Status: Hating on technology

The critical mass has been reached with no recognizable implosion- soft like a baby kitten burp.

Whales have been doing it for an eternity. You know, sonar?

I first realized this comparison when Twitter popped up on my radar. I think it is only a matter of time before I too am telling the Internet when I’m making a sandwich or sniffing my underarms.

This uncontrollable urge to broadcast every breath is frightening and intriguing. And a bit self-obsessed, I would say. Many would say.

Is this what technology was supposed to do? Enable us to know when someone is buying cotton balls at the drugstore or getting a latte at Starbucks?

It’s all so self-indulgent. Isn't Twittering more for the Twitter-er than it is for the Twiter-ee.

There is this superficial person we construct, allowing others to see what we want them to see. Making up stuff that isn't there. And even if they see something we should typically be embarrassed about, say if it were on a web cam, it is always working in our favor- this wanting to be endeared as neurotic or tragically odd type of personality.

It will never not be self-serving.

I think people I respect and admire would not have an account on Twitter. I bet Tao Lin would. But then again, his books and poetry are Twitter updates disguised as literature. But I like Tao Lin… most of the time.

I don’t want to be one of these people. To be lumped into this junior high school-inspired cultural phenomenon. I want to be one of those people who can say, “I never had a Twitter account.” Then I would have to follow that up with the fact that I was morally opposed to the idea. It must be about principality, not because I wasn’t in “the know.”

Does this mean I will have a Twitter soon? Even reporters on CNN have a Twitter. I like CNN. Whenever I hear one of the newscasters mention Twitter, I feel conflicted. Like, am I one of those technology Neanderthals? Or is this an attempt to reach target audiences with screen names like angeleyez100 or enfantterible88 and a median age of 17.

If Miranda July Twittered I imagine I would feel much like Dylan fans felt when he picked up an electric guitar. But I would read it. Constantly. Incessantly.

Would Andy Warhol Twitter? Part of me says yes. He would be on Twitter for hours in utter awe of people who had nothing better to do than lunch and “cut their bangs all day.” He said that once.

Abe Lincoln? No, not a chance.

If my dog had a Twitter right now he would be typing “have the hiccups. hungry.”

If I had a Twitter, right now I would type, “trying to figure something out.” I would be hoping that someone would ask me what.

'Nuff said

omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.
omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.
omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.
omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.
omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.omg. omg. omg. omg. omg. omg.

This is when my best work gets done.

Sometimes I wait too long to do things. And I may as well have been doing them for all of the hours I spend worrying about not doing them.

When you finish a project and you close that book that will surely be opened once again with great hesitation, you feel like you just got something in the mail you've been waiting too long for or finally heard what you've always wanted to hear come out of someone's mouth.

And then you inhale very quietly, because if they notice you notice, it is all null and void. They never said it.

That's how I want to feel right now but I'm not quite done yet.

More lipstick, more lies

The Happy House

I met her a couple blocks away, which turned out to be not far enough.

"I lost mine on my fourteenth birthday." Her eyes reach out from the depths of her Coke-bottle rims to meet my down turned stare. I resist and then look up a few seconds later pretending she isn't attempting to have this conversation with me. I'm not embarrassed to talk about sex but she is speaking about her "precious flower" like it is some secret we have in common.

Christ, it's so sixties McCall's Magazine. I hate this.

Like I was going to go all girly-bond over telling her when I lost "it." In my experience this isn't something you talk about with most strangers unless you're in a doctor's office. And she was a stranger until about seven minutes ago and here we are... already.

"Wow," I manage, faking distraction. "Well."

In the previous five minutes the stranger disclosed she once had her IQ tested and the score came back at a fourth grade level. This is also something that most people don't usually brag about but in hindsight, I consider the source.

"Ok, well I better..."

"We were drinking Dom Perignon!" she brags. "I had never drank champagne before." She starts to look sad, like she's regretting losing her virginity like 20 years ago.

In this case, I don't care enough to even wonder if her sad story is made up or not. And she was so nouveau riche seeming. Wandering around aimlessly on her perfectly manicured, eye-blindingly green lawn with her nuclear, freckled 1 boy and 1 girl offspring running around the yard. It was as if she had just woken up right there on the sidewalk and someone told her, "This is your life."

I notice from all the ground-bound staring she doesn't shave her legs. I deduce this because they're not stubbly; they're covered in fur. But the outside of her home is impeccable. The two front windows and porch form a smiling face. Just beneath the hair is a map of thin purply, spider veins. Everywhere. It looks like she isn't being fed right, if someone is feeding her at all.

I get the feeling I have barely scratched the surface of something very, deeply bad.

Got. to. get. out. of. here.

To be continued...

The pleasure and the privilege is mine

Since I failed to blog on any as-promised Tuesday literary topics, I'll kill two birds with one stone here.
I am currently reading Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, whom I have adored since an old college professor made me read Everything is Illuminated back in the '05. I purchased Foer's second novel months ago on my pilgrimage to book-nerd mecca, Powell's in Portland.

This line popped out at me last night:
"Why do beautiful songs make you sad?"
"Because they aren't true."

This made me sad so I decided to compile a list of some weeper classics I hope are true.

"There is a Light That Never Goes Out" - The Smiths
"Ghost in You" - Psychedelic Furs
"Gone Under Sea" - Electrelane
"La La Love You" - Pixies
"I'm Coming Home" - OCS
"Ceremony" - New Order
"Some Velvet Morning" - Lee Hazlewood and Nancy Sinatra
"Five Day Morning" - The Clientele
"All My Life" - Echo and the Bunnymen
"Misery is a Butterfly" - Blonde Redhead

I could do this all day but am still taking suggestions. BTW the book is unsurprisingly great.

Creep show

This feels like 1994 all over again. I did a double-take this a.m. when I read the headline. These days feel truly stranger than fiction.

Must see!

Cinefamily never ceases to amaze. This is playing Sunday. And to think that, until this moment, I believed Diane Lane's best role was as 'Cherry' in the Outsiders.

Pink Danger

Did you know there was such a thing as a pink dolphin? I'm surprised there isn't a band named this yet.

They live in rivers. I don't know about you but if one of these things came swimming toward me I'd drown from fear. Am I the only person alive who doesn't think dolphins in general are cute?

Slow your role, self deprecation

There has been a lot of procrastination 'round these parts lately.

The Cramps go mental

This is nuts! The Cramps get all Johnny Cash on some psych patients.





There are so many amazing videos of the Cramps up on YouTube.
Did you know they also cameoed on a '95 Halloween episode of BH 90210? Click here! Random.
(This is probably the only reason my Uncle Bill would ever be caught dead watching 90210.)

Of War & Peace

I've been meaning to post about the fact that I received my long-coveted zine from Aaron Rose and Jessica Hopper about a month ago. What a nice surprise it was, complete with typos and inappropriate tales about social dynamics and practical jokes gone bad.

It will be archived in the protective covering in which it came for the enjoyment of future generations. Thank you again!

xo

Don't mess with

St. Paul is a liberal town.
(Photo NY Times)

And to think while most of us were enjoying the Monday day off by grilling and PayPerViewing, some of us were getting pepper sprayed and standing up for something.