| The Cure All | 11:10 PM |
There's nothing a hot tub, a bath bomb, and Nine Inch Nails can't make better. Uplifting? No. But dark contemplation and a sense of relief and relaxation? Yes.
I won't let you fall apart
We'll find the perfect place to go where we can run and hide
I'll build a wall and we can keep them on the other side
Relationships are complicated things. My sister got robbed at gunpoint in Oakland just recently and it scared the hell out of me to hear her tight little voice on the phone just after it happened and I didn't even care about it -- about everything she'd lost -- all I could think after I realized she was safe, was that she was safe. They didn't hurt her and she was safe. And what a vulnerable place that is -- loving someone so much that you'd give anything for her safety.
We're in this together now
None of them can stop us now.
When it comes down to giving things up and making decisions, everything's a compromise. A setting aside of one thing for another. Someone told me once that every time you make a decision, you grieve for the things you decided against. Maybe I've mentioned it before because it's been stuck in my head ever since, but she's right. You give up one thing to pursue something else and it's a loss, and a part of you grieves for what could have been. In love, in careers, in life and life threatening situations, you can't have everything you want...you wouldn't possibly know what to with it all.
It didn't turn out the way you wanted it do, did it
My two favorite albums are The Fragile (Left) and Things Falling Apart. I love all of Trent Reznor's music, but these two albums let me sink into myself and let my thoughts run their course.
Do you know how far this has gone?
Just how damaged have I become?
| You have the wrong email address... | 8:18 PM |
I'm amazed at the amount of mis-addressed email I get. I get a lot of spam, including email from places where people have signed up with my email address -- that's my favorite. Every week I have a few people trying to recover the password for "their" email address from gmail -- they clutter my inbox, but I can just ignore them. Then I get people emailing me just to see if the address if valid -- just ignore those as well. And then I get a lot of mis-mailed email. Sometimes someone has typoed the address, or left off the rest of the email address (like black.kat@gmail, or kat.kramer@gmail, etc), but the most amazing thing to me is people who email other "close" people with the wrong email address, or important emails that get mis-mailed to me -- like emails about insurance claims, rents not being paid, or all the business docs that people send me.
I got an email the other day from a poor mom practically begging her son to email her and dad. She said dad was bummed to not be able to get a hold of his son in his times of need. It was sad, but seriously -- how do you not know your own son's email address?! And really, his name is Kat? Maybe that's why he doesn't get in touch with you.
Sometimes I email people back and tell them they have the wrong email address. Like if it sounds like they're looking for some long lost friend, or it's a really cute and sincere email and I feel bad they won't get a response from whoever they meant to really email. Or if it sounds like something important -- business related or something like that. I had someone once explain to me, no -- you know -- the PG&E rebate for the air conditioner, after I told her I wasn't the Kat she was looking for. No, seriously, I don't have an air conditioner and you're emailing the WRONG address!
| One of the boys | 12:45 AM |
My boyfriend works on a ship so he comes and lives with me for a month at a time. We've been together eight months but have only been in the same country for just over 11 weeks in total.
One of the things I realized on his last trip was that one of the reasons I fight relationships is because I want to keep being one of the guys. I don't want my boyfriend to take my place in my circle of guy friends! I don't want to miss hanging out with them because he's hanging out with them. I don't like the idea that guys night out will actually only be for guys and not include me anymore.
The other thing I realized was that I'm being slowly edged out of the guy group whether I have a boyfriend or not. And after thinking about it for a while I realized that it's been happening for a while now and I'm ok with it. I like hanging out with the girls -- I actually prefer them. I was out with the boys one night last week and it was 3 of them and me (including my boyfriend) and they were talking about their bachelor party weekend and whatnot and I was bored! Partly because I'd heard all the stories before, but partly because there were no other women to goof on the men with me or to counter with bachelorette party stories with.
I don't know why it is that as I get older I care more about my clothes and my earrings and my makeup and making aprons and photo albums and pretty little table settings. Good god, if I'd known this was what I'd turn into when I was 17, I probably would've cried my little heart out and tried to extinguish myself. But here I am, 17 years later and I'm having fun. And I'm a girl, goddamnit, a real honest to god girl and I never would have guessed it, but I like it.
| Your Friendly Serial Killer | 12:18 AM |
I've been absorbed in Dexter, the Showtime series about the blood forensics expert/serial killer. I love this criticism of the media buzz around Dexter on the Media Research Center's site (a conservative group). I found it humorous.
I'll admit to having a long time fascination with serial killers. I used to read true crime novels (those hideously unliterary little mass market books) when I was a kid and was always especially interested in the serial killers -- the ones that were compelled to repeat their rituals over and over and over again. I see in my son this same fascination with death. The last time he was here he picked up a death encyclopedia. I told him he could pick between that and a coloring book on brain anatomy (we were at Paxton Gate). I was hoping to color the amygdala with him and talk about anatomy or something foolishly educational. Of course, he chose the book that catalogued different ways people died and when (which, btw, he's learned quite a lot from), and I picked up a black and white photograph of what looked like a pile of dead dolls.
My fascination with murderers is partly why I love crime dramas. Though I also love them because each episode is discrete -- you don't have to watch an entire season to get it. Sure, there are some insignificant narratives that arc through a season, but I'm only interested in the crime. That human relationship stuff always makes me impatient.
Last night, I saw the most gruesome CSI episode: Pirates of the Third Reich. Why is it that every strong, independent, intelligent, attractive woman on TV just happens to own a pair of knee high black leather boots and a matching bull whip for just the right occassion? Like whipping your daughter's murderer to death. The episode was about a methodically organized serial killer (much like Dexter). And in both the CSI episode and the Dexter series, there is just enough gore to be a little scary, but not enough to make me turn away.
The thing with Dexter is that he really doesn't seem that off. The things he thinks aren't so foreign to me. I was thinking tonight how it's a little like anthropomorphizing an animal. Not that I would equate a human being to, say, a cat, though arguably you could say that by society's standards, serial killers aren't "human". But, it's a little like that -- attributing feelings and thoughts to something, a person in this case, that don't actually exist. But in the series, Dexter's desire to fit in, to live a normal life -- isn't that what we all want? Maybe it's harder for some of us than for others, or maybe I don't understand your average person very well, or god forbid, maybe I'm giving away too much about myself when I say that I can relate to what that character thinks. I feel like he's just a lonely, longing person who feels like he's missing something, play acting through life, a different mask for different situations, and I think many of us have felt the same way. And I think that's the point the show is making -- that he's a serial killer, but he's still just a person like you and me.
The cinematography is gorgeous. The scenes from the opening credits make the mundane look threatening and murderous. It's like an mini allegory for the entire series. And you would have never thought that a butchered, bloodless body wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine could be beautiful. But I promise you, it is.
| The Joy of Writing | 12:15 AM |
The weeks that I have to turn in a story for my writing group are good because they force me to email out something that's somewhat "complete". I haven't turned in anything longer than 3 pages and none of them I could really consider complete, but that I'm writing fiction at all is a delicious thing.
