It's nice to feel hooked in sometimes.
For a while, I thought about getting a Blackberry. They're really expensive, but I was rationalizing it like this: not only are they "really cool," but I needed it to organize my newly busy life. I wanted an electronic calendar and I was obsessed with the idea that I could be hooked into my email at any point during the day. Afterall, any even slightly type-A person needs that, don't they? I imagined looking like some formal business-woman on campus: miles above the rest of the students because I had a blackberry and an internship and a busy life that necessitated being connected to the whole world at all times.
Silly me, the whole world isn't in a Blackberry...but I kind of thought it was.
I guess blackberries are like online personal ads. They're like lying in bed next to someone just because it's a body, not because of the soul. Blackberries are like best friends, kind of how iPods are like a good nibble on the earlobe. Technology can be my boyfriend, and whenever I start to miss him, he's there to hook me in and hook me up. He eliminates the drama, the need to work hard...and if things start falling apart between us, he's easily understood with a manual or a 1-800 number that doesn't even use up minutes on my phone bill.
The problem with technology is that it becomes just that: for some of us, maybe all of us. Think of how much better we are at typing text messages than reading the pain in eachother's eyes. How we match our steps to the beat of the music and so forget to smile at the stranger passing by.
How the ease of impersonality makes the personal connections that much harder to read. How hooking into the world on a hand-held piece of plastic is now easier than hooking up with one person and comfortably holding hands.
Do you know how many 2,000 is? I don't, but I know it's a lot.
2,000 is the number of years since Jesus was born. Imagine: 1 person killed for each year since he was around. Imagine what's happened between then and now. That's a lot of years.
2,000 is a lot of graves.
It's a lot of trees knocked down to make caskets.
It's a lot of dead flesh.
What if 2,000 soldiers each got a tomb, like honored kings did in ancient Egypt? Each one had a pyramid that reached towards the sky. That his soul could jump from to get up into the clouds. That the sun would bask with warm rays. And each would be buried with his riches: whole hoards of things from jewlery to gold to silver to rubies to gems and dog tags. There would be so many pyramids...all over America. So many pyramids that they wouldn't even be a great world wonder anymore: even in 2,000 more years.
But maybe they would make us understand. Somebody understand. Just how many 2,000 really is. Because I imagine that when you walk through a forest of pyramids, you'd feel quite overwhelmed. Because you'd have 2,000 souls looking down from their peaks to stare at you. The sunlight rolling down their sides so you couldn't hide from it anymore.
2,000 pyramids for 2,000 men.
Men and their riches and their dogtags in their jaws.
Yeah, maybe that's what 2,000 is.
There is a fly in my apartment. It got in because the window in the living room has been open for a couple of months, and there is no screen, and I think he flew in. I don't know what he eats, but he drinks from the water in the sink and he flies around people's heads because he's not afraid.
Asaf tried to kill him tonight with a half-assed attempt to grab him in the air as he was flying by. Asaf missed.
I wonder if the fly came in on purpose or not. If he meant to get himself stuck up in this big place. Maybe he smelled something good, like hookah tobacco or hummus. Or maybe it was all an accident. Maybe he was flying one day, minding his own business, and all of a sudden he found himself in my apartment, unable to find the window that would release him back to freedom.
I imagine that this fly will live here until he dies. I won't kill him, because I feel bad for him. Plus he's fast, and darts away out of swatting range before I can wind up.
But I imagine he'll die here. Maybe on the window sill, on his way out.
"When you've suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling. My life is like a memento mori painting from European art: there is always a grinning skull at my side to remind me of the folly of human ambition. I mock this skull. I look at it and I say, 'You've got the wrong fellow. You may not believe in life, but I don't believe in death. Move on!' The skull snickers and moves ever closer, but that doesn't surprise me. The reason death sticks so closely to life isn't biological necessity--it's envy. Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, posessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud."
Life of PiYann Martel
I'm sorry, but are we
ABSOLUTELY INSANE?!?! The Senate committee who is reviewing Harriet Miers' responses to questions regarding a whole number of things (her legal record, opinions on issues that she is bound to make decisions about on the bench and even the fact that she was temporariliy
thrown out of the DC Bar association for FORGETTING to pay her dues), returned her answers to her today, saying that they were insufficient and she must re-write and re-submit them.
That's right, the woman who could potentially be the next Supreme Court Judge of our country, and make important rulings about abortion, separation of church and state, etc, had to "re-do" her "application" because it was "offensively" bad.
Who are we kidding?
If my brother sends an application to a college that's that bad, they'll reject him straight out, no if, ands or buts. But here we have "big shot" lawyer Harriet Miers (who has basically become the brunt of every NY Times op-ed joke this week) who just got a "second chance" to apply to be a Supreme Court Justice. Even money-hounding NYU wouldn't be that nice.
