Being home for the summer leaves me a lot of time for thinking, and for starting random projects.
One thing that is often on my mind is this website here. I worry about it falling stagnate, that I’m not really creating the awesome that it could be. Poor Josh bears the brunt of it, as I’m often emailing him with ideas, bombarding him in im’s with random webpages that illustrate what I am dreaming of.
Last week I came up with a fantastic idea for my links page: instead of the prerequisite blog roll page with links to all of my online friends and being afraid that I’d missed someone, what if it was a link page to all of the different profile pages of me online. Pretty much, links to where else you could potentially find me in the internets.
However, it is never as easy as that. I opened up Numbers, and made a pretty basic spreadsheet, with the site, the profile address, my login name and password. I came up with fifteen sites off the top of my head. But I knew there were more. This is web 2.0, after all. Every site you visit seems to want you to sign up and be social these days.
And so I thought, to the gmail archive! I had archived every single email I had ever received since I opened the account, and thus would have the emails for every web service I had signed up for since March of 2006.
However, never content with the easy way of doing things, I added more work. I realized that I had stopped labeling my emails when I had gotten my macbook and started using desktop mail again. Instead, everything just got shoved into the archive and forgotten about. It was a mess. And to make matters worse, none of the labels made any sense. So I thought, if I was going to go through the emails anyways to find my web profiles, I might as well label and weed as I went.
I started with 5742 emails in my archive. And deleted all except three labels and started again. It took me about five days, doing it for as long as I could stand each day. I ended up with 1974 emails and 18 labels. And I switched from POP to IMAP—which is definitely taking some getting used to—so that I could label emails as I remove them from my in box.
So, in going through these emails, how many web services am I signed up for? 45. Forty-five sites that, if I was a good little web drone, would check into every day.
The oddest thing, though, are the repeats. Not multiple sign-ups for the same site, but the sign-ups for similar services that do the same thing. Del.icio.us and Ma.gnolia. YouTube and Viddler. LibraryThing and GoodReads. Myspace and Facebook and Virb and Ziki.
I am apparently not monogamous with my online apps, and can come up with justifications for why each one is necessary. Or, for some, that I wanted to be sure to get my username before someone else, just in case a service hit big and all of my friends began to use it.
I was overwhelmed when I was done creating the list. It’s so long that I have to scroll it all. So varied that I had to add a column to mark what the service is used for. Looking at the list makes me wonder why I thought I needed all of these services to live my life, when I check only a handful of them daily.
Part of me wants to go and delete the accounts that I don’t use. But then I look at the list, and think, will I never use that again? And the answer is rarely yes. I did remove some forums from the list, because they’ve either moved systems and I’m no longer there (so long K2 Forums, it was nice while it lasted), or they were support forums for something that I no longer need support for (good bye Podpress Forums).
You might think that if I’m writing about it that the link page is done. But you’d be wrong, as nothing has happened on that front. Josh and I are still trying to work out how to display all of the links on the link page without it being a gigantic information overload. That might take another five days of thinking about the problem randomly throughout the day as I create other random projects to fill my time with.
I’m open to any suggestions, as the design part of my mind apparently went on vacation while I’m on vacation, and I can’t being to picture anything other than the blank white page that is already there.
The semester has been over for almost two and a half weeks.
This means, of course, that I am running out of ways to entertain myself. Right now, I read about a book a day, take the dog out multiple times, and am spring cleaning to my heart’s content.
So far, I’ve cleaned out my dresser and my closet, and under my bed. I’ve got three boxes/bags to take to a thrift store, and another box of books for the Sigma Tau book sale we’re putting together for next semester.
The only thing left to clean in my room is the chest of drawers that hold all my crafting supplies.
In one of my more inspired purchases when I moved out last year, I picked up an Aneboda 3-drawer chest (the larger one) from Ikea to hold all of my yarn and stuff, since I wasn’t feeling the wire shelves I had before.
