I was a lover

It's been observed lately that it's been awhile since I wrote anything here. It actually took some time to clean all the cobwebs away, but with that and the subsequent coughing fit aside, I think I'm ready to write some more words. About, you know, stuff.

I guess, in my particular meta-blogging idiom, I ought to start by writing about why I haven't written in awhile. Turns out, I've decided, personal blogs aren't really my thing, at least in the frequently-updated-online-diary style. I gave it a shot last year on my birthday, because I'd been toying with the idea and that seemed like a suitably portentious day to begin the project, but then it fizzled.

I think it's the hidden luddite in me, actually. I realize what an odd thing that is for me to say, but I think those of you who've really been paying attention may have already noticed it: as much as I enjoy and am comfortable with technology in all its ever-changing glory, there is also a voice of moderation in me. There's a part of me that thinks important things should be said in person, and internet shorthand is a lame thing 4 us 2 do 2 our language. In the end, a personal blog ends up containing the things I might have said in conversation with a friend, if I'd happened to have such a conversation before sitting down and trying to write a blog post.

That's what got me, in the end. It was the feeling that blogging was too much like having a conversation with a friend, except way less personal and therefore way less rewarding. I stopped wanting to write about my life here because it galled me to think there might be people out there who would start reading my blog to find out what's going on in my life, rather than just calling me to hang out and talk. In fact, come to think of it, there's one friend in particular who sort of disappeared on me awhile back, and the last thing we ever talked about was some inconsequential comment about my blog. That was probably about the time I stopped writing so much, because I'd rather just hang out and talk.

In other news, TV on the Radio is singing, "I was a lover before this war." I really like that line, and that song. I think a lot of us have gotten a little battle-hardened of late, ever more consumed by frustration and fury at the way of the world. But we were all lovers, once. I hope, when the battle is won, that we'll still remember how.

I had an interview the other day which was a little intimidating at first, because there were six of them and, as you might imagine, only one of me. The first question: lay out a plan of action and resource allocation for the setup of an entire local intranet of 30-some workstations with file- and device-sharing, internet access, email, etc. Oy, at least they started with the easy stuff.

I suffered through it, though, as they worked their way up to the last question: do you usually snack throughout the day, or do you stick to a few major meals?

Hippies make my day.

It's Saturday

Tunes heard:

I'm in a lonely room, Hank Williams sings a lovesick blues
winter's walking up the avenue and I ain't seen the sun shine since the sixth of June
but I tell you this:
don't call a doctor, I'm gonna get better
don't run for the priest, I'm gonna find some faith
just because I burned my bible baby, it don't mean I'm too sick to pray
(Alabama 3, courtesy Erica)

please return this to sender, I can't really say that I'm in
don't call back, no don't bother, I won't pick up the phone again
and I've listened to you, and you've spoken true
when all is said and done, find another one
please wait sir, things get better, just hear what we've got in store
if you give me a moment I could describe it to you some more
and I've listened to you, and you spoke untrue
when all's said and done, find another one
you're a point in this argument, you're a number not a name
(Statistics, courtesy Pandora)

I work 9 to 5, it starts in the PM
and I love the sunrise so I step out in the AM
the street is black and shiny from the nightly rainin'
the glory of the light brings evaporation
morning's fresh oxygen cleanest
I take a deep hit to help my mind stay the greenest
I'm already awake so I'm not drinkin coffee
don't want a cigarrette cause it's a form of slavery
(Spearhead, courtesy The Current)

I turn my camera on, I cut my fingers on the way
on the way, the way I'm slippin away
I turn my feelings off, you made me untouchable for life
yeah, and you wasn't polite
it hit me like a tom, you hit me like a tom, on on and on
(Spoon, coutersy Natalie)


Discoveries made:

A film canister holds $6.50 in quarters.

Last week, for the first time in 23 years, I began feeling the need for regular doses of coffee to feel awake and alert. I don't know why.

A Killian's Red twelve-pack box doesn't collapse very well because it is ever so slightly trapezoidal.

One-to-many communication technologies (such as blogs and Facebook) are very good at supplementing the interactions of friends. Not so good at replacing them.

"The 40 Year Old Virgin" was, in fact, pretty funny. Who knew.

Filing the up-piling bills and statements is a decent thing to do on a Saturday afternoon with Friday night's hangover. No, really. It is. ... ........ Bugger off.

Three drinks at the Red Dragon on an empty stomach is a Bad Itea(TM).

Everybody's wingin' it.

Hope and Despair

The other day I discovered that somebody stole my bike's rear wheel, and despaired at what a sometimes-sad world I live in.

But tonight I discovered Keith Olbermann, who may in fact be my new personal hero.

There's a kind of balance to this.

For Ashlee

I wrote this sometime last summer for a friend who was hit by a car; tonight I play it for Ashlee. Get well.

capo 6

chorus
e-|-0---0-3p0---0---0-3p0-----0---0h3p0----0---0---
B-|---1--1---1----1--1------1---1--------0---3--3--
G-|--0-----------0-------0---0---0--------0---0----
D-|----2-----------0-----------2------------0------
A-|-3-----------2-----------0------------2---------
E-|------------------------------------------------

verse
e-|------------------------------------------------
B-|-1-1-1-------0---3-3-----1-1-1-------0---0-0----
G-|--0-0-0-0-----0-0-0-0-----2-2-2-2-----2-2-2-2---
D-|-------2-------2---------------2-------1--------
A-|-3-----------2-----------0-----------2----------
E-|------------------------------------------------

Objects in Space

It's 7am. I tried going to sleep three times tonight, but I just couldn't turn my brain off, so I've consigned myself to napping a bit this afternoon and crashing hard tomorrow tonight. Er, today night. Tonight. Whatever.

