i’m a liar.
yesterday, i had a roast beef sandwich for lunch.
this may not seem like a big deal to anybody, unless you know me well.
i’ve been a quasi-vegetarian now for just over two and a half years. i say quasi because i renounced all meat except for seafood, which i didn’t even eat that often. technically, the term for this is ‘pescatarian,’ but that’s even gayer than, well. two guys making out. so i never referred to myself as that.
for some reason, i find that a lot of people give me shit about my dietary habits. i have NO idea why, but people would get upset and all disorderly when i told them what i did and did not eat. they’d get even more upset when they asked me the reasons behind my decisions. health? sure. was it for the animals? no. any other questions were usually met with a shrug. people have preconceived notions of what a vegetarian is, and if you don’t fit right into that, they get all bent out of shape.
bottom line is that the grey area was where i found myself happiest. i didn’t really have hard and fast rules for what i ate, only guidelines. i broke them every so often, like the time i went to las vegas and had the opportunity to eat an in-n-out burger. you bet your sweet ass i took that.
i’ve decided to say, fuck labels. i’m not an anything anymore.
i’m probably going to continue to eat a mostly vegetarian diet. but when i want meat? yeah, i’m going to eat it.
it’s all about making myself happy. and god dammit, that roast beef sandwich was amazing.
Filed under: food, opinion | 1 Comment
Tags: diet, in-n-out burger, opinion, vegetarian
GTFO
today i was directed to a blurb on new york magazine, which was an excerpt from mad men creator matthew weiner’s stint at yesterday’s new yorker festival mad men panel.
he said some kind of shit, but the last paragraph really kind of hit me. he kind of just went off on the internet:
“When I look at digital, the dark side of it for me is the physicality that’s being presented alongside the Internet. I think about that movie The Matrix, and about these bodies that are human batteries that support computers. I met this guy who was creating software where you could watch Mad Men and you could chat with your friend while you’re watching it, and things would pop up, and facts would pop up, and I said, “You’re a human battery. Turn the fucking thing off! You’re not allowed to watch the show anymore. You’re missing the idea of sitting in a dark place and having an experience. Are you just like sitting with your phone and you’re kissing your girlfriend and saying, ‘I’m kissing my girlfriend! This is so great, we’re having sex!’” EXPERIENCE THINGS!”
i love it when i am feeling something that i can’t quite put properly into words, and another person expresses it perfectly and articulately. thank you, matthew weiner.
i was going to type some long stupid shit about how he’s totally right, but that would mean someone would be sitting here reading my dribbling drivel rather than logging off the computer and going and doing something better.
GET THE FUCK OFF THE COMPUTER AND GO EXPERIENCE THINGS.
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Tags: experience things, internet, mad men, matthew weiner, opinion
the internet[s].
i’m beginning to feel like i’m being left in the digital dust as far as the internet is concerned.
currently, i’m still on myspace. i’ve had the damn thing since it first started. however, i’m starting to realize that it’s kind of like purgatory. there’s shit and nothing going on there. the only thing that’s left that makes it worth it are bands.
now, facebook: for a while, i haven’t had one, as i deleted it some time ago. this was around the time it was discovered that any media or information you uploaded became the express possession of the site. it was also difficult to shield the world from your information, as the privacy filters weren’t as comprehensive as i hear they are today. anyone could google your full name and come across your facebook page. they’d be immediately able to find out what schools you went to, where you live, and they’d be able to see the 452 awful pictures of you that have been tagged by your friends.
i understand that today it’s easier to screen what information strangers are able to see, but even knowing that, facebook still makes me uncomfortable. i’ve complained about it before, but status updates make me a lot angrier than i should probably admit. i hate that people i barely know from high school or college will try to be friends with me. we never talked at school — the hell makes you think i want to talk to you now? i hate that if i post something, someone might click the little thumbs up thing that means they ‘like this.’ why the fuck is that even a feature? what good does that do? more importantly, who cares?
don’t even get me started on twitter.
complaining aside, the larger point is that i’m not as connected as i used to be. the bottom line of these social networking sites is that you’re in touch, all the time, with your friends, with whatever community you may be a part of, with artists and bands and companies. i wonder if my pure disdain for social networking sites is getting in the way of me being more involved in….stuff.
i have to say, though. i kind of like not being a part of all of it. i like that all the aspects of my life are not spread out on a website, and that way i can retain some semblance of privacy. i like that there’s only a few sites that i check daily, and when i’m done i get off the computer and go read or go outside; i don’t feel tethered to anything. i know facebook completely reels you in and gets addictive as shit, and i like having one less thing to draw me into this chair. i want the internet to bore me, so i am forced to go do something better.
so right now i’m vacillating between giving in and joining facebook again, or staying old school and kind of being left in the dark.
i’m sure i will provide an update when i eventually make a decision.
as for right now, please chime in with any thoughts or opinions of your own.