I have a love/hate relationship with this chest. I love how big it is. I love how it fits perfectly where I put it, I love that the drawer fronts are opaque but you can still sorta see what’s inside. I love that all of my yarn and fabric and other random craft things fit inside. I hate that I can’t remove the drawers, and hate that the bottom is solid—if only because I had a knitting pattern floating around the top of the drawer, and it slipped back and to the bottom, and took me forever to get back out.
I will probably tackle this chest sometime in the next week. It’s the only thing I have left to clean, and is a random mess. I keep shoving things in it, and not pulling things out. I am hoarding yarn I’m never going to use, and need to actually organize better what I have in there. I would love to be able to put my green sewing box1 in there, along with the purple Caboodles2 box that hold all of my circular knitting needles.
I’m also feeling crafty, which means I’ll probably start sewing things up when I clean out the chest. I need a case for my sunglasses, a case for my laptop, maybe another skirt, and a tote bag to take to the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings.
I don’t know what I’ll do when the chest is cleaned up. My book pile is steadily dwindling—only 15 left, which is the smallest it’s ever been—and I walked out of the bookstore last night without buying anything. I guess it means I’m not really in a reading mood.
- It seems to be a rule somewhere that everyone’s grandma had a green sewing box to hand down. All of my friends who sew have a green box filled with old notions and threads that their grandma lovingly collected. [back]
- I’ve had this box forever, and keep repurposing it for stuff. Originally used to hold my makeup in middle school, and then hair ornaments, and now knitting notions. And who knew Caboodles was still in business, making boxes? [back]
Last week, while I was visiting my parent’s on my “vacation,” I had plenty of time to do nothing. Which in my world translates to reading.
In some strange turn of events, not only did I only only pack three books to take home with me—E saw the pile of books before they made it into the bag, and it was much larger then—I didn’t even finish them all.
Granted, I did read Chuck Palahniuk’s Snuff, a book that I could not pack because I did not own it, but I still had the last third of Austen’s Emma to read when ME showed up to begin our trek back up to Chico.
Which means that I finished Palahniuk’s Invisible Monsters, which I’ve already talked about, in conjunction with Snuff, but also Machiavelli’s The Prince.
Quite an odd selection of reading for a week, to be sure. Tossing in a treaties on how principalities are acquired and kept, and how to keep from losing them, doesn’t seem to combine well with a pre-victorian novel about the life of English gentility, or a modern American transgressional novel about the search for self.
However, reading The Prince has me prepared for ruling principality, whether one is handed to me, or I take one by force.
It also has me wanting to read more about the renaissance, and the Medici family. Anna recommended The House of Medici: Its Rise and Fall by Christopher Hibbert, and luckily enough both libraries in town have a copy so that I’m not tempted to buy it (I am a starving college student this summer, after all).
I’ll probably pick it up this afternoon, seeing as how I have to return a few books to the campus library for Mrs. Jesus. I can’t say that I’ll read it right away, but I’m definitely looking forward to it. It’s been awhile since I read a non-fiction book that wasn’t assigned to me.
My book pile is steadily dwindling. There is a good chance that I’ll finally read through all the books in my room that have been waiting for months—or years— to be read. I don’t know what I’m going to do with all of that shelf space that will be free.
I heart Chuck Palahniuk. Not as much as my sister, true, but still more than the average author.
This last Wednesday, my sister and I trekked out to San Francisco to see Chuck at a book signing. His new novel Snuff was released the week before, and we were waiting impatiently all week for the signing so that we could read the book.
To prepare myself, the first book I read after finals was Invisible Monsters, his third fiction novel and the only one I hadn’t read yet. This book was my reward; it had been sitting patiently on my bookshelf unread for over a month. When I wanted to pull down a book and read, I’d look at it and contemplate studying instead. Not that I studied—no, instead I just pulled down a romance novel from the crap collection1, and felt bad about reading such a bad book when there was other stuff to be done.
Back to Wednesday: K and I spent about two hours at the Warf—turns out we’re tired of being touristy in San Francisco—and then headed up to the Haights to pick up our copy of the books before the signing.