Lately I come home at night and I'm compelled to write and it feels good. I was talking to a good friend tonight about how when you hate work, it's a really tough thing because you spend so much of your time there. And until fairly recently, I was miserable at work for many months. And all that time I was trying to sort out what it was I wanted to do next. I have a lot of interests, I considered a lot of different things, but in the end what I love and have always loved is writing. The only reason I haven't pursued it is because I'm scared. I look at what Marg has done, and what Ineke is planning to do, and look at the other independent women on the periphery of my life, and I find what they've done, or are working on, inspiring. Fear is a silly thing to let get in the way of something you really want to do.
Now that I have a long term goal -- something I haven't had since I moved to San Francisco -- I'm content. I'm still not crazy about work, but everything's tolerable when you know you're working towards something better.
I haven't really written fiction since I graduated college. I half assed wrote one complete, new story when I applied to graduate writing programs years ago, but nothing since then. My new stories lately weave in bits and pieces of my real life in a way that's entirely new to me. My stories in college were complete fictions, and while imaginative, are completely different from the stories I've been writing lately. It's still fiction, but drawing on the pieces of my nonfiction experience has been interesting.
I obsessively read over a submission several times before I hit send. Part of it is the editorial process, and the other part is just hearing it over and over again in my head because it pleases me, and because I'm trying to hear if it'll please other people, too. So many people know I write and so few have read any of my fiction. Somehow it's ok to present it to less initimate people to critique, and scarier to give it to someone you care about to read. An intimacy and trust I'm not confident enough for. Yet.
| Ethical Investing | 10:58 PM |
I admit that in the past I have made my stock purchases based on sentimentality. Well, I say in the past, but it's really my only method. I'll do the research to make sure it's a sound company to invest in, but my heart does the picking first. A couple of weeks ago I was trying to pick some new companies I wanted to own stock in and someone suggested Starbucks (SBUX). My immediate reaction was no. But from a financial standpoint, Starbucks is a sound investment, and one of my financial management company's top 25 picks year after year. They grow, they make money, they're a great company for any investor.
I'll admit that I ignorantly dislike Starbucks. I have always preferred to support small, local companies and somehow hold it against the coffee giant for being everywhere. If there's another coffee place around, I'll purposely not go to Starbucks so I can frequent the other place. I visit my local Tully's instead of Starbucks in Noe Valley -- and yet, as a friend pointed out -- exactly how local and small is Tully's?
I can't imagine investing in a company that I purposely avoid, but if the returns are good... Now that I have a small chunk of money for the first time in my life, it's interesting to me how tempting it is to just invest in successful companies without regard to their practices. I would really, really like to invest in Nike. But the unresolved sweat shop stuff makes me uneasy.
I now know that Starbucks, on the other hand, is known for its corporate responsibility (though lately it's had some labor union issues). It treat employees well, supports local communities, supports coffee farmers, etc., etc. I made myself walk into Starbucks last week and took notes on all its splendor: the ethical water, organic free trade coffee, the little stand with stuffed polar bears and walruses that said, "what you do at home can save their lives." All that and they support local artists (Irene Hendrick's prints were up on the wall). I had a vanilla latte there while I waited for my shuttle, and couldn't help but think that "corporate responsibility" and "environmentally friendly" were trendy now. Have you been to your local book store lately and browsed the new releases section? Not that this doesn't make these efforts less important or disingenuous, but would as many companies be trying and would it be so easy to do if it wasn't so popular? Supply and demand -- walk through your local grocery store. Sometimes I wonder to myself, are all those products labelled environmentally friendly, organic, healthy, low fat really what they claim to be?
I chose not to invest in Starbucks. I opted for one of PowerShares' alternative energy ETFs (PUW), along with a couple of other sentimental choices. But I'm glad I did the Starbucks research -- now I can buy my Starbucks coffee with no guilt, knowing that they're out there trying to save the world and all.
| Why Are Ex-Mormons so Interesting? | 11:12 PM |
I stumbled across a couple of new blogs recently and both of them belong to ex-Mormons. I know several ex-Mormons and I was starting to wonder why we find recovering Mormons so fascinating. Is it the magic underwear they have to wear all the time? The secret handshakes? The marrying and baptizing of the dead? Is it the endless proselytizing they do in their ever familiar clothes on their ever familiar bicycles, and their little name tags, Hello, I'm Brother Jones?
I'm not an expert on these subjects, but I'd venture to guess that the more weird things a religion makes its adherents do, the greater the fascination for those who used to practice it. It's because they seem cultish that we're fascinated by the Mormons, and even more so with the Christian Scientists. I mean, aliens? As a basis for a religion? Doesn't that sound crazy? And how do you get a mass group of people to behave identically if you're not brainwashing them just a little?!
No one bats an eye when they find out I'm an ex-Christian. No one asks me questions; no one wants to hear stories. We non-denominational Christians have no rituals and it's the rituals we're fascinated with. The ritualistic underwear, the ritualized ceremonies. Secret handshakes are a sign of elite access. So is being granted priesthood, or entry to the temple. It's so seductive. That kind of access. One step closer to enlightenment.
Maybe religion is just another form of brainwashing -- some religions milder than others. Doesn't brainwashing just mean that one learns to not think for oneself anymore? That you think what you're told to think? God is your saviour; you shall not want. And heaven awaits you behind pearly gates, above the softest of clouds.
I was thinking about my mom recently. Wondering where she was, then wondering why the hell would I phrase it that way? She's gone. Decomposing in the ground. And I was wondering is there an epiphany at the end for believers? Do they see death for what it is before they die, or are they spared that horror?
| 10 Years of Blogging | 11:47 AM |
Well, back then we didn't call it blogging. I just got my old "blog" back online after a couple of years of absence and I realized that it's been 10 years since I started blogging. Ten years!
| I Am a Dirty Rotten Deer Murderer! | 1:52 AM |
I drove into a deer this Saturday night. You know me, Ms. Animal Lover, Ms. Mushy Hearted Teary Eyed Can't Bear the Thought of Animals in Pain lady. Yeah.
I took the 92 West exit off 280 South and I was driving slow -- even for that little bit of road between 280 and 92, and next thing I know, less than a mile from the exit, I see a young deer and drive smack into it. You can't imagine my horror. I drove another 30 yards and then stopped, backed up slowly, and I could see the deer lying on the side of the road in my brake lights. And I'm shaking and scared and have no idea what to do. For a brief moment I thought about just taking off and ignoring the whole thing.
So there I am, sitting in my car, looking in the rear view mirror at the deer's ribcage lifting up and down. And I'm still not sure what to do, but I'm completely horrified at the thought that he's hurt and I hurt him and there's no one to look after him so I get out of the car, foolishly thinking I might be able to comfort him, but of course, he sees me as I get closer and freaks out and starts to try to get up. I must've broken one of his front legs because he's moving, but not very well. Once I realized what an ass I was being, I immediately backed away from him and got back in the car. Then sat there wondering -- what the fuck do I do now? Concluded that I must call the police -- surely they know what to do. Dial 411 on the cell phone, say "Woodside", then "Police Station", and it connects me directly with the emergency services line -- why the hell would I call 411 if it was an emergency?! I would've called 911 if I wanted them! So they transfer me to the non-emergency police line, and they transfer me to the San Mateo County Sheriff's office.
