Wednesday, February 25, 2009

making my way with love and pity

On the subway back from buying 5/32" plexi drill bits (for plastic not made of plastic) my ears happened to be assailed by a terrible 4 part a capella butchering of "Stand By Me." A common enough occurrence. And they were given money. Again, not surprising. But that got me thinking. Here they are all these varied and various subway musicians, singers, etc. or various skill levels, but mostly they are not good enough to get paying gigs and so for love of the game come and practice in the subway for pity and change. I suppose it plays into the "A for Effort" mentality. People give money to these guys because "at least they are trying". I find that to be a terrible reason to reward a terrible musician. It gives them hope, makes them dream big of the days when they won't suck so hard. Or, it further crushes their dreams brining the desperate realization that it is only pity and the talent they so long dreamed of having will never be achieved and the best that they can hope for is some drunk tourist accompanying them as they do an acoustic hackjob of "Stairway to Heaven" or a sacreligious rendering of Dylan (harmonica rack and all). Personally, I figure the money would be better served tossed on the street for the ambitious to chase after. At least their humiliation would be less soul crushing.

routine yes but what have you

Oh lazy and self-indulgent days. I routinely vow to make a stronger effort to post regularly, to post insightful comments and engage in a witty repartee with the audience/dear readers/world at large. And most days I end up watching streaming tv and ignoring the fact that I should be researching/writing/engaged in meaningful activities full of backslashes. It's not that I get nothing done, but it never feels like enough. Maybe that's just me or maybe it isn't enough. I'll not be the judge.

I spend a lot of time looking to the future. Thinking of lazy and self-indulgent days where I won't have to feel like I am not doing what I should be doing. Spending the afternoons idly watching tv while I paint. Writing up a story, editing some old pieces, doing some quality reading. But mostly playing with my son. Blocks and dinosaurs and puzzles and running around with swords screaming like pirate ninjas. Such blissfull freedom. But that's a way off. First the thesis. Slogging through that to reach a temporary telos before this new stage of life kicks off high gear. I imagine I will be writing a lot about my son once he is born, all the strange and wonderful things that come along with parenthood. All the rage and vitriol that comes along with dealing with a whole new crop of idiots (not my kid, the rest of the world including other parents most of whom I have no respect or sympathy for ... yet, perhaps). But right now, I mostly have nothing. My writing style is scattered and unpolished. Especially for an academic piece using Derrida. I can't resonably post my ideas in progress. Either you wouldn't want to read them (likely) or the flaws in the partially constructed argument would be such that they would be torn to pieces (or a whole host of other options that I need not enter into now). Suffice it to say that this hardly seems the place to raise half-finished arguments of dubious merit. So until my arguments of dubious merit are completed, I mostly don't have a whole lot to post. I don't really have the time to enter into creative work - it's a completely different thought process and quite distracting - or to express opinions on current events, life the universe and everything - the time to develop cogent arguments is better spent watching streaming tv and whishing I had the motivation to get back to work. Perhaps. I guess I'll just have to see what happens and try to get whatever writing done that I can.

Oh, I was exhorted to make my next post about tits. I guess I failed to make it wholly so. But here is a tidbit for y'all. Women with big tits (and other standards of conventional beauty) feel less inclined to become feminists, to challenge the status quo, to rock the boat that has placed them on such an idealized (yet objectified) pedestal. Discuss.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

a man likes signs and likes them clear

The difficulty with a prolonged absence (though I hesitate to use such a loaded term, new posts are absent, but I would not want to imply that I have been absent from the blog so as to equally imply the possibility of presence (digital self-presence, the telos of a certain internet tendency) - a concept that I do not and cannot agree with and now I am unraveling on a minor point that it almost seems like I brought up just to explain an idea that no one besides me and my computer care about) on a blog is the inevitable drop in readership - not that I ever had much to begin with. Someone should do something about that.

Anyway, slogging my way through Derrida, and now Barthes (but this text from back when he was a little too Structuralist for my taste, for my use in the thesis). But at least the Daily Show is on Hulu, I have subpar coffee to swill, and I've already read most of the essays translated in Image Music Text.

I need a new cell phone.

And there will be beer tonight.

I'm even boring myself. I have been advised instead of writing about the minutia of the moment at which I open Blogger I should instead write about tits. Next time, Gadget. Next time.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009


Back in a saddle, of sorts.

So I have merrily taken my time off. Extended my winter holidays in lazy January meandering, getting nothing posted, few things written, and only idle fictions read. It was fun while it lasted. It lasted longer than it should have.


I have gotten back to the books. The thesis, mostly. Pleasure reading and reading for the researching the fiction writing has fallen and must continue to fall by the wayside so long as I am solely graded and met with deadlines for the scholarly pursuits. That being said, I am currently at work (couldn't necessarily say hard at work - don't so much have the time/drive for both) at what looks to be a longer form fiction piece blending many of my previous stories, characters, genres, and realities. As it becomes available, I aim to post for comments, amusements, what have you.

I may also begin to put various thesis type meanderings up. Convoluted thought streams on the signature and the name, on identity and presence and the internet. And who knows what else. Bear with me. I make sense of it in the end. Mostly. And getting it down always helps. And maybe you want to read it, perhaps?

Well. That seems to be about it for now. Sitting here at work with my 2L bottle of Ito En Golden Oolong trying not to feel like my copy of Limited Inc is staring at my accusingly. "This is not a waste of time, damn it."