I was reminded recently of the phrase "a day late and a dollar short." It's a good one.

I also got to thinking about the meaning of meaning. (Whoa, hang on.. who does this guy think he is, waxing philosophic on the "meaning of meaning"? Sheesh.)

If you're done rolling your eyes and you're still with me, here's what I mean by the meaning of meaning. (Yeah, now I'm just milking it.) When we're exposed to something, we think about it and come to some conclusions as a result of it, and then we call those conclusions the "meaning" of the thing. As a trivial example, when I hear someone speak the words "what time is it," I think about them and conclude that this person wants to know the time of day; that is the "meaning" of the words spoken.

Of course, most things aren't so straightforward. Even in that example, there are other layers of inference going on; even as I process the meaning of the words and react, I'm also pondering related questions, such as "Why does this person want to know the time of day? Are they implying that it's time for me to do something?" Already, this simple question is leading us into shades of implication and judgement, and most of the things we say to eachother are far more nuanced.

Sometimes, those subtexts are consistent and well-known enough that there's little risk of confusion. "Why don't you do this" doesn't actually mean "explain the reasons that you are not doing this," it means "I instruct you to do this." "Terminate with extreme prejudice" doesn't mean "finish up what you're doing and try to be unfairly judgemental about it," it just means "kill." These are familiar imprecisions, and they don't faze us.

But sometimes the subtexts are less obvious. "Gee, I'd love to, but I'm just so busy lately" might mean "I call on your patience, as a friend, to understand that I need to neglect you for awhile," but then again, it might mean "I don't think you're worth my time, but I'm not willing to admit it (to you, or to myself, or both)." Lately, I've noticed that "justice" seems often to mean "excuses to hurt people we don't like and protect people we do like, even when they're effectively doing the same things," and "freedom" now just means "that word that will make you go along with what I want, because if you don't I'll say you're against freedom;" very thorny indeed.

All of this is just dealing with language, beyond which there's a whole universe of actions, behaviors and expressions, each with enough subtleties to study for a lifetime. A person and a gun are simply two objects in space, but it makes quite a bit of difference in meaning if they're pointing the gun at a tin can, or at a bird, or at themselves, or at you.

And then, not only do we convey a vast depth of meaning in all of our conscious and subconscious words and actions, but we can even convey meaning through complete inaction; I find that particularly intriguing, that there are times and situations in which taking no action and speaking no word can carry as much meaning as a Shakespearean monologue.

But the real trick is, since most of the meaning is in subtexts, most of the meaning is subjective; a crowd of people may hear the same words spoken at the same moment, and each of them interpret them differently and draw different conclusions about their real meaning. When we translate our ideas into words (or actions, or whatever), we hope that everyone else understands our language the same way we do and the words will inspire the same thoughts in their heads, but it's never exact. For every thought spoken, a hundred tones of nuance and value and impression are formed in each listener's mind, and we can never really predict what they'll be. Usually it's close enough, but there's always the danger that the margins of error will all compound in the wrong way and lead to a catastrophically different interpretation than was intended.

I suppose that's why, after five thousand years, human cultures are still making war on eachother, why friends and lovers still quarrel, why human existence is what it is.

Now it's 8am; breakfast, or bed?

Assorted Thoughts to the Tune of "Modern Man's Hustle"

Thought of the day: Nothing that happens is perfect. Which means, everything that happens is perfect, so everyone should just chill.

This occurred to me today as I reflected on the two months that I've now lived in Minneapolis, which is notable because it's been different than I expected. Which, in turn, is notable because that's alright. It's all alright.

Anna, Anders and I went in for our first session of bartending school today. It was awesome. The bars and bottles are real, but the liquid is all colored water. Even so, I couldn't help but feel a little sad tossing one drink after another, looking for all the world like tasty cocktails, down the drain.

Anyone who has any interest in either technology or philosophy and human existence should read The Age of Spiritual Machines. It was my "serious" reading on the road trip, and it's been simmering in my mind ever since; I have a suspicion that the contents of that book will be important to me in the future.

Currently, I'm reading my dad's copy of Guns, Germs and Steel, which is also pretty interesting reading. There is something very appealing to me about the Aristotelian approach to history and anthropology; I often react badly to those fields because I'm compelled to call BS on so many of the assumptions. Of course, neither Kurzweil nor Diamond have avoided rubbing that nerve completely, but they both seem a little more cautious and grounded than I'm accustomed to.

In the past few weeks I've successfully cooked two chicken breasts, and both were juicy, tasty and delicious. This may sound trivial to most, but I trust that those who know me will be duly impressed.

The tunes have moved on to "Nothing But Sunshine." Rock on.

One More Time

The last of my summer fun begins today: five days in the Boundary Waters with my dad, aunt and cousin. The Boundary Waters are my clearest memory of camping when I was growing up, and I never really did understand the appeal of "camping" in the state parks, all packed together like drupelets. (Vonnegut?) There's something relaxing about reducing the number of relevant people in the universe to the single-digits for a little while.

See you in the world.