Hi, I just hit a deer and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to do something. My voice and my legs are all shaking and I feel like I'm just going to spill over with tears at any moment. I was on southbound 280 and exited where it said 92 west. I can't take my eyes off the deer in the rear view mirror. No, it's still alive. It starts to struggle to move again. I can't stand the thought of the poor thing suffereing. It's past 2am, so there are few cars and there's only a minimal shoulder so I'm sitting mostly blocking my lane on a two lane road with my emergency lights on. A single car passes me in the ten minutes I sit there.
Even after she tells me they'll send someone out and I don't need to wait, I don't want to leave it just lying there. It struggles some more and then is half way in the road and I have these vivid images of the poor thing getting run over by some other hapless schmuck and I can only leave when I see that it's gotten itself mostly off the road again.
I bawled in the car as I was driving away. Once I did what I had to do, made all the clear headed decisions I needed to make, I just let myself break down.
And the odd thing for me thinking back on it, is how little guilt I feel about it. Not just little guilt, no guilt. I was driving safely. I was driving slow -- slower even than I needed to or most people do. It was just an accident. The deer stepped out of the bushes at a really bad time. I don't think I could've prevented it. And thank god for that, or else I'd be tormented about it.
| new apartment | 12:08 AM |
I have a new apartment! It's so adorable. It's got a little mini tub, like my old Mission apartment used to have (except it's not a claw foot tub). It's a little studio with a loft in downtown Mountain View (close to work -- I love living close to work). But best of all, a downtown. I can exit my front door on foot and easily find yummy food a short walking distance away. I can walk or ride my bike to work. I have alone space. I can cook for one again.
| i blog, you blog, we all blog | 10:44 PM |
A friend of mine is reading Blink, which I also recently picked up after seeing Malcolm Gladwell speak at Google. He said that is was the first time that he'd read anything that promoted trusting your intuition. I think it's been popularized. Intuition is now scientifically sanctioned so we can talk freely of it without resorting to condescending language.
Blogs are funny little things. You can't talk about the band you saw last week and try to promote their upcoming show if you wait four days to blog about it. You can't save up "blog" stories and then expect to be able to write them just the way you originally told them to yourself in your head as you were trying to keep yourself from forgetting to blog about it.
Btw, Tsu Shi Ma Mi Rae rock.
| shallow thoughts | 12:42 AM |
jesus, i feel like i haven't had a deep thought in a long time. i don't read anymore, i don't work the long hours i used to, i don't write or blog, i don't work out. it's like i don't have the drive to push myself to do anything. or enjoy anything. i do just enough and that's it.
i haven't felt quite like myself in a long time. in a very long time. and i think i know why, but i keep shuffling it away. telling myself it'll get better on its own. give it some time. i'll sort it out.
i was thinking how you can be brilliant and still be a jackass. being brilliant doesn't give you insight into other people. nor does it necessarily increase one's empathic abilities, or tolerance, or patience. how arrogance and intelligence seem to go hand in hand for some people. excuse me, do you know you're being a prick? probably not -- being brilliant doesn't necessarily mean you know anything about yourself either. i know lots of really smart people who aren't assholes -- i just hate hearing stories about the ones that are.
| Google Shirts | 12:58 AM |
I've accumulated so many Google shirts that it's often all I wear to work -- I'm a lazy dresser. This is fine at work, but sometimes I feel a little awkward outside of work. I was at the grocery store tonight after my Korean lesson. The guy behind me in line says, you work at Google, pointing to my shirt, and I said yes, and he said lucky you. This isn't the first time someone's said that to me and I always wonder what exactly they mean. Lucky me because Google's an awesome place to work? Or lucky me cause you think I've made money on the IPO? If it's the former, then yay! lucky me! If it's the latter, I didn't go full time until after the IPO. I sort of have this desire to tell people that. I had a cashier at Long's tell me once how lucky I was to work there; when did I start? About a year ago. Oh! Before the IPO. So lucky. What university did you graduate from? USC. It's a question my mother would've asked. I wanted to tell her I started there before the IPO, but was a contractor for almost a year before I went full time. But what right does she have to that additional information about me? I guess in some way I want to comfort her -- to let her know that she may think I'm luckier than her, but I'm not really. I'm a lot like her -- just a working girl with bills to pay. Maybe I like my job and the company I work for more than she likes hers, but we're really not so different at all.
| Relearning my first language | 12:35 AM |
I had my first Korean lesson tonight with a girl I found on Craigslist. She was great. But I was horrified because I didn't use the polite form and made her a little embarassed/slightly uncomfortable and I didn't really know the proper way to say things and so then I was afraid of saying anything at all. It passed quickly -- if I just tacked on "yo" to the ending of everything I said, I was pretty safe. So I did -- a little excessively I think, but I was trying to be polite.
And I was wondering what it felt like to her -- the way I spoke was too casual -- did that mean too intimate? Like close friends intimate or lovers intimate? What I imagined was that I spoke as a child familiar with a parent -- is that what embarassed her? A stranger speaking to her like a child to a mother? I was five when I came to the states and lost my Korean. I'm sure my vocabulary and my grammatical skills reflect that.
And how on earth does my mother let me speak like that?! To all and sundry -- isn't she embarassed of me? Or horrified about me making an ass of myself? What must I sound like to my relatives or other Korean speakers! I cannot wait until I no longer sound like a moron. My pronunciation is good and we did some reading tonight -- I had fun and learned a ton and I can't wait to see her again next week.
| Blogging While Bathing | 12:27 AM |
Sounds dangerous, doesn't it? Someone searched on 'hot whores in Florida' and hit my site today. I don't think Ed counts as a hot whore. He is in Florida, though. In Panama City. I was emailing him today catching him up on little tidbits of information and it just hit me that he's only been gone for one full week. Seems like an eternity though.
I had my regular gynecological exam yesterday -- the only outstanding element of this visit (wait, other than the longest breast exam of my life) was the change of venue -- I change doctors very reluctantly. I considered doing what I've done with my eye doctor -- make a long ass trip once a year for that exam just so I won't have to switch doctors, but I've recently decided that that's absurd. No more southern California trips to get my yearly eye exam or to have my taxes done, and no trips to San Francisco for my pap smears. So I got a recommendation and checked out the new place. Too large for my taste, but everyone was real nice so I think I'll stay.
The weather has been so amazingly nice -- warm and sunny and it feels like summer. And I sit right next to a very large window and I get so antsy! I want to get up and go outside, but I can't think of anything to do out there that would make me feel productive. I can't work outside cause my eyes are too sensitive to light and I'd just be so distracted. I like watching volleyball when it's on. I can't wait for them to open the pools so I can go swimming in the middle of the day and at least enjoy the sun a bit that way...
| Passive blogging | 11:27 PM |
I've been a terrible blogger. I think reading Ed's travel blog, with his multiple updates in one day is making me feel a) an itch to go to new places and b) like a lazy writer. The last few months I've held a lot of things in -- like I've been holding my breath or something. I'm not even writing at home on paper. There's been so much going on the last couple of months -- enough to make me feel overwhelmed, and I've shared little of it here. Everyday I walk around with a running commentary in my head about the things I want to point out to you and share with you -- things I don't want to forget, things that seem immediately important but then less so as the day goes on and I've run out of time or energy to stay up for another half hour or so to sit and write something for myself.
