be pissed when they find out this vampire has made them all look like a bunch of jerks", and inadvertently he has. The image of Edward that is created in the novel can be different for each reader, but one thing will be the same for every girl reading: He is the ultimate fantasy. And we all, in some strange insecure way, feel unworthy of him. But if the plainest girl in school won his heart, then maybe there is hope for the rest of us. right?
I have moved my way through book two and three and am about to begin the final mile of the series. Just last week I got the chance to watch the "film" at a friends house, and (of course) because I loved the book so much I was compelled to run out buy the DVD, not knowing whether or not it was actually worth the $15 I dished out.
Long story short - it wasn't. And yet every night I come home from work, with several other things on my mind, A GRE test to study for, a poem to work on, a shower to take, dinner to make, and whatever else happened in the day; but all I want to do it sit down at my cluttered and crumb-covered kitchen table and watch it again and again on my computer. WHY?! I don't understand it and it's honestly been consuming my thoughts a bit. Am I seriously trying to live vicariously through Bella and find love in a romantic, super-powered vampire? Is this all in an attempt to keep my hopes up that if this average girl can find love with the coolest guy in town, than there has got to be something out there for me? It seems like any other romantic comedy. The trick here is that this isn't your everyday swooner people, this is a vampire. He's proclaimed his love and his life. He's saved her from the darkest of places and said all the right words at all the right moments. He stays with her while she sleeps and doesn't complain when she tells him he's not allowed to speak of leaving her side. Any other dude would be like "screw you, I want to hang out with my boyz". The ultimate relationship/infatuation. And now, he wants to be married, even though they've been together for what... a year?! sure, let's run off to be married so that we can take each others "virtue" and spend eternity together!
I'm honestly nervous for what this teaches teenagers that are reading this book. At least it teaches them to wait for the right person, the one you love, the right moment, and (of course) marriage. But are they now going to be looking for real men to think and act as a character in a movie does? I mean, understood, we all watch the sappy chick flicks and we swoon and wish secretly that our men would treat us this way, but we understand that our man, like us, are just human and this kind of stuff just doesn't take place. But with Twilight? I feel like it's different. It's a different audience with different expectations and a different naive grasp on human interactions/relationships. Now, texting is good enough for a break up, as if we have no respect for one another. I have noticed that this book has bridged together generations of women, from teens through young adults my age, to older middle-aged women. The desire to be loved by someone such as Edward is everywhere.
And the love triangle with Jacob?! oh, that is just the sprinkles and whipped cream. Who doesn't secretly love being the center of a love triangle, nevermind one involving a vampire AND a werewolf! It is the epitamy of what every girl dreams about.
The fantasy that we have, is it because we're an insecure society? Is it because we do truely believe that chilvalry is dead when it's the only thing that we really want? Do we want to feel like the kind of woman that could make such a villian want to change his ways out of love for us and become the good guy? it's a little arrogant, I have to admit, to think that we're great enough women to think that a monster would risk his existence and life for us. That we are that charming and charismatic that a killer would find love in his heart and change his entire life for us. What does this say about how we are taught to view relationships in todays society? It's as if the book seems to teach us that having this relationship and having someone to be with us at every moment of the day is the ultimate goal in life. Edward does say "Bella, you don't know how long I've waited for you", as if his life has meant nothing without her up to this point. What about the sense of self, not needing someone else for comfort and validation. I can understand the yearning for companionship and love, but we must find love in ourselves first before sharing it with others.
I know I have preached about this in the past and I don't really want to be redundant, but I wonder if with this new cultural obssession with Twilight only reaffirms the ideal that we as a culture feel like we can't function without the validation and acceptance of others. What if Bella moved out to Forks and made a life for herself all on her own. I mean sure, she makes friends, she gets a job to pay the bills and she goes to school. But what if she found love in herself and not with Edward, what is the story was a journey of self discovery. Do you think that the story would thus be as popular? maybe with a less accomodating crowd, the indie rockers and poets.