I then proceeded to read Snuff for the next two hours straight, and finished it about ten minutes before Chuck signed it for Josh. My sister had her copy of Snuff signed as a birthday present to a friend, and three of her other Chuck books signed for her.
I didn’t know what to expect for the reading. I usually only go to poetry readings; the only book reading I have been to was with multiple authors, and boring as hell.
First Chuck was interviewed by Rick Kleffel of The Agony Column—they recorded the talk and it is supposedly supposed to be up on the site. I can’t find it to save my life. However, there are a few videos taken by the bookstore editor up on his Youtube page (pretty much if it’s got Chuck’s name in it, it happened at the signing).
After the interview, instead of reading a section of the novel, Chuck went with a short story that he had written especially for the tour, called “Loser,” about a guy rushing Zeta Delt, and the pledge trip to be in the studio audience for The Price is Right.
Afterwards was audience Q+A, where I really wanted to ask him how he felt about becoming his own genre—query letters go out to agents and editors all the time with the phrase “in the style of Chuck Palahniuk”—when he had found it so hard to be published in the beginning, when the editors loved his stuff but didn’t know who the audience would be. But I didn’t get picked. Oh well.
There were also a few contests, mainly whoever blew up a blow-up doll the fastest received a copy of a recently published chapbook of Chuck’s short stories. At least, I think its Chuck’s… If not, I never caught the name of who’s it is. They did this a couple of times, so four people won books.
K got a blow-up doll and an autograph hound, both signed by Chuck, both important objects in Snuff. She was very excited.
Chuck is awesome to see in person, really funny, and really nice when signing a huge pile of books, even when the line snakes out the door.
And now I can’t wait for the movie of Choke to come out in the Fall. Based on K’s favorite book, it won an award at the Sundance Film Festival in January. I’m also waiting for my favorite book, Survivor, to finally be made into a movie. It was optioned before 9/11, but was shelved because the frame story involves the hijacking of an airplane.
- This is the collection of romances that ME was tossing because they are crap. I have them because I like to read crap so as to better recognize it. We do not believe that the romance genre is crap. Far from it. [back]
I don’t know what to blog about.
Walking to my last final Friday morning with Mrs. Jesus and ME, we were discussing the things that we couldn’t wait to do now that we had all this free time, no classes to study for or things that had to get done. I don’t remember what they said—I was still cramming for our final and thus not listening to remember—but mine was blogging. I couldn’t wait to get back to blogging.
This semester has been very stressful for me. The problem with my stress, though, is that I don’t really notice it until it’s gone. Friday morning, standing in the shower and knowing I only had a paragraph and a half to finish my last paper and I was done with my portfolio, done with my Rhetoric class, and it was like I was washing away an accumulation of grime that I hadn’t even noticed. I felt cleaner coming out of that shower than I have this whole year—and it’s not like I don’t shower every day.
When I’m stressed, though, I lose interest in everything I do for fun. Blogging seems like a luxury I couldn’t afford, knitting a vague memory of something I used to enjoy. I haven’t read the books I wanted to because I felt guilty for reading something not assigned, so I read crap books that made me feel bad about reading them.
The end of the semester is like the light at the end of the tunnel. I suddenly want to start new knitting projects, read books that have been on the pile for months, have brilliant ideas for stories, and finally, reconnect with my blog.
Unfortunately, I don’t know what to blog about. Josh wrote a fantastic post the other day about who he wanted to be, what he wanted to do. He sent me a rough draft of the post for editing, and seeing his final, I am blown away. So much better than his first go round.
What made the difference? His personality showed through. He didn’t just tell me something, he gave me a story to illustrate his point. A personal story. Which makes sense, since Josh and I are personal bloggers.
It’s hard being a personal blogger some times. I mean, sure, it seems like it would be easy because you can write about whatever you want to. But at the same time, it’s hard, because it’s personal. This blog is all about me. It’s a reflection of what I think and believe and experience. And sometimes, blogging becomes hard because it seems like nothing good enough is going on to blog about.