And even now as I'm sitting here typing in front of the fire, I'm trying to recall all the thoughts I've had recently -- those ones I didn't want to forget...and I guess it's ok if I don't remember them all because this is just a warmer up exercise.
| Deer Sighting | 2:03 PM |
The rains seem to bring the deer out. There were ten of them by the house this morning (I only saw seven of them). I tried taking photos, but only got one good shot. They have excellent hearing :)
| The future | 11:54 PM |
I've been thinking a lot about the future and where things go from here. And you can't think about the future without some sort of recollection of the past because if you maintain relationships at all with anyone you've known for any length of time, every person is attached to various memories -- of other people and places you used to know, things you used to do. And there's something slightly sad in knowing that things won't ever go back -- that those events in your life are done and gone and those people won't mean the same thing to you they used to, no matter how important they still are to you, you always drift away. You always have a new life waiting. And because I'm tender hearted about the people in my life, I feel sort of sad that those relationships will change. Because my life is changing. And fast.
| Dead Hensons | 1:35 AM |
Oh...lovely night! I've been working hard so I haven't had much time for myself, but I spent the night with my girlfriend and had an awesome time. Saw The Dead Hensons and giddily danced to muppet tunes at the Hemlock at Polk and Post. They were an incredibly fun live band. And we had drinks and talked. And I got a cab ride home with a sci fi fan and we talked about tv shows and now I'm home and sleepy but feeling warm and fuzzy :)
| Stunt Monkey | 1:40 AM |
I went and saw a punk show on Sunday night -- part of the KSCU's Stop, Drop and Rock at the Gaslighter in Campbell -- cute little venue. I love shows in old theaters. Stunt Monkey were awesome. It was a little weird though -- the two bands that played before Stunt Monkey didn't excite a lively crowd -- there were piles of people standing in front of the stage -- many of them young girls in short skirts. I don't remember there being so many cutely dressed girls at the punk shows I used to go to. But they'd just stand there in front of the stage. Not moving. It looked really weird. I don't know how you can stand so close to the music and not move. I'm not graceful, and I can't dance, but music -- no matter what kind -- gets under my skin, makes me tap my feet, bob my head, wiggle my hips.
But when Stunt Monkey came on -- most of those cute little girls were gone, and the mosh pit opened up for a second to let a handful of people tear across the floor a couple of times, then throughout the rest of the show, these goofy ass motherfuckers took turns in the middle of the floor to dance with each other. Old eighties moves, poorly done, but I think almost purposefully so -- the running man, the sprinkler, some bad break dancing. All of it entertaining to no end. Other peoples' energy is so infectious.
| Misc and Uninteresting Ramblings... | 2:02 AM |
My motorcyle is now officially registered to me and completely insured! I haven't ridden it since the first night I got it except to the garage, but only because I haven't had time. This is the first vehicle I've ever bought. I realize I'm 30 and should've probably already done this, but I still drive around the car my parents bought me when I went away to college. That 10+ year old beast is a great little car. And living in SF, it's also a car I never have to worry about -- neither the threat of cosmetic damage or potential thievery prevent me from parking it wherever I can.
I got my laptop back from Apple today -- they replaced the bad display. Common ghosting issue. It was driving me crazy not having the laptop at home. My desk is not comfortable -- that crappy 23" Sun monitor takes up too much space, and the mouse works like hell -- I'd almost say the damn thing doesn't work at all. But they were amazingly fast and since it's been such a common issue for them, it was relatively painless to get them to take it back and fix it. With XDarwin and blackbox, I almost prefer my Mac to my Linux desktop. Though the portability of the laptop is certianly more useful and contributes to my preference, too.
I also just got the Windows machine I requested to do some Blackberry development today. I just got it last week and I already love that thing. I was driving around (going to the DMV) and got lost today. All I had to do was pull over and look up directions. And email available everywhere I go. It's great. I can't wait to start writing applications for it.
And finally, silicon carbide production improved. SiC is much more energy efficient and stress tolerant than silicon.
I really should stop blogging at 2am, just as I'm falling asleep. Stuff gets so incoherent. And unedited....
| Interviews | 8:31 AM |
I had a 3.5 hour interview yesterday. Including the drive out there and back I felt like that's all I did yesterday. I was really nervous about talking to the tech guy because the person who set up the interview said he'd be really tough and was a curmudgeon. Curmudgeon I don't mind, tough makes me nervous. And, of course, he's the only person's who's feedback I'm interested in. I'm not very good at selling myself. It sort of scares me to death. But it turned out he liked me and thought I had the technical chops. Woohoo!
And New Scientist emailed me and said the Senior Editor wants to meet and chat with me!! I'm sure they sent that email out to all their San Francisco subscribers, but I'm so excited about meeting and talking to that guy. Must catch up on my New Scientist reading...
Hey, Google IPO'ed yesterday! :)
| The Seduction of Prayer | 3:07 AM |
I am not a religious person. I have no faith in anything except for science and technology. I believe everything has a rational explanation. And if it doesn't, it's only because we haven't figured it out yet. Yet, the desire to pray still haunts me. It's a little ritual, something I used to do a lot. Driving down any given freeway, I'd be praying all the time. Mostly not for myself. But every time I passed a motorcyclist with no gear on, every time I passed an accident or a car pulled over on the side of the road, every time I drove in bad weather I prayed for the safety of my friends, family, and loved ones should they also happen to be on the road. I prayed during flight take offs and landings. I prayed if there was debris on the freeway so no one would get hurt. I prayed incessantly, hypnotically, habitually.
I was raised as a nondenominational, nonCatholic Christian. We went to Presbyterian churches, Baptist churches, nondenominational churches. When I lost faith in their god, I still believed in spirituality -- in reincarnation, karma, the wiccan faith or any faith similar to it with a more holistic view of the world. I prayed to something that I named a goddess, but only because I'd prayed to god for so long. I didn't actually believe there was a goddess for very long, but addressed all my prayers to her out of habit.
I don't know when I lost all faith. When I met Ed I still had some of it and that was over 4 years ago. I have none now. But lately I've been catching myself starting to say prayers like I used to. For a couple of weeks it seemed like every time I got on the road I saw a horrible, horrible, heart rending car accident. Sometimes I'd just start bawling like it was my own personal loss -- I was emotionally fragile.
There's something sweet and comfortable about faith in something that you can't explain or understand logically. Because it makes everything so much easier. If you can't figure it out, or you can't come up with a reasonable explanation for it, then it's a good way to ease your mind of it. Why is the world falling apart around you? Why did you lose your job, your car, your child? Why can't you get ahead in the world? Why do you feel like shit all the time? Why can't you find a perfect mate, a housebroken dog, your favorite punk song on iTunes? Why? Cause you're not meant to. Or maybe it's just not your time. Maybe it's a sign that you need to suffer more, and good things will come your way. People can't get past their spirits/souls/essences -- whether they're good or bad -- so you have to forgive them, accept them for what they are and move on. I can see why you'd want to believe that, hide behind it. Because what do I have when I'm knee high in shit and the world is falling apart all around me? Nothing. Just me. I'm tired of being strong. Someone get me a fucking shovel.
| Not Here | 2:44 AM |
I've been here, but just not here. I haven't been writing at all. And I haven't given up this site for those of you who've inquired :) I've been in a strange funk for a couple of weeks. But not entirely a bad funk, just a different sort of funk. Keeping to myself more. But I've been thinking lots. Having a new significant other has made me do a lot of thinking. He's made me think a bit about the past and I've been thinking about old identities, old places, old people. And I've been googling myself a bit for shits and giggles. I found this horrible, horrible picture of me some journalist used for an article from my last Defcon. I don't even remember the year anymore. It was the year I met Priest, the last year I went, the year I broke up with Shon.