I have to admit, I love the book. I thought the movie could have been better, but regardless the book was awesome! The pages moved faster than I could keep up it seemed. The love story reaches out to even the most bitter and reminds them that there is someone out there for everyone, human or not. The aspect of this book that prompted me to come back to a blog that I haven't updated in over a month was her sheer NEED for Edward. She withered when he left and used another just to occupy her mind and find ways to get back to Edward. If he leaves her alone even for a little while she feels empty without him. To some, this is an unconditional level of love. To me, it's just wierd. Bella, sit down and read a book, maybe catch up on some homework or watch your favorite tv show. Sure it's not always going to be as COOL as hanging with your vampire boyfriend but you each have to lead individual lives as well as the one you share together. It's a lot, I know, but I think you can handle it. Heck, you've gone this far.
Within moments I was hooked. I'll admit that even though Stephanie Meyer may not be the most intellectual and worldly writer (not that I really know many), the imagery was wonderfully bright and the characters quickly and easily painted in my minds eye. You instantly feel sympathetic for Bella because she's alone, but jealous because she's this average, ho-hum girl from out of town and almost instanteously everyone is in love with her. If only it were that easy for us actual normal, average ho-hum girls in high school. But to ensure the fantasty continues she gets the hottest guy in school, and not only is he a "bad boy" he's a freakin' mythical creature! Apparently just the bad boy persona doesn't do it for us anymore, we're numb to the tattoos and bad attitudes and have moved on to murderous villians. The cherry on the fantasy sundae? This vampire has a gentle, romantic, loving side and a sense of self-preservation. And he's fallen in love with the plainest girl around.
- how like life -
After reading through the first book I instantly thought "man, guys are going to be pissed when they find out this vampire has made them all look like a bunch of jerks", and inadvertently he has. The image of Edward that is created in the novel can be different for each reader, but one thing will be the same for every girl reading: He is the ultimate fantasy. And we all, in some strange insecure way, feel unworthy of him. But if the plainest girl in school won his heart, then maybe there is hope for the rest of us. right?
I have moved my way through book two and three and am about to begin the final mile of the series. Just last week I got the chance to watch the "film" at a friends house, and (of course) because I loved the book so much I was compelled to run out buy the DVD, not knowing whether or not it was actually worth the $15 I dished out.
Long story short - it wasn't. And yet every night I come home from work, with several other things on my mind, A GRE test to study for, a poem to work on, a shower to take, dinner to make, and whatever else happened in the day; but all I want to do it sit down at my cluttered and crumb-covered kitchen table and watch it again and again on my computer. WHY?! I don't understand it and it's honestly been consuming my thoughts a bit. Am I seriously trying to live vicariously through Bella and find love in a romantic, super-powered vampire? Is this all in an attempt to keep my hopes up that if this average girl can find love with the coolest guy in town, than there has got to be something out there for me? It seems like any other romantic comedy. The trick here is that this isn't your everyday swooner people, this is a vampire. He's proclaimed his love and his life. He's saved her from the darkest of places and said all the right words at all the right moments. He stays with her while she sleeps and doesn't complain when she tells him he's not allowed to speak of leaving her side. Any other dude would be like "screw you, I want to hang out with my boyz". The ultimate relationship/infatuation. And now, he wants to be married, even though they've been together for what... a year?! sure, let's run off to be married so that we can take each others "virtue" and spend eternity together!
I'm honestly nervous for what this teaches teenagers that are reading this book. At least it teaches them to wait for the right person, the one you love, the right moment, and (of course) marriage. But are they now going to be looking for real men to think and act as a character in a movie does? I mean, understood, we all watch the sappy chick flicks and we swoon and wish secretly that our men would treat us this way, but we understand that our man, like us, are just human and this kind of stuff just doesn't take place. But with Twilight? I feel like it's different. It's a different audience with different expectations and a different naive grasp on human interactions/relationships. Now, texting is good enough for a break up, as if we have no respect for one another. I have noticed that this book has bridged together generations of women, from teens through young adults my age, to older middle-aged women. The desire to be loved by someone such as Edward is everywhere.