Well, here's a possible explanation: Rumor has it that Miers is not a good writer...so, benefit of the doubt, maybe she
did work really hard answering those questions...Maybe we shouldn't have her re-submit them until enrolling her in an english course. Just a thought...
Sometimes I hate the fact that I'm an anal writer. Because what it means is that I can't write unless I'm feeling inspired, and I can't force myself to be inspired. Like this post, for example, do you see how horribly boring it is? How I have no voice??? It's because I'm totally UNinspired, and I'm supposed to write a paper right now and I can't because i'm UNinspired...and that sucks, because I'll get INspired at like 10:30 tonight, just because i HAVE to be inspired then, so my brain will wake up. Ugh...Let's see if this idea works...
okay...it doesn't. I was going to force myself to write somethinag I care about...i paused, I looked out the window, and I thought, "i'm not feeling anything right now...except that I wnat to lie on my bed and listen to janis..."
DAMN WRITER'S BLOCK!!!!!!
Thanks to the rain, I've recently realized that I have a serious condition which I've fittingly named "Sidewalk Rage." That's right, even when you don't have a car or a bike or a skateboard to angrily maneuver through the city, you can still have rage. This has come to my attention because I recently estimated that I walk about 4 miles a day, mostly from home to school. Well, walking in the recent weather conditions is horrendous in and of itself, and so my rage been building more than usual.
Here are some things that make me want to kick some ass:
1. People who walk slowly down a narrow sidewalk, making it impossible to pass.
2. Couples who walk slowly down the sidewalk next to eachother, so regardless of the width of the sidewalk, you cannot pass.
3. Groups of people who stand on street corners talking, so that you have to weave between them always saying "Excuse me."
4. People who try to send text messages as they walk.
5. People who try to send text messages as they walk WHILE holding an umbrella and not watching where they are going.
6. Tourists.
7. People who walk into buildings and take their time upon entry, forcing the other people to wait outside, in the rain, for them to move.
8. People who stop right in front of the door on their way OUT of the building to gwak at the rain (as if it hasn't been there for the past week), thus causing a traffic jam inside and WORSE, blocking the entrance way for the people who are in the rain, trying to get inside.
9. People who have goloshes...I'm just jealous. You can stop showing off by walking through the huge puddles that I try to jump over and which STILL manage make my feet wet all day.
10. People who don't control their umbrella, so it hits mine as I walk by or bumps my head.
11. People who walk slowly down the sidewalk, but don't walk straight. Instead, they take up the whole sidewalk as they walk, almost moving like a drunk person, making it impossible to pass.
12. Disgusting men who stand on the side of the street and make comments as I walk by. Hello! I'm soaking and I'm wrestling with an umbrella, I'm not hot right now!
13. Men who call out from their car or honk. Okay, as if I"m going to stop on the side of the street and say, "Oh, I've found the man of my dreams!," run after the car and drive into the sunset with you.
14. People who walk faster than me on the sidewalk, especially when I'm running late. It's a competition! How can ANYONE walk faster than me when I'm trucking? I try to beat them to every light and then get the head start by almost getting myself killed as I walk into oncoming traffic.
15. Men who cut you off as they walk. HELLO!! I'm going on my path, walking straight, and you saw me, and now I'm practically stepping on your heels.
16. Workmen who take up the entire sidewalk. One day, there was a truck backed up onto the sidewalk and there was all sorts of furniture making it impossible to pass. I had to walk into the street, risk getting myself killed by the cars, walk around the truck and then make it back to the sidewalk. I mean, seriously.
17. Girls walking down the sidewalk in heels. Okay honey, I know you're in pain. It's not worth it...
18. People who let their dogs take shits in the middle of the sidewalk. That's disgusting, even if they pick it up. It means that I have to watch your dog pooping right in front of me and I have to look in order to avoid stepping on it.
19. People who hold their ears when a firetruck goes by. I'm sorry, firetrucks just aren't loud enough to warrent putting your hands over your ears. Plus, it slows you down, and then I can't get to school on time.
This is an ongoing list...Anyone have anything else they'd like to vent?
We live in a culture of fear.
I’m trying to find a roommate and spending my evenings interviewing around the hookah, and then we find someone. Someone who is perfect in everyway, except that the someone is a guy and my mom is scared. She says you never know, he could attack you in the night, he could be pulling the veil over your eyes, there’s a good chance he’s dangerous and scary, a villain underneath. You should do a background check.
But Mom, I’m thinking as she rattles on, the number of people that things like that actually happen to is very small. This almost never happens, and when it does it’s usually careless, easily coerced girls who aren’t good judges of people and probably don’t use their heads. It’s the news that plays it up as if this is a huge epidemic sweeping across the nation, something to which everyone is susceptible and could fall into.
I’ve had enough of propaganda.
We live in a culture of fear.