I saw an ex yesterday to catch up with him. I revisited an older ex online. We talked a bit about ex'es last night when we had a guest over for drinks. I've been having scary nightmares, I've been looking at job postings, I finished reading _Cheap Complex Devices_ on the recommendation of another friend. I have this habit of not naming names because I don't want to unwittingly make someone's personal life public information. Even if he's got his own blog.
I've been thinking about privacy and intimacy and sharing, but sharing secretly, anonymously. I've been thinking about the girl I used to be and how I've changed and haven't changed. I've been thinking about the guy I'm dating I've been thinking about Bush, and my political opinions, I've been thinking about science and religion and how people you wouldn't expect to sometimes have faith. Why do I believe that rational people don't believe? Because it seems like lots of them do. But lots of them also don't. I've been thinking about moving to Amsterdam, having kids, riding a motorcycle, neonazis, genetic defects, breast implants, car engines. I've been thinking about leaving, but like where I am. I go to bed so tired and I don't know how I got that tired. I've been thinking about gaining weight and my body. I've been thinking about getting my period and going to Las Vegas. I've been thinking about a lot of things.
I was at the bookstore yesterday. Buying the _Complete Adventures of Peter Rabbit_, and the _Chronicles of Narnia_ (because I never read them and I feel like I should). The girl at the register asked me if I bought a lot of children's books there. I said no. She said, oh, then these are a gift?. No, these are for me.
| Blogging Openly | 9:41 AM |
I haven't been updating much here because I haven't had anything to say that isn't personal. When I started this blog, I never meant to write about really personal things -- there wasn't going to be any angst or oversharing of my life. This was supposed to be a space for me to have intelligent discussions with myself about interesting science and technology issues. My last online journal was nothing but intensely personal crap, this was going to be the complete opposite. But I tend to want to write about my life and need a space to do it -- it just won't be here. On the drive in to work yesterday morning, I realized, oh crap, this url is still on my resume -- I had an interview yesterday and was just wondering if there was anything horrifying on here. But I'm not very good at hiding things -- I am what I am and if a potential employer finds this site horrifying, then he probably doesn't want me to work for him. So I suppose it doesn't really matter. I started a little live journal. I will happily give you the user name if you want to look it up.
I'll still be blogging here. I'll still probably blog personal items. I'll just also be blogging elsewhere, too.
| LA Traffic | 10:31 PM |
I drove down to SoCal with my son this morning. Left at 7:30, made excellent time for the first three hours, got a ticket for going 100 mph in a 70 mph zone, then crawled along at 80 miles an hour until we hit the 405 freeway. And the last 60 miles took us two freaking hours.
The cop who pulled me over asked me why I was in such a hurry and I didn't have a good response -- I wasn't in a hurry and I didn't mean to be going that fast. What I wanted to tell him was that I wasn't used to driving a car that could go that fast and not feel like I was going that fast. Sometimes I'd just be whizzing past cars and only realize how fast I was going when I looked down at the speedometer. My own car just doesn't go that fast...and if it did, it wouldn't do it that smoothly. The cop informed me that had I been going 1 mph over that, it would've been an automatic 30 day driver's license suspension and 2500$ fine. When he gave me my ticket I wanted to ask him if he thought I could go to traffic school for it, but I just assumed I couldn't. I haven't had a moving violation in too many years for me to even remember. Which sucks because I was just starting to seriously consider buying a motorcycle again.
But I love driving sometimes. The hills were beautiful (even if brown), the sheep were shorn, the baby calves were eating grass, the windmills eternally and patiently spinning, Pyramid Lake had quite a bit of recreation activity on it (I've never seen that -- I thought for a while that it must've been off limits to the public), KROQ on the radio, the 5, 405, 101, 10, 105, 110, 710, 605, 22, 55, Redondo Beach, Seal Beach, Long Beach, Huntington Beach, Costa Mesa, Newport Beach -- years and years of memories spanning a two hour long stretch of the coast. Besides San Francisco, this is the only other place in the world I call home. And I'm always amazed at how much it feels like home as I'm driving in. Though after two hours of sitting in traffic on the 405, I sometimes wish it weren't.
| Weekend's End | 2:01 AM |
Long weekend over; looking forward to work. I saw a girlfriend of mine I haven't seen in months. She got into a new relationship about a year ago and I've only seen her a few times since then. And I've started a couple of new jobs in that time frame and I always tend to get really sucked into a new job for some months so I haven't really been available either. But it was so nice to see her and catch up -- I feel like she always understands where I am in life. And I like that -- that not having to explain everything. And I like to know there are other people who go through and think about the same shit I do.
It's been a strange month for people around me. Losing loved ones, losing freedoms, losing jobs, momentarily losing their sense of reason. And it's funny how you tend to want to group things like this together because somehow it will make more sense if we try to attribute some greater force to a set of random, mischievous events. There is not bad karma clogging up the air, there is no grand scheme of punishment, no bad juju. I am not the central point of outwardly radiating bad luck or misfortune. Things just happens. Nothing to do with me or anything else.
The weekend has been a whirlwind of movies, movies, movies. Gangs of New York -- really sucky and really long. Half way through the movie, they threw in a brothel orgy scene to try to keep your attention for the second half. Seemed to work for us. Bourne Identity, Bourne Supremacy both excellent movies. The Fast and the Furious. Could watch that over and over again. Must rent 2 Fast 2 Furious. Starsky and Hutch -- funny as hell. Ed says I'm really a 12 year old boy.
| Writing for Myself | 2:02 AM |
I've been reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It's a beautiful book. Latin American writers that I've read and enjoyed have this uncanny ability to create these dreamy, magical worlds where even the supernatural doesn't seem out of place or unrealistic.
And I got to ruminating about how sometimes we like to catalog the events in our lives like we expect them to have some significance for someone other than ourselves. One Hundred Years is a work of fiction, but it's about the lives of all the members of one family. Strong, emotional women capable of amazing feats of self deprivation. Hedonistic men with a penchant for political battles. And these short sentences don't do the characters the justice they deserve because they're all so rich and interesting in a way far greater than we imagine ourselves to be.
His writing is so imaginative and beautiful. And reading beautiful writing always makes me feel a little like I'm missing something. I was putting away all my binders this weekend for the housewarming party (pictures here), and I keep a lot of my own fiction writing in binders. But I haven't written fiction in at least a year. My online journals have been my writing outlet for a long time now. I don't know how I got out of the habit of writing things completely made up in my own head except that I started to realize I didn't have any skill or talent at it and gave up. But in doing that, I gave up a great pleasure, too.