And the love triangle with Jacob?! oh, that is just the sprinkles and whipped cream. Who doesn't secretly love being the center of a love triangle, nevermind one involving a vampire AND a werewolf! It is the epitamy of what every girl dreams about.
The fantasy that we have, is it because we're an insecure society? Is it because we do truely believe that chilvalry is dead when it's the only thing that we really want? Do we want to feel like the kind of woman that could make such a villian want to change his ways out of love for us and become the good guy? it's a little arrogant, I have to admit, to think that we're great enough women to think that a monster would risk his existence and life for us. That we are that charming and charismatic that a killer would find love in his heart and change his entire life for us. What does this say about how we are taught to view relationships in todays society? It's as if the book seems to teach us that having this relationship and having someone to be with us at every moment of the day is the ultimate goal in life. Edward does say "Bella, you don't know how long I've waited for you", as if his life has meant nothing without her up to this point. What about the sense of self, not needing someone else for comfort and validation. I can understand the yearning for companionship and love, but we must find love in ourselves first before sharing it with others.
I know I have preached about this in the past and I don't really want to be redundant, but I wonder if with this new cultural obssession with Twilight only reaffirms the ideal that we as a culture feel like we can't function without the validation and acceptance of others. What if Bella moved out to Forks and made a life for herself all on her own. I mean sure, she makes friends, she gets a job to pay the bills and she goes to school. But what if she found love in herself and not with Edward, what is the story was a journey of self discovery. Do you think that the story would thus be as popular? maybe with a less accomodating crowd, the indie rockers and poets.
I have to admit, I love the book. I thought the movie could have been better, but regardless the book was awesome! The pages moved faster than I could keep up it seemed. The love story reaches out to even the most bitter and reminds them that there is someone out there for everyone, human or not. The aspect of this book that prompted me to come back to a blog that I haven't updated in over a month was her sheer NEED for Edward. She withered when he left and used another just to occupy her mind and find ways to get back to Edward. If he leaves her alone even for a little while she feels empty without him. To some, this is an unconditional level of love. To me, it's just wierd. Bella, sit down and read a book, maybe catch up on some homework or watch your favorite tv show. Sure it's not always going to be as COOL as hanging with your vampire boyfriend but you each have to lead individual lives as well as the one you share together. It's a lot, I know, but I think you can handle it. Heck, you've gone this far.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Oops, not music related.
http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/magazine/articles/2009/02/08/the_end_of_alone/
The article listed above is admittedly lengthy, but a great representation of what I had been trying to spew out in the past entry (and it's written significantly better).
"The End of Alone" written in the Boston Globe, gives a beautiful and inspiring picture of how disconnected we have become to ourselves. My first reaction to this article was "man I know someone who would relish in all this philosophical bull", but then I began to feel a bit of the guilt that I have been feeling recently because of our loss of our sense of the self. For myself, I am nowhere near as technologically advanced as most. I am overwhelmed by the keyboard on my phone, better yet the e-mail and photo capabilities. I could say it's sad, but is it really? I do enjoy my alone time, but when I think about it my alone time is usually me sitting with my book, my notebook, a pen or pencil, some sweet soul music gently bumping and my cell phone casually placed on the coffee table. Just in case. So I'll admit that after reading this wonderfully written article, I did feel a bit guilty and disconnected with myself, even though I have been making good efforts to "find myself". I can sympathize with the anxiety of doing things alone. Now, I go to the movies alone, I go get lunch or dinner by myself (remembering my book, or journal always), and shop alone. I don't have much a choice in the matter to be honest, if there's something I want/need to do, I go do it. But sometimes I do these things when I am lonely. If I'm just sitting alone in my apartment and most of the time I can't bring myself to turn on the TV and I can only read and write for so long before the pages and words begin to blur, so I go out. Furthering the arguement, he discusses great writers such as "DESCARTES, NEWTON, LOCKE, Spinoza, Kant, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard -- they share the distinction of having been some of the greatest thinkers the world has known. They also share this: None of them ever married or had their own families, and most of them spent the bulk of their lives living alone." So then I began to think, where is the fun in that?! A naive and probably ignorant statement that only further confirms this change in our society.
