January 2009
“This is why our problem is not just economic; it’s spiritual. We have mistaken consuming for living.”
—
The Daily Dish | By Andrew Sullivan (via lilyb) (via hiiamblair)
Amen.
Thanks a lot, hover dogs.
Damn it! Now I want to watch ‘The Neverending Story’ and ‘Return of the Jedi.’
Play
This came out of nowhere.
I don’t know why, but I really (REALLY) want Cheez-It crackers right now.
Update: AAAAAAaaand currently eating some. Thank you, basement vending machines
Chicago, you cruel mistress
When I was in San Francisco, the activity opportunities were endless. One day, Brittin, Laura and I decided to trot up to Sonoma on a whim, visiting three lovely vineyards and enjoying a lunch outside. Another day, I met up with my friend Ali, and we went to the Pier. We ended up walking back to the Mission — nearly the entire length of the city — chatting the afternoon away on the winding streets of the city. The trip, particularly the day with Ali, made me realize how much I missed the freedoms that a warm climate and a compact city affords you. There was no need to think about, “Now, if I go out tonight, will I want to wait at the bus stop in five degree weather for a half hour at 1 a.m.? And if I don’t, will I want to pay $15 to get home?” Weather and distance were not factors in the planning of our days. I remember walking about 12 blocks home by myself, almost settling into the possibility of that being My Life, walking along Valencia and Mission and stopping into the little print stores and taquerias. I told myself that the next time I was tempted to spend a weekend afternoon watching TV, I would instead spend it strolling the streets. Today I woke up and thought, perhaps I’ll go to Milwaukee this afternoon and go to the museum. But, of course, thanks to the lovely Chicago winter, both strolling and short trips are ill-advised on a day like today. It’s amazing how prohibitive the weather can be, even for people like me, who are inclined to not surrender to it.
About this time last year, Laura was beginning the plotting of her move back to San Francisco. I was panicked at the thought of this; I had gotten out of a bad relationship that year (thankfully), and many friends were also thinking of moving away. Losing a best friend seemed like the cherry on top of a string of bad months, especially in the context of that insanely gray winter we had last year. One day, we were in Uptown, and she was explaining why she was thinking of moving. “I was thinking about it,” she said, “and I realized I don’t have to put up with this.” That simple statement made me accepting and supportive of the move, and also stuck with me and made me question my own commitment to living here. Why DO so many people put up with these heinous winters? Why DO you stay here even though you hate the CTA? No one is requiring you to stay in Chicago.
I think it requires a certain degree of masochism to stay in Chicago. You know it’s going to be terrible in the winter, you know you’re going to hate it, but you come back for it every year. I think there is a certain degree of pride in putting up with it, too, or some element of comfort in the brutality of the winter. It bonds people together in a way; it’s a rare subject that virtually the entire city can agree on: winter sucks, but we will all make it through! And it certainly makes for a good excuse. Having a terrible week? Depressed? Don’t feel like going out? “The weather,” makes a handy, superficial way to explain away many of your woes.
My current commitment to stay in the city is some mix of love, laziness and business complications. I say that if I worked an “office job,” I’d be rather inclined to pack it up and move out to SF or somewhere. Give it a go when I’m young, and stop fighting the winter. Having my own business makes it a bit harder, and also requires much more advanced planning—almost a year instead of a couple months, and who’s to say I’d want to move out there a year from now? And despite the nastiness of the winter, the summers here (when they aren’t sweltering) are fantastic. That day in April or May when Division explodes and everyone is dining al fresco is like a rebirth for the city. Suddenly there are people (people!) outside, drinks are flowing, and worries of waiting for buses disappear from your mind.
Very relevant to my life currently. Very.
Schools Phasing Out Cursive →
indystar.com
It’s about damn time. I never understood why such emphasis was put on an arcane form of penmanship. They may as well teach architectural lettering… at least it is legible.
Well, this breaks my heart. My mother has beautiful penmanship. Her mother did, too. I spent hours as a child staring at her lovely, lilting letters and practicing my own.
When I am at my least stable mentally my handwriting is large and illegible. When I am at my most stable my handwriting is symmetric and rounded. I have always felt that my voice as a writer and the style of my handwriting are intrinsically connected. You can leaf through the journals I’ve kept over the last decade and see how the shape of my words changes, and reflects the emotion of what I am writing.