And I wonder how much of what I write means anything to anyone. Like this blog. I read other people's blogs and I enjoy it, and sometimes they make me think. And sometimes they are just chatter sifted through with the rest of the chatter in the world -- the emails, the news, the links, the pictures. And sometimes the things I write are just chatter even to myself. What is it about making that noise that makes me feel so good?
| Smiling Strangers | 12:08 AM |
We had a stranger come over to our house tonight to pick up the boxes that've been sitting in the hall for over 2 months. Ed had arranged it, but was in the bathroom when the guy got there, so I was chatting with him and he was the nicest guy. Friendly and talkative -- in the five minutes I had alone with him we covered a range of topics -- our homes, our moves, the things we loved, the people we loved, friends who'd passed away, moving on and away and settling into some place new. He really brightened my day.
I was walking around the city last weekend -- still one of my favorite things to do -- and there's nothing nicer than a stranger smiling at you or saying hello. Because you don't expect it; it catches you off guard in the tendest way. And makes you feel so good.
It's also nice to have someone you don't know so well -- and even those you do -- take a personal interest in you. I don't necessarily mean in a romantic way, though that's sweet, too. But in any way it's sweet. When someone agrees to help you with your code when you ask, or comes over and wants to see your space and take the cookie you've offered, or wants to sit across from you at a large table full of people and strike up a conversation, or goes and gets Google goodies for your son because you expressed an interest, or wants to join you for a movie, a lunch, a night out, or comments on your blog. It feels good to know that other people think about you when you're not around.
Our housewarming party is this Saturday. I've never been a big party thrower. My roommates are both much more experienced, and god, it's work, but I'm so looking forward to it. Because all my favorite people will be there. And the cooking and preparation for it all is really time consuming and labor intensive, but it doesn't have to be. But I'm doing it because it's my way of telling everyone we've invited how fond I am of them. Because there's not a single person that we've invited that I don't feel that way about.
| Week at Work | 1:22 AM |
Oh...I'm awful excited about work this next week. Mostly because I'm working on a fun project, and also because I might get to see some EFF folks tomorrow. And a friend of mine is interviewing tomorrow and it looks positive. And the weather's been so damn nice. I worked all weekend and am really excited about writing a decent chunk of perl (I've never had to write much perl) -- writing a new xml rpc ars api wrapper (couldn't resist all those three letter acronyms) and then a friendly php wrapper for that, and then rewriting several applications. I haven't gotten to do much programming the last couple of weeks so this is so refreshing and much needed. It's getting closer and closer to the end of my three months and I feel more at home every day. Coworkers keep getting friendlier and nicer. And I feel like our group is doing very well. And soon will be growing, but I think we can haul in some good people for that :) And my boss is very encouraging and appreciative, and just as protective of our group as I am.
On a funny side note -- someone hit the site with the search query, "mad niggerish" off MSN.
| Monster, The Not Very Lighthearted Movie | 2:14 AM |
The three of us had a nice dinner together and watched Monster (we did manage to get out of the house today and run a couple of errands: tv browsing and grocery shopping). What a sad fucking movie. I've had a rough day and it just made me think about how complex our emotions are. How one emotion bleeds into another and sometimes our motives for doing something or feeling something don't seem to make sense, but if you look carefully enough, they do.
And I've been feeling really human and vulnerable today. Sad and angry and frustrated about the way I'm feeling, and physically unwell to top it off and exacerbate it. And I know why I feel this way, not just at a quick glance, but on a deeper level, but I don't know how to fix it. All I can do is ride it out; wait for time to do its thing.
I've become a terrible communicator with friends and family -- I'm out of touch a lot. I haven't called my mother in weeks and weeks. I don't call my sister if she doesn't initiate it. Same with my son. It takes me days, sometimes weeks to respond to emails. With my friends it's just because I have so little time for myself, but I'm not talking to my family because I don't want to feel the way I did watching Monster -- heart full of sympathy and empathy and intense sadness, but such debilitating frustration, too, because nothing you can do is going to fix anything for anyone. You can't stop the course of some things. You just have to wait and watch them happen.
I can't take my mother's heartbreak. I can't take my sister's pain, my son missing me. I haven't spoken to my father in months because I can't bear the thought of what I'd say to him -- what I should say to him. I can't bear to think of him at all because I can't stand what he's doing. And I feel like I'm running away. Pushing people aside to clear my path. Why can't I deal with things? How'd I ever become so fragile? Jealousy, hurt, anger, sadness -- all a big jumble, all one emotion.
And maybe this is why I always want to go. Moving on always means leaving someone or something behind. Cleaning house means you purge yourself of emotions you once had. Learn to live without. And I don't think that's a bad thing -- if your reasons for doing it are valid. But try quantifying valid, and you'll see what I mean.
When I go, you don't get to keep that real estate in my heart; I need it cleared up for something else.
| Drunk | 1:42 AM |
Why do I do this to myself? Every time I get drunk I tell myself that I will never do this again. But I often don't know that I'm going to be sick until it's too late. It's not as gradual a process as I wish it were -- sometimes it is and then I can refrain from getting ill, but sometimes I can't tell. Like Saturday night. I had two beers, a couple of shots of jägermeister, and a few sips of Johnnie Walker. So four drinks over the course of three hours. You'd think I'd be fine, right? Got drunk and sentimental last night, don't really remember how I got into the house (luckily Marg and Ineke took care of that), sat with my head on the toilet for a while when I made it to the bathroom, then passed out in my bed with all my clothes on. I woke up the next morning -- Ineke had not only put a clip in my hair while I was hugging the toilet, but also laid out a clean towel, brought in a stool and set a glass of water on it, and put a small trashcan right by my head. So thoughtful and sweet -- and she managed to do all that while intoxicated as well!
I got up early cause I was starving and couldn't fall back asleep. I made myself my usual breakfast -- carrot sticks, grapefruit, toast, plain yogurt, and since I was so terribly hungry -- a fried egg for protein. Except the egg made me nauseous. And all I wanted was the sweet grapefruit. I went and laid on the couch afterwards because I didn't feel like I could do anything else and thought of all the things I wanted to do today -- ride my bike, run some errands, go to the gym, and thought pleasantly about how early it was in the day to be up and how much day I was going to have. I went into the living room because I thought I'd watch a movie or some tv while I recuperated, but as I way lying there I couldn't bear the thought of turning the tv on. And it was all I could do to not move and risk putting any pressure on any part of my body that might possibly make me nauseaus. I lay there for half an hour before giving up and going to bed thinking that I'd at least peruse my Latin book and get started on that and try to feel useful. Except I grabbed my German books and promptly fell asleep.
To wake up four hours later, near 2PM, feeling as shitty as I did earlier. Starving again, head woozy, tummy sensitive, and a lot less hopeful of accomplishing anything today.
Ugh. Must remember to eat lots of food with alcohol. Lots of food. I got to the party last night with an empty stomach, but no appetite so all I did was nibble on a plate. I don't think anything I ate soaked up any alcohol because it leeched me dry and saturated my bloodstream.
| Personal Development | 12:04 AM |
I was talking with a good friend about Eternal Sunshine the other day and he made an interesting comment about the movie -- how the events in our lives make us who we are and how sometimes wiping out a memory that might've been bad can actually retard your emotional/psychological growth. The Kirsten Dunst character -- she had the affair wiped from her memory, but she couldn't get past that point in her life -- there was something about that memory, that relationship, that she needed in order to move on. And when she no longer had it, she proceeded to recreate it.