So I thought about our desperation for relationships, our haunting fear of being alone in this big bad world, that everyone claims is so small, and tried to figure out some kind of middle ground. How can I have faith and confidence in myself when alone but still find peace in another. It's all quite contradictory in my mind. I found several articles on the importance of building relationships. Unfortunately, most of them were quite qhetto looking and didn't really connatate a good sense of integrity (I know, I'm stereotyping a website) so I'm not going to post any of them here. Generally they supported the importance of building interpersonal relationships, whether they be friendships, business, romantic, or otherwise. The funny thing about these articles is that they all discuss "needs", and how our relationships are based on these "needs" and how we determine what we want to get out of a relationship based on these "needs". So what are the needs? I'm sure we could list a million of them, and I'll leave it open to the discussion (not that anyone will discuss it). I'm sure a lot of these needs are things that I've already talked about in the previous entry: validation, comfort, security, self-esteem, and companionship. According to our first half of the debate, these are things that we are supposed to find within ourselves. But I do feel like relationships are important, and not specifically for these things but for other aspects of our life such as communication and other social skills, connection, and how about fun!
Yes, after reading the Boston Globe article I did have a sense of guilt for not taking every moment of my life to reflect on the time-space continuum, but as I think more about it, as these things tend to cause me to do, I don't feel guilty at all and the fact that someone would try and make me feel guilty for not living my life as they have is just wrong. Yes I agree that our society is a bit too involved with their technologies, but think of how that line of communication has improved business, adventure, and possibility. My relationships that I have built and broken for myself were not based on needs, they were just based on pure enjoyment.
Comfort: relief in affliction; consolation; a cause or matter of relief or satisfaction; a state of ease and satisfaction of bodily wants, with freedom from pain and anxiety.
This definition has quietly haunted me for many years. And it amazes me that something so simple and positive could cause such an uproar in ones mind. What a debate - this paradox called comfort. Do we find this in ourselves, in others, in our bed, in music, in television, or some may never find it. In my opinion I think this goes for our critically acclaimed thinkers listed above. In an effort to claim that any and all peace in your life must be harvested on your own, they had sheltered themselves from relationships and love. Sometimes, I feel like love was simply made up in order to justify these cravings of comfort and security, and then as time went on it became marriage. But I can't leave myself to feel so negative towards love. As much I hate it most days, it also is something beautiful that we can find in ourselves and share with others. A passion that fuels us and reminds us that we are alive. For those thinkers that hid alone, I feel sympathy for the overwhelming flow of thoughts, but I also feel that they were quite arrogant, making others feel incompetent and shallow for building relationships when maybe they were just as scared as the rest of us.
I don't want to drag on and on about this forever because, as the previous entry it will become non-sensical and redundant. We've very briefly looked at two very different sides to a very difficult debate. I believe in a middle ground, most don't believe in anything at all. I remember a good line from a Ray Lamontagne song where he said something like "you build these walls, but walls will only crush you when they fall" and if you don't ever let the walls crumble, you will always be hidden and closed, whether your are looking to open yourself to the world or other people.
Highly recommend Gabe Dixon's live performance of "Is This Love" - check it.
The article listed above is admittedly lengthy, but a great representation of what I had been trying to spew out in the past entry (and it's written significantly better).