On Doctor Phil this week, there were two activists talking about sex education in high school—one said condoms should be easily accessible, the other said kids shouldn’t even learn what they are because it will put “ideas” in their heads. Since when can kids not think for themselves? Since when do adults have the right to keep knowledge from kids that will help them to help themselves? Since when do we raise children on the basis that education will put ideas in their heads that might cause them to make “bad decisions?”
That’s like not explaining to a child what it means to be vegetarian out of fear that they might become one and not get enough protein. That’s like not telling a child about 9/11 for fear they might become a terrorist.
In addition, since when is sex so morally wrong? Since when is it such a horrendous thing to be a healthy human being? Kids will have sex, they will know about sex—if not from school, then from their friends who tell them about it—and they will get the idea to have it, and they will choose to do it whether it’s wrong or right, “sinful” or not. And if they don’t know about how to protect themselves, they’ll end up sick or with a baby. Not the other way around.
I’m sick of moral judgements.
We live in a culture of fear.
This week, the terror level on New York City subways went up. Lots of people called their kids, friends, family and said “Don’t take the subways, there’s going to be a terrorist attack.” Yeah, okay. Orange, green, magenta, Moroccan red…who cares? President Bush or someone up there in the untouchable tower realizes that Americans are getting tired of the war, losing faith in Bush and feeling vulnerable.
Hey! I have a brilliant idea! Let’s just scare the shit out of all of them! Let’s make them feel like we’re on the ball and our intelligence is up to speed because we’ve picked up on this terrorist attack, and throw them into a little hysteria so they start supporting and believing in everything we say again. Ahh…we’re back on track: we messed up with Katrina, but we’ll get away with being racist, elitist, self-serving manipulators as long as people are too scared to think about outing us.
Hello! If there was really going to be a terrorist attack on the subways, do you really think they would leave them open for millions of passengers to continue using?? That would be like leaving tenants in a building that you knew was going to collapse—yeah, against the law.
I’m fed up with the veil over our eyes.
We live in a culture of fear.
And I admit: I’m scared too.
But I’m not scared of the guy next door. And I’m not scared of being “immoral.” And I’m not scared of riding the subway.
We live in a culture of fear.
But what are you afraid of?
I had an "I'm going to live forever" moment today. I was in Philly (yes, I made it to Philly and back in under 24 hours), walking in the oddly beautiful October weather-- and I realized how much longer I have to live. It didn't feel abstract, suddenly, it felt tangible and real: I didn't just think it, I knew it.
Feelings like this come along rarely for me. I think for many people, they're just concepts that you're intellectually aware of, but not truly understanding. They often come for me at times when I have to wait for something, like when my desire for immediate satisfaction is hindered by the annoyance of bad timing.
It seems so typical that we hear phrases like "Wait a few years," or "maybe in the future it'll work out." And the future seems so far away...and it is...but it's also all we have.
On my walk today I thought back to where I was 3 years ago. And I thought of all the ways I was different, all the things I've done and suffered through and accomplished. It was a true "How did I get here?" moment.
And then it was terrifying. To imagine three years from now; everything else I can do in that time. The possibility that lies in even a short life. I thought maybe that's the point of it all: to acknowledge those fleeting moments of amazement and gratefulness at our simple little lives, and truly appreciate.
Over the past few days I've become increasingly interested in the phenomenon of online personal ads. I started looking, egged on by some friends who did the same-- and I spent an afternoon perusing through them: baffled but also increasingly intrigued.
In New York, there are hundreds, thousands of people who post listings-- everything from "Wanting to get spanked tonight" to "Looking for a woman to carry my baby" to "I just want to fall in love." The ironic part to me is that these people are desperately trying to make a connection with someone out there on this huge island, and they're doing it by sitting at their computer in their apartment. Alone.
This seems insane on some levels. I think three years ago, before I moved here, I would have thought it was ridiculous. And yet, I found myself spending three hours doing the same thing; and
my time was more out of curiosity than actual seriousness. To understand the oxy moron, you have to live in New York. But I think anyone who's frustrated that they can't make a connection can understand the act of at least browsing.
In this city, it's easy to feel alone. You can be surrounded by people at every moment, even your best friends, and you will always feel stranded. I think everyone must have that moment on an empty Saturday as they wake up and seriously consider going back to sleep so they don't have to face the hollow day.
I think a lot of people spend their weekends in front of the TV instead of seizing the day.
I think it's really scary to be here. To feel like EVERYONE has this brilliant, beautiful life flourishing in this city of "endless opportunity" and you're the only one who doesn't. Because everyone
seems happy, but it's tiring to always play along.
And then you come home, and you're lonely and isolated, and just yearning for the connections that "everyone else" has. And so you log online and feel it, even superficially, from the pictures and postings online. Just like you watch TV all day Saturday to feel on some sort of level with humanity.
Or maybe just to block out the silence.