After all, how many times can I write about breaking up with a long-term boyfriend (apparently not at all, because I’m not ready to rip that scab off), about being single and dating again, about finals and grades and classes and school?
Each time I sit down to blog, I want it to be something new. I want the act of writing to bring me a new truth, and for the audience, the act of reading to open them up to something they never thought about.
Lately, it feels like I’m regurgitating the same things over again. I haven’t hit onto anything profound—for me, at the very least—in a very long time. There have been very few moments in the last few months that I have thought, as Mrs. Jesus would say, “now that’s blogworthy.”
So this summer, I’m going to rethink what makes something blogworthy, come up with a blog-buster, plumb the depths of my life to find a truth that has been lurking around in the dark corners of my mind. And hopefully, pull out some entertaining writing to boot.
So, I don’t know what to blog about. But I’ve got all summer to find my groove again.
P.S.: If you’re looking for a blog editor, for either copy or content, I’m your girl. Going rate is $10 an hour, and a post this length would take me about 15 minutes for content, less for strict copy. For inquiries: lisa (at) unsympathetic (dot) net.
This is the most stressful time of the semester. No, it’s not finals. I never stress about those. No, this is “dead week” when the professors are supposed to not test us. So, of course it’s the busiest week of the semester because everything is due.
Since I will have to write more than 10,000 words in new papers alone, never mind the ones that still need to be rewritten (oh, like the one that’s so bad it got no grade at all), there will be most likely no blogging.
But to tide you all over, I wrote a very bad poem about “dead week.” Just in case you were wondering what it is I have to do—and I admit, my list is pretty light. E’s been working non-stop for the last three weeks with no let up, and Ame hasn’t seen her boyfriend for more than 2–3 hours a week in awhile. As English majors, we’ve got it pretty easy. And no group projects, thank heaven.
So, I’m turning my radio up, tuning the world out, and going to give myself finger-cramps before the week is out.
Poem after the jump. I didn’t want to torture you with my bad poetry unneccessarily.
(more…)
Tonight was Sigma Tau’s Open Mic night, and ME and I didn’t know it, but it was apparently our responsibility.
(Did I mention? New Vice President of Sigma Tau? And ME got President? Rocks to be us.)
We were not prepared to be in charge, but our last meeting of the semester was the day before, and the President’s folder was handed over, and there we were.
I ended up being emcee for the night, introducing people and such, and read my poem first, to kick off the night. I hate being first. And microphones. But it went well. There weren’t very many readers — I blame it completely on the lack of fliers announcing it — but I think there were about ten of us. And our advisor is good at filling time; he writes songs that the English majors love to hear. And the place was crowded — much more than attended last semester.
I really like open mic nights. I love hearing people read their stuff, and for some reason, I alway get a bajillion ideas. I always end up with notes scribbled all over whatever is available.
Tonight, I came home with ideas for three new poems, and finally figured out to illustrate an image that’s been stalling me on one I’ve been working on.
So next year, Open Mic nights are going to be my pet project. Better organized, better promoted, and an actual donation jar. I can’t wait.
But which poem should I write first? Things I Will Never Do for You or You Can Tell This is a Party Because We’ve Got Red Plastic Cups?
Who am I kidding? First up is on the list of things to be worked on is the one I talked about last month. I’ve finally got the image I was looking for, this one I can show to my parent’s when I’m done.
Oh, and two more weeks until the end of the semester. Can’t wait for that to be over too.
This last week has been the hardest week for me this semester. This year, actually.
And it’s not because I had a ton of work to do or fights with people. No, instead it’s because I’m a dumb ass and break things easily.
My harddrive crashed last Monday night. And by crashed, I mean the disk actually shattered. Trying to boot up, my computer sounded like it was playing plinko as the pieces moved around as it tried to spin.
So, no recovery possible. I’ve lost everything. All of my papers, all of my notes, all of my music. I had to skip class last Wednesday for an emergency trip down to Sacramento and the Apple store.