I've always thought the same about the events in my life. That everything I've ever experienced has made me the person I am now. I like the person I am now. Even with the emotional complexities and the overthinking, I like me. I think I'm a good person. Not a perfect person, but a good hearted one. And I wonder if I removed some portion of it, who would I be? No slightly upleasant past. No drugs, arrests, or running away. If I hadn't lived in so many different homes, would I be less tolerant? Would I be less vulgar if I'd hung out with a different crowd in high school? Would I be less soft hearted if I didn't have a son? How can you take away one thing and not rearrange your entire past? Events trickle; they are not discrete, unrelated chunks of time. One event stimulates another and another.
There's always been something about moving on that's been attractive to me. I hate to stagnate. I hate the idea of being complacent, of settling, of getting overly comfortable. I've been wondering a lot lately if it's true that as you get older, you become less idealistic. About your career, about your life, your partner, your potential. Do you decide at some point to just accept easy and less complicated?
I've been thinking lately that I've resigned myself to work that I don't always love. I'm not that old; I feel a little ridiculous. But I have to support myself, I generally like what I do, and I'm generally good at what I do -- I've just lost most of my passion for it. And when I try to think of something else I could do instead, I can't think of another realistic line of work that I would love more than what I do now and that lets me earn enough in wages to live comfortably in San Francisco. One of the sweetest things anyone ever said to me was that he fantasized about living together and letting me sit at home and read and write all day long. Maybe I told him that was my fantasy career at some point, but that he remembered and that he wanted to give that to me was sweeter than anything else he'd ever given me.
And it's easy when you have such affection to get distracted. Attachment to a person, a place, a thing. I get torn about whether I'm being selfish, or simply self-aware, and sometimes I can't decide if I'm being one or the other when I make a decision. I just know I need to go.
| Addendums | 1:08 AM |
Ugh..sometimes. The shit I write. For anyone to see. So going over some of the last few entries, I have notes to add:
- I do not have a soul. But it's such a universally understood concept that it makes for good dramatic effect when writing. Especially when writing while being melodramatic.
- I am a sensitive person. Which is normally great because it means I'm super caring and very aware of others. But it also means I can cry at the drop of a hat and have a tendency to be overly dramatic about it when I do. The crying might actually be useful if I could learn to fake it better, but I'm too sensitive about other people's feelings to try to fool someone by pretending to cry.
- By quoting 'steal' in ...'steal' CDs and music..., I did not mean to imply that it wasn't legally stealing. But I guess that's what those white collar criminals do -- if you don't actually take something physical, it doesn't feel like stealing. Just like if you don't actually stab a knife into someone's back, it doesn't feel like you're hurting that person.
- And I mentioned purchasing different albums, but didn't actually mention the product itself that the gladiator commercial was about -- Pepsi. But I don't drink Pepsi if I can get a Coca Cola and no amount of sexy advertising would encourage me to purchase Pepsi. If I can't get a Cola, I'd rather have generic. Which seems to goes against the I can be sold anything idea, but commercials sell a lot of things besides the product they're focused on, so I'll just leave it at that.
- By 18th century in my discussion of Virginia Woolf, I actually meant several centuries up til the 18th or 19th century.
| Hell In a Handbasket | 12:20 AM |
Sometimes writing is my only outlet. I couldn't find my hardcopy journal tonight and I threw myself on the bed and cried. I've got a tv now with cable and I like watching random things on it. Miscellaneous pieces of different movies, made for tv dramas, shows. Images that flash briefly while you're flipping channels -- vignettes of something you embellish in your own mind. What's it like to lose the love of your life? I've never lost anyone, but if the ache of being alone is just a small proportion of what true loss is then I don't know if I could handle it. How would I recover? How many nights would I lay in my bed with the lights off, some sad fucking music in the background, crying my eyes red? Endless, countless nights.
You. My imaginary lover, you're breaking my fucking heart. If it's an organ that can be broken. Perhaps ripped out is a better metaphor. Ripped out, steamed in a kettle. Would you gain entrance into hell for that? Blood on your hands, Jack the Ripper in a different time. Losing ground, losing sanity, you're not saving the queen, you're damning yourself. I don't want to cry here, but I can't find my paper journal and my ink's not the color I wanted. Purple. Like a heart. A tiny little thing when you consider it. But it might as well be my only organ.
This is processing. This is healthy pain. This is letting go. If you give it a label, it loses its primeval power. You gain control. Language did that to us, gave us words to put to things to explain away our hurts, and sadness, the small bitter things, and the big beautiful things and sometimes they make us ache just as much as the cold things.
I want to wrap my arms around you. Your hair touching mine, dark eyes staring into dark eyes. Where'd you go and why didn't you tell me you were leaving? This is an imaginary letter to an imaginary lover. This is me living in my head. Not sharing with you, but it feels better anyway. Sometimes the smallest parts of you are the worst parts and not meant to be shared. This is a different world I write in now. This is not e's web; this is a public forum. A window into my life, a view of my soul. You think you know me, but I'm not me, I'm not anyone and you don't want me.
I know tomorrow, caught up in the world of work, watching Shamis play with his toy, sitting outside in the bright, hot sun, I will be forget how I felt tonight. That this is as fleeting as anything else. And without all these words you'd never have known, but tonight the lights are off, Dido is crooning, the bed is warm and calling me, and my eyes are puffy and uncomfortable. I'll pass out and forget that I was here.
| Home | 12:27 AM |
Ah, home. The new one. We moved last weekend and I'm starting to feel settled in, though still no DSL and my computers/servers are still at the old place. I've got this site moved into its new home, but can't remember the damn root password for the name server and therefore can't point DNS to the new home. But it's moved, too, and it was probably the smoothest website move I've done in a long time -- just mysqldump, tar gzip up my files, add a few lines to the httpd.conf file and restart apache and the website just worked. Copy over a couple more files and everything worked. Now configure sendmail...
My physical home...it's odd getting used to a new place. Especially this move because I haven't lived with roommates since college, but it, too, has been smooth. What I can't get over is the amount of stuff I have, and that every time I move I throw away gobs and gobs of it. The other day I found a old envelope full of bills from 1992. There was a note from Josh's first doctor -- the one that circumsized him, a letter from John from jail wishing us Happy Easter, my ex's wisdom teeth that I finally threw away (who the hell keeps an ex's wisdom teeth?), my petition to have my juvenile records sealed, a card from an old, old friend I haven't thought about in a long time. Memory lane is long and infrequently travelled. My very first driver's license and I look so weird -- but do I really or is the picture tainted -- old eyes looking back at young ones from almost half my lifetime ago...though I could just be strung out, too.
And what a strange week -- I've seen or heard from every ex from the last 5 years. Break up with one guy and somehow all your ghosts reappear. Saying hello, how are you doing? Can I have a job? Did we have sex in NY? Jesus if you can't remember, I sure as hell won't.
But I'm not phased by any of it. It feels good to start fresh. New place, new freedom. Job just keeps getting cozier, crazier. I'm still abusing my body with cigarettes, but even that I'm ready to give up again. I was analyzing the smoking trend -- I've restarted smoking after the last three break ups. I hadn't realized that before. Not sure what I'm going to do with that knowledge just yet, but next time I'll be better prepared.