"The End of Alone" written in the Boston Globe, gives a beautiful and inspiring picture of how disconnected we have become to ourselves. My first reaction to this article was "man I know someone who would relish in all this philosophical bull", but then I began to feel a bit of the guilt that I have been feeling recently because of our loss of our sense of the self. For myself, I am nowhere near as technologically advanced as most. I am overwhelmed by the keyboard on my phone, better yet the e-mail and photo capabilities. I could say it's sad, but is it really? I do enjoy my alone time, but when I think about it my alone time is usually me sitting with my book, my notebook, a pen or pencil, some sweet soul music gently bumping and my cell phone casually placed on the coffee table. Just in case. So I'll admit that after reading this wonderfully written article, I did feel a bit guilty and disconnected with myself, even though I have been making good efforts to "find myself". I can sympathize with the anxiety of doing things alone. Now, I go to the movies alone, I go get lunch or dinner by myself (remembering my book, or journal always), and shop alone. I don't have much a choice in the matter to be honest, if there's something I want/need to do, I go do it. But sometimes I do these things when I am lonely. If I'm just sitting alone in my apartment and most of the time I can't bring myself to turn on the TV and I can only read and write for so long before the pages and words begin to blur, so I go out. Furthering the arguement, he discusses great writers such as "DESCARTES, NEWTON, LOCKE, Spinoza, Kant, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard -- they share the distinction of having been some of the greatest thinkers the world has known. They also share this: None of them ever married or had their own families, and most of them spent the bulk of their lives living alone." So then I began to think, where is the fun in that?! A naive and probably ignorant statement that only further confirms this change in our society.
So I thought about our desperation for relationships, our haunting fear of being alone in this big bad world, that everyone claims is so small, and tried to figure out some kind of middle ground. How can I have faith and confidence in myself when alone but still find peace in another. It's all quite contradictory in my mind. I found several articles on the importance of building relationships. Unfortunately, most of them were quite qhetto looking and didn't really connatate a good sense of integrity (I know, I'm stereotyping a website) so I'm not going to post any of them here. Generally they supported the importance of building interpersonal relationships, whether they be friendships, business, romantic, or otherwise. The funny thing about these articles is that they all discuss "needs", and how our relationships are based on these "needs" and how we determine what we want to get out of a relationship based on these "needs". So what are the needs? I'm sure we could list a million of them, and I'll leave it open to the discussion (not that anyone will discuss it). I'm sure a lot of these needs are things that I've already talked about in the previous entry: validation, comfort, security, self-esteem, and companionship. According to our first half of the debate, these are things that we are supposed to find within ourselves. But I do feel like relationships are important, and not specifically for these things but for other aspects of our life such as communication and other social skills, connection, and how about fun!
Yes, after reading the Boston Globe article I did have a sense of guilt for not taking every moment of my life to reflect on the time-space continuum, but as I think more about it, as these things tend to cause me to do, I don't feel guilty at all and the fact that someone would try and make me feel guilty for not living my life as they have is just wrong. Yes I agree that our society is a bit too involved with their technologies, but think of how that line of communication has improved business, adventure, and possibility. My relationships that I have built and broken for myself were not based on needs, they were just based on pure enjoyment.
Comfort: relief in affliction; consolation; a cause or matter of relief or satisfaction; a state of ease and satisfaction of bodily wants, with freedom from pain and anxiety.
This definition has quietly haunted me for many years. And it amazes me that something so simple and positive could cause such an uproar in ones mind. What a debate - this paradox called comfort. Do we find this in ourselves, in others, in our bed, in music, in television, or some may never find it. In my opinion I think this goes for our critically acclaimed thinkers listed above. In an effort to claim that any and all peace in your life must be harvested on your own, they had sheltered themselves from relationships and love. Sometimes, I feel like love was simply made up in order to justify these cravings of comfort and security, and then as time went on it became marriage. But I can't leave myself to feel so negative towards love. As much I hate it most days, it also is something beautiful that we can find in ourselves and share with others. A passion that fuels us and reminds us that we are alive. For those thinkers that hid alone, I feel sympathy for the overwhelming flow of thoughts, but I also feel that they were quite arrogant, making others feel incompetent and shallow for building relationships when maybe they were just as scared as the rest of us.
I don't want to drag on and on about this forever because, as the previous entry it will become non-sensical and redundant. We've very briefly looked at two very different sides to a very difficult debate. I believe in a middle ground, most don't believe in anything at all. I remember a good line from a Ray Lamontagne song where he said something like "you build these walls, but walls will only crush you when they fall" and if you don't ever let the walls crumble, you will always be hidden and closed, whether your are looking to open yourself to the world or other people.
Highly recommend Gabe Dixon's live performance of "Is This Love" - check it.
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