I’m no luddite, I understand that life surges forward and that our way of life represents that progress. Still, it is sad to me that children going forward may not know their mother’s penmanship with the same familiarity that they know her scent or her voice.
I see this as nothing but a loss for the world, even if it is one most will never notice or care about. Technology is great, but hand writing is communicative art at its most basic level. You can glean a lot about the writer and his or her mood through handwriting, but communication will continue to lose nuance and potential insight in name of efficiency and progress. Maybe I’m sentimental because of my study of medieval manuscripts and my general love of page after page of handwritten notes.
I realize when my mother one day passes on that I will probably never see another handwritten letter in my life, but any missive where someone has taken the time to sit down and write you note will always mean more than an e-mail or typewritten letter. The only thing I can do is write more.
This is sad. I guess on one hand I can understand time budgeting concerns, but completely phasing it out seems ridiculous to me. Of course, I am a huge fan of letter writing and it’s not uncommon for me to send out at least a few handwritten letters in a month.
I’m all for technology, but kids still need to be taught to function without it.
I agree. My cursive was gorgeous, but I stopped using it after middle school and now I can’t write in cursive for shit. My print is nice when I want it to be, but seriously. I miss being lauded for having pretty handwriting.
“The writing style which is most natural for you is bound to echo the speech you heard when a child. English was Conrad’s third language, and much that seems piquant in his use of English was no doubt colored by his first language, which was Polish. And lucky indeed is the writer who has grown up in Ireland, for the English spoken there is so amusing and musical. I myself grew up in Indianapolis, where common speech sounds like a band saw cutting galvanized tin, and employs a vocabulary as unornamental as a monkey wrench.”
—Kurt Vonnegut
Yep, I'd have one of these. →
superuseless.blogspot.com
Gotta admit, this would make for a great party trick:
Sent to me via text during today's lab meeting.
Helium walks into a bar. The bartender says, “I’m sorry, but we don’t serve noble gases here.” Helium doesn’t react.
Aside
It has come to my attention that I make a lot of posts about food (at least five of the ten entries preceding this one, for example).
I take no issue with this whatsoever.
Corned beef hash is always a great idea in the morning.
Bacon, a biscuit, and an absurdly large coffee are also a good idea, though not so much when accompanying corned beef hash.
I’m not even finished, and I’m already so full that I feel sick (makes me feel like a real American). I’m going to eat the rest of this, damn it.
I’m committed.
“‘You’re a lot prettier than I remember’ isn’t a great way to start a first date.”
—Unknown [onesentence.org]
sigh
$$$
Just did my taxes..state and federal. This is, by far, the earliest I’ve ever had them completely finished. I e-filed and everything.
I get $90 back from the Fed and $34 back from Illinois, which is very nice, especially since I owed money last year. Thanks, IRA.
My new ear piercing has finally started itching. I’ve dreaded this very much.
I’ll never understand why I’m randomly freezing at times. It’s like 70 in my apartment. Perfectly warm. I fucking hate my circulation. Maybe I’m going through the change? I mean…
I’ve been in a baking sort of mood lately. On Sunday night, I made sugar cookies for Jasmine and Jason. Last night, I made a shit-ton of oatmeal raisin cookies. Quite delicious. I’ve taken it upon myself to make bread pudding with some sort of liqueur sauce this weekend.
Play
And crying.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes.
Play
Speaking of blacks…
I just realized that Monday is MLK Day.
Three-day weekend, bitches!!!!
*Ahem* I mean…free at last!
I had to wait an hour for the god-damned bus this morning.
It’s twelve fucking degrees outside.
I’ve been inexplicably anxious all day. I don’t get it.
Anyway…I’ve been lightly addicted to the following songs of late:
“The Man Who Sold the World” - David Bowie
“I’ll Believe in Anything” - Wolf Parade
“6 Underground” - The Sneaker Pimps (Per usual. I’m beginning to think I have a problem.)
“Red and Purple” - The Dodos
“Love My Way” - The Psychedelic Furs (found this on an online profile of a friend and subsequently couldn’t get enough)
Yeah, that’s it. What?