I've been reading A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf. She is an amazing writer. And it both saddens me and heartens me to listen to her voice. She talks about creativity and the need to produce and the way women were treated and thought of in the 19th century. A paucity of female writers, and such a dissonance in the lives and characters of fictional women vs. the lives of real women who were treated as the property of men to be bartered with and sold at any age. How angry men sound when they write of women. We are revered as oracles, disdained as dancing dogs, but either way bereft of property, money, and the sanctity of our own rooms. And there is always the horror I feel knowing the conditions we used to live in, and also the great and weighty relief that I live here, and now. I write whatever I want, I live independently, I work in the tech world, often the only woman in a group of developers, but also, always the one with the most respect. But not because I'm aggressive, and not because I love my power and lord it over, but because I'm good at what I do and respect the people around me. But I would never have been given a chance to prove that if I didn't live here and now.
| Moving | 1:40 AM |
There's nothing like packing up boxes to force you to reexamine your life -- the way you live, the things you've kept tucked away. Binders and binders full of print outs and notes going all the way back to when I first started playing with HTML, back through years of jobs, years of conferences, years of reading. Four pages of the eCompany database, notes on anything and everything -- Sendmail, Perl, PL/SQL, Lingo, TCP/IP, Ultraseek, Microsoft crap from CIAD days and my six week stint at Cotelligent. Notes on one of the first web sites I created -- about dissent -- why and how. Scribbled numbers on visits to my GeoCities site. HTML and Unix notes from working there. Notes from interviews and phone conversations from the job searching I did to get myself up here to the Bay Area -- eCompany, Cotelligent, Cisco, Certive -- I must've had a thing for companys that started with "C". Notes on where I'd stay and who was paying when I did finally move up here for my eCompany gig in February of 2000. Notes on Vignette, meetings with consultants and experts, Oracle. Binders full of writing, binders of classwork, binders full of family newsletters, old bills, an attempt at a zine. A whole life viewed in a shelf full of binders and the papers tucked loosely in between. Here it's 1998, then 2000, then 1999, and up and down and back and forth and you realize your life is nothing but paper and once you throw it away it's gone for good.
Then the things you can't throw away -- photo albums of a different life, a different time, a different you with people you no longer see or talk to. Boyfriends who meant the world to you at one time -- no matter how short. Friends who drifted through your life and touched you for a brief period of time -- left back at the place you used to live and no longer do.
And somehow it all seems appropriate right now. This melancholy and nostalgia because I'm reading that book, House of Sand and Fog, and Kathy Nicolo's burning and spiralling and somehow I feel like she's sucking me in with her -- this fictional character in a paperback book. But I know her and she's a part of me. And she's smoking like a fiend and constantly talking about her addiction and it makes me itch and feel uncomfortable and I'm smoking, too -- after months of not even a second thought about it -- I was so sure I was finally free of that evil and here it is like it's been waiting on my doorstep, I just needed to crack it a bit and there it is again, burning the back of my throat like bile.
And his writing touches me -- his metaphors are so beautiful sometimes that I just feel it in my gut and have to go back and reread it. And maybe there's something in his skill that makes me ache, too. Or maybe it's just this damn period -- the curse and blessing of being female. That emotions rise with the tides and swell with the moon, and yes, sometimes I'm a nut and I feel batty, but no, I'm sane -- I just have a heart too big for my chest and sometimes I can't bear it.
| The Current Dearth (or Death) of Reading in my Life | 10:56 PM |
I was looking at my Orkut profile the other night thinking, can I list "reading" as my only activity if I haven't read anything in about three months? Three months is a veritable famine. I don't know why I haven't been reading -- this is probably the longest I've ever gone as far as I can remember without having read a single book. I've been doing lots of magazine/online news reading, but my big passion for books has always been for fictional literature and I haven't cracked open a book since I gave up on Middlesex a few months back. Actually, I haven't really read anything since I started spending more time with the boy though I don't know if I can really blame him for that, though I wish I could because I certainly don't want to take responsibility for it.
I skipped my workout and left work early today because I'm really tired, and I've been itching for a book since last night. So crazy me, I think -- hey, I'll stop at Target and buy a book. I figured they might have the two books I wanted -- one for myself and one for someone else. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you what a silly and ridiculous supposition that was. They don't really carry any books that I might possibly want to read. I was looking for Quicksilver for myself (not everything I read is fine literature :) because it's out in paperback now (and the 2nd one is out -- forget the name) and I thought, well, Stephenson is a pretty popular author, I'm sure they'll have him. And the other book is relatively new so I thought they might have new books in stock. Anyway, Target carries mostly mass market books -- though I did notice they had a couple of the Ender's Game books which impressed me.
Looking at the rows with all the same sized mass market books was sort of eerie. I worked briefly in a book store right after college and the mass market books -- you know them by their size -- the airport books, the drugstore books, the romance novels -- they all have that same creepy size that almost fits in your back pocket. I learned to discriminate against books based on their size. The "literary" ones were usually the taller ones, and they weren't all the same size so some were taller, some were wider. I never shelved the mass market ones if I could in any way avoid it. Yes, I freely admit I am a book snob. But it's what I studied -- I think I've earned it.
PS: I started House of Sand and Fog tonight.
| Finishing my thoughts on BIS Monitors | 9:17 AM |
I fell asleep last night writing that blog entry -- I mean right in the middle of it -- I had to delete the last paragraph I'd started because it made no sense and shuffle off to bed. I used to have this great habit of grazing through the news every morning and blogging the interesting bits, but now that I commute I've had to give up that ritual for now.
I had some other comments I wanted to make on last night's story...like how even though many agree that BIS monitors are not finely calibrated enough, medical professionals want to start using them more regularly anyway because of fear of lawsuits. The way anesthesiologists currently check for awareness is by watching the patient to check for signs of sweating, movement, and blood pressure -- so with a tool that may not always work in all situations, you need to continue doing the manual checks, but it's easy to become acclimated to a tool and to uncannily trust that it's doing the right thing -- not because it always does, but because it's a tool and it's supposed to. And then I was wondering about the hierarchical placement of anesthesiologists in the realm of physicians, and malpractice suits in general...I know it's a shifty way to end an entry -- no sense of conclusion or completeness, but I have to get to work :)
| Introversion | 11:20 PM |
A friend passed along this article about "Caring for your Introvert". It wasn't an especially great article, but it certainly did hit home at some points. I am one of those people "who has to be dragged to parties and then needs the rest of the day to recuperate." I can't help it -- any of my friends will attest to my sometimes flakey nature -- I get really excited at the thought of going to a party or an event or a show in the planning stages and make all sorts of commitments, but when the time approaches to actually go to one of these things, it really takes everything I have to muster up the energy to go. I usually have a good time if I make it, but I find myself more frequently than I'd like cancelling at the last minute.
I don't think I'm anti-social -- I have definite social needs and can hold my own in social situations, but I am very much a person that enjoys my own company and the reflective quiet of my own mind over that of a crowded room of people -- too many people I care about and I'm overwhelmed and too few people I care about and I don't want to be bothered. I love people -- I care deeply, but I'm much more sane when I get to retreat into the deep solitude of my own little head more often than most other people do.