[image via quoteskine. great stuff, check it out.]
Filed under: opinion | 2 Comments
ctrl + z.
sometimes i wish life had an undo button.
for when you’ve just arranged all your furniture in your new room and you don’t like it, and therefore have to revert it back to the original layout.
Filed under: fail | Leave a Comment
last friday; a day in snapshots.
6:36a: slamming alarm. have owned alarm clock for months and still don’t know where ‘alarm off’ button is.
8:13a: step into the subway and secure a spot next to the opposite set of doors. a girl nearby rotates her wrist too far out and dumps half of her coffee out on the floor, splashing all over shoes and new pants. laugh and assure her it’s all right.
9:04a: pure, unadulterated terror. have been stuck in the elevator alone, on the 14th floor, for at least ten minutes. cannot get in touch with anybody. am shaking so hard it takes a couple tries to dial the right number for the office’s front desk. no one answers.
9:41a: tumble out of the elevator with relief. never have been so elated to be in a wide open space before.
12:37p: step back into elevator. apprehension. arrive in the lobby without incident.
1:20p: lunch at vegetarian café with longtime buddy who’s in town. his: philly seitan cheesesteak; hers: ‘chicken’ caesar wrap. delicious.
6:16p: unlocking door to very hot apartment. delighting in the fact that it is the weekend.
7:32p: am freshly showered. applying layer upon layer of exuberantly pink eyeshadow to right, then left eyelid. it’s motherfucking friday, after all.
9:11p: waiting for a friend. am on an extravagantly long line outside a popular manhattan venue featuring an open bar. watching tourist bus after tourist bus pass by, the kind with the open-air upper deck. a midwestern looking woman stares at the line and pulls her flimsy plastic poncho closer around her body, perhaps trying to shield herself from the city.
9:31p: in the bar. open bar is all malibu rum. loathe malibu rum, but order a rum and coke anyway. bartender is a bitch.
9:32p: sipping. gagging. tastes like a fucking jolly rancher.
9: 57p: watching band on stage. wondering how it is possible for people to be playing such passionless music so zealously.
9:58p: hugely bored. glance lazily around room; everyone is at most, 19. ugh.
10:42P: roommate’s band is on stage. she’s much more talented than previous band.
MIDNIGHT: step into door of a very hot, very crowded apartment. tattoos and ripped t-shirts and eyes are everywhere. hide in the kitchen behind friend as she schools me on keg pumping.
12:17a: gasp ourselves outside into the backyard. breathing is so underrated. sipping beer and chatting easily with strangers.
12:20a: am feeling none of the usual anxiety that comes with chatting with strangers. relishing this.
1:00a: standing on line for the bathroom. is so hot that pants are sticking to legs in their entirety. wishing desperately for shorts.
1:29a: leaving party. walking outside with friend. was going to go on a beer run, then decided to briefly drop by z’s party.
2:14a: arrive at party after much walking.
2:15a: see z. he’s very drunk. it’s his birthday, so it’s allowed.
2:40a: talking to many of z’s friends. they’re all quite sauced, which makes this part of the evening very fun.
3:20a: grabbing a taxi. way too late and way too far to even think about taking the G right now.
3:21a: drenching, drenching downpour.
3:22a: text from friend: ‘am soaked to the bone’
3:31a: going upwards of what seems to be 130mph on BQE. am certain the taxi is hydroplaning. fall asleep mid-panic.
3:59a: arrive home. $16.80 cab fare. do not care.
4:00a: walk inside. approximately 10 very drunk, loud people are in apartment. am pissed.
4:07a: blissfully, all guests depart.
4:08a: slide into cool, crisp sheets. aahh, central air.
4:10a: blackout.
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craigslist.
i was directed towards an article on wired this morning which featured a number of proposed redesigns to craigslist.org.
i’ve always had a soft spot for craigslist. it’s been supremely useful throughout my life. i’ve used it to find: an internship, a job that i’m still at three years later, a roomate that is not only sane but cool, and a great apartment that i’m moving into on saturday. these are all fairly large accomplishments, and i’m not sure what i would have done had craigslist not existed.
i kind of doubt they’re ever going to redesign that site, because it hasn’t changed since it started in ‘95 and clearly their thing is function over form. it functions okay, yes. but it brings to mind a larger conversation, that of function vs. form. which is more important? can we achieve a balance between the two?
i started thinking about this because the article had a bunch of comments on it by people who seemed upset and confused; they were all protesting that the ‘yuppies’ leave craigslist’s design aesthetic alone. and also not to add any ‘flashy’ shit. [sidenote: i have to say, I agree with that. my own personal design aesthetic, i'm slowly discovering over the years, tends to run towards the minimalist and un-flashy. I prefer design that is simplistic, functional, orderly, and pleasing to the eye. there’s no reason for someone’s site to have a trillion things sliding and blinking all over the goddamn place.]