I’ve come to grips with losing everything. The most important things I was working on — a research paper and a poem — I had emailed rough drafts of to Josh, so I have those to work with. I’d have been so bitter if I had to start that poem over from scratch.
Things will be silent around here for just a little bit longer. I’m slowly piecing back together my computer and the things I need, and there are three weeks left in the semester with four papers that have to get written, along with a huge InDesign project and trying to piece back together my Sociology notes to study for the final.
I’ll miss you blog. Not as much as I miss my harddrive, but still.
I have abandoned the poem of my last post for the moment –
It’s still working it’s way through the cogs of my head, trying to find the right images (words will follow later, I hope). I’ve taken E’s advice, writing everything down that I can imagine, trying to figure out which images to string together, where my emotion is.
(By the by — does anyone know how to attach something physical to music? Because that’s the image I’m struggling with right now. Everything else has had actual physical equivalents, but music eludes me. I want to attach something to a song, so that everyone can see it, not just a copy that I own, like a CD.)
Instead of struggling with the most awesome awesomeness to come out of my imagination, I’ve started on a poem that is inspired by a single line: I wanted to write you a love poem.
This work is entirely different that what I usually write. To begin with, couplets. I don’t think I’ve ever actually written couplets, and it’s interesting to try to think about where the line breaks should be, and as I add and change lines throughout the poem, I have to be mindful of the couplet breaks.
The imagery is different than usual, too, since usually I attempt a single running metaphor (the universe, perhaps?), and this one switches up three times, but it makes sense because it’s more stream of thought than I usually attempt.
Think Billy Collins, really. I’ve been gorging on poetry between chapters of The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins required for class, and his poetry moves me like nothing else, and there are no “love poems” so much that there are poems filled with love.
My poem is… I know I know, this would be so much easier if I could share the poem with you all, but I’m working on it for submission for the Sigma Tau Delta lit mag, and I don’t want to put it up here and have that count as prior publication and thus get excluded solely for that. But once it gets rejected, I promise to share it with you all.
But I’m really excited. It’s like my muse has decided this is the week she’s going to be awesome. This week, I heart poetry. And to show you, here’s one of my favorite Collin’s poems, animated. I think all poems should get the “music video” treatment.
I am not a poet.
Which makes it so odd, then, that so often there are poems that attempt to worm their way out of my head.
I have every poem I’ve ever written since I was 10. I started collecting them into a journal notebook when I was in the eighth grade. I started actually writing poetry in drafts when I was 23. I have never written anything that I would send out for publication.
It is very interesting to flip through that self-made poem book, and see how my poetry has evolved. I look back on those high school poems, so full of angst and anger and death, and can’t remember a single event that caused me to feel that way. They read a lot like the journal from my sophomore/junior year. Full of emotion, hardly any images. And so very much crap. Only the thought that I’d probably burn down the condo keeps me from burning this book.
My poetry now revolves around images. Scenes in my head that mean more than just the event. The hardest part is to get out the emotion behind the image. It’s like for some reason, my brain cannot process both into the same poem. It’s always either/or, never both.
I am very lucky that I have a wide group of friends who all write, or all understand the process of writing (but deny that they write), and are willing to listen while I hash out ideas and images and emotions. I’m never at a loss for finding someone available when I need to talk through my writing.1
Right now, there is a poem that needs to fall out onto the page. I’ve been thinking about it on and off for the last week. I have an image that’s been building. I know what the emotion is. I have absolutely no words to string together. ME and Am think it’s an absolutely brilliant idea. E tells me to write about it like I write stories — describing everything I see, and maybe the poem will come. I day dream about the poem while I’m in class, the image running through my head like a music video to a song with no lyrics.
I need to get these lyrics out. It’s a love song, both happy and sad. Hopeless and hopeful. Haunting and haunted. It’s pretty much going to be the best thing I’ve ever imagined.
But first I must get the damn image on the page without losing the emotion.
- Thank you! omfg thank you! I’d go crazy without you all! [back]
