The Future of the Past

Journaling: The record skipped, I reset the needle.

2011-09-27T10:33:00.000-07:00

This, like opening an old box of what you thought were photos and books, but now reveal themselves to be a stack of worn-edged notebooks, all with different modern art covers, and with your handwriting in them. And there is the temptation to read them, but a postponement in doing so. And what is that feeling you are feeling? Regret, I think: if only I had kept it going during those intervening years, writing down what I then considered important, would it have led me to something of actual importance now? Or is it fear of reading that horrific poem you composed after Will broke up with you through email and thought "How clever, if I combined the attributes of Classic Romantic poetry with those of modern-day technological communication to express my melancholia", and you even used the word 'melancholia'. No, not even that is what is disturbing you so.
I think, I think it might be the notion that I will probably fall off in writing again, fail to keep up with myself all over again. Blog. Such an ugly word. It has no art about it. It is easy to dismiss a daily entry because it sounds so pedestrian. "Of course I can't keep up with my blog, for I have real art to make!" But then, I am left with another thing that marks only one tiny piece of who I am. And if I am to be judged by that piece...what then?

New Feminism, yeah? (part 3)

2008-05-19T18:17:00.000-07:00

A few had RSVP’d, and Dolores pegged those that had as those that were seated in the folding chairs towards the front of the shabby room. They had their legs crossed and were talking emptily to each other so that she knew they must have come together, or at least told each other to attend. It seemed they didn’t know each other too well, but that was, again probably for the better, since she didn’t want these women to feel pressured to live up to their friends ideas of who they were. She could hear them say, with feigned passing regard “Yeah, we’re not serious, and I like it that way. I like that he will just call me out of the blue when I’m not even thinking about it, you know?”

Dolores wanted to vomit. She didn’t understand this nether-region that women were so happy to occupy. Hers was of the opinion that if one was going to do something, it should be done all the way. Black or white, good guy or bad guy, springtime or autumn, ones or zeroes. Because, like it or not, that is how the human mind operates, always. Categorization was what made the human brain tick, ironically there just wasn’t room for a grey area in there. Dolores thought about a quote from Vonnegut, who put the matter so well when he wrote “It’s practically a law of life that you have to be one or the other? If you aren’t one or the other, you might as well be a doughnut.”

New Feminism, yeah? (part 2)

2008-05-13T17:11:00.001-07:00

Dolores had placed an ad on Craig’s list for this meeting, the first time she had actually used Craig’s list, despite the thousands of suggestions from numerous boyfriends to sell her old furniture and glutted record collection. The idea of offering up her well-worn and once loved things to strangers and then getting no response or interest had depressed and frightened her, so she remained, with closets full of outdated technology and camera equipment boxed next to duplicate CD’s of the Talking Heads 77 and Celebrity Skin. But posting this meeting for some reason did not summon up her long-standing fear of rejection, because an idea is so much less a reflection of the self than taste. An idea is merely incidental when determining another’s worth. All she had written in the description was “Do you want a new Feminist movement? Dissatisfied with the patriarchal structure? Still mad at your last boyfriend? Join us at the first meeting of the Avant Femme.” And this is what had showed up.

New Feminism, yeah?

2008-05-12T14:38:00.000-07:00

There weren’t as many people in the little room as she had anticipated. But then, she wasn’t sure what she had anticipated in the first place. They were mostly in their late 20’s, which was good, she knew that. It would certainly make for a more effective campaign, plus they would probably be more receptive to her ideas, since at this age what they wanted was permission from someone like herself so that they may satisfy their own vanity. Dolores took in the group of girls around the coffee pot and cheap butter cookies from Trader Joe’s she had bought the night before. Each cautiously took a paper plate from the meager stack, then paused interminably, almost reaching for a cookie, but then covering their actions by picking at the plastic table cloth or adjusting their purses, until a more sizable girl finally broke suit and grabbed a couple of the sweets to go along with her heavily sugared coffee. Then they gathered like squirrels, still careful to take a napkin. They were ladies after all, unfortunately.

A bit brighter and more innane

2008-05-05T15:18:00.000-07:00

Here is a list of slightly grotesque and deeply implicational people I am attracted to (in no particular order):

1) George Plimpton
2) William F. Buckley Jr.
3) James Watson (the one on the right...he always seems to be on the right, v. strange)
4) Stephen Hawking (quite a popular one. Our society is sick)
5) Sir David Attenborough
6) This is just so sick and wrong, but Anthony Weiner. I hate my loins.

I have removed Ira Glass from the list, as apparently he was recently offered a spot on People's 50 Most Beautiful People. Simply will not do for this list.

...I will continue my list as I run across them. Please add your own nauseating crush!

No-sterday

2008-01-07T19:09:00.000-08:00

Can't remember when I became quite so obsolete in terms of words. I always prided myself on knowing quite a number of words, but in this new 2.o world of BigGoogle Brother, I seem to find myself at a loss. What is a doc alert? What's fishing, or the advantage of Google reader? Should I learn C++ language before I learn Cantonese or Spanish? Apparently now it is almost as gouche to use IM as to leave a voice message on a mobile phone (which is no longer a cell phone). Maybe I shouldn't communicate at all. Damn. Guess I shouldn't have posted this.

Shapeless, Shiftless

2007-12-18T01:12:00.000-08:00

These things, these "blogs" seem little more than some latest trend in the markers of days; that is, if I'm not to be mistaken on their purpose. So I would like to dedicate this log to Time, which is really the greatest religion we have. Am I wrong in thinking everything would fall apart if we didn't believe in time? People my age always acknowledge that time is not linear, but very few I know live accordingly. Constant picture taking, updates to software, the on-line catalogs of those friends and associates that know we're alive. Even the daring seem to live step by step by step to prove that they exist and that they are relevant. I suppose I'm one of these, one of those, one of you and them.