at a glance, the entire site is somewhat of a clusterfuck. links, link, links. upon arriving, the eye has no idea where to go, and so your vision scatters around the page like a dropped handful of skittles. take the entire right side of the site, for example. if I click on ‘new york,’ why the hell are all of the other locations still available to me? if I live in new york city and click on new york city, I’m certainly not going to wonder if someone in finland has the nitto handlebars or the design job I want. get rid of that. seriously.
regardless.
it’s interesting to see people’s reactions, when even hypothetical change is presented. people are loathe to change, and hate it more so when a mainstay in their life is changed, even ever-so-slightly. see tropicana’s new identity, recently rolled out. personally, I don’t think it was that much of a travesty, but the public at large clamored extensively with hatred, and tropicana whipped the new design off of shelves faster than someone might run if chris hansen suddenly dropped by their 13 yr old ‘friend’s’ kitchen.
I think that it’s completely possible to redesign craigslist; to keep the extremely basic functionality, but to a] make it more pleasing to the eye, and b] organize the information in a more user-friendly fashion. the poor design won’t stop me from using it, certainly. but I hope they might see the wired article and think about improving things in the future.
Filed under: design., opinion | 1 Comment
read this.
this is an article sent to me by my best friend.
it was in the ny times. it’s extremely well written, and extremely poignant and true.
_____________________________
In 1996 I rode the circus train to Mexico City where I lived for a month, pretending to be someone’s husband. (Don’t even ask.) I remember my time there as we remember most of our travels — vivid and thrilling, everything new and strange. My ex-fake-wife Carolyn and I often reminisce nostalgically about our honeymoon there: ordering un balde hielo from room service to cool our Coronas every afternoon, the black-velvet painting of the devil on the toilet that she made me buy, our shared hilarious terror of kidnapping and murder, the giant pork rind I wrangled through customs. Which is funny, since, if I think back honestly, while I was actually there I did not feel “happy.”In fact, as mi esposa did not hesitate to point out to me at the time, I griped incessantly about the noise and stink of the city — the car horns playing shrill, uptempo versions of the theme from “The Godfather” or “La Cucaracha” every second, the noxious mix of diesel fumes and urine, the air so filthy we’d been there a week before I learned we had a view of the mountains.
I was similarly miserable throughout the happiest summer I ever spent in New York City. I was recovering from an affair that had ended badly, and during my convalescence I was subletting a cool, airy apartment a block from Tompkins Square Park, with a kitchen window that looked out on a community garden. A theater troupe was rehearsing a production of “The Tempest” out there, and I got used to the warped rattling crash of sheet-metal thunder in the evenings. I happened to catch “The Passion of St. Joan of Arc” on cable for the first time late one night, a film I knew nothing about — it was grotesque and beautiful, astonishing. One of the happiest memories of my life is of sitting on top of the little knoll in the park with my friend Ellen, eating a sweet Hawaiian pizza and waiting to see what movie would play on the outdoor screen that was being inflated in front of us. (It turned out to be “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”) Even though this whole time I was preoccupied with thoughts of the woman I’d lost and torturing myself with jealousy and insane fantasies of vengeance, in retrospect it’s obvious now that the main thing I was doing that summer was falling in love.
I wonder, sometimes, whether it is a perversity peculiar to my own mind or just the common lot of humanity to experience happiness mainly in retrospect. I have of course considered the theory that I am an idiot who fails to appreciate anything when he actually has it and only loves what he’s lost. Or perhaps this is all just what Michael Chabon called “the ruinous work of nostalgia, which obliterates the past.” But I think I recall that summer with such clarity and affection for much the same reason that I remember my month in Mexico City so fondly. The fresh heartbreak was, in a sense, like being in a foreign country; everything seemed alien, brilliant and glinting. It was as if I’d been flayed, so that even the air hurt. When you’re that unhappy, any glimmer of beauty or consolation feels like running into an old friend abroad, or seeing mountaintops through smog. Maybe we mistakenly think we want “happiness,” which we tend to picture in very vague, soft-focus terms, when what we really crave is the harder-edged intensity of experience.
We do each have a handful of those moments, the ones we only take out to treasure rarely, like jewels, when we looked up from our lives and realized: “I’m happy.” One of the last times this happened to me, inexplicably, I was driving on Maryland’s unsublime Route 40 with the window down, looking at a peeling Burger King billboard while Van Halen played on the radio. But this kind of intense and present happiness is heartbreakingly ephemeral; as soon as you notice it you dispel it, like blocking yourself from remembering a word by trying too hard to retrieve it. And our attempts to contrive this feeling through any kind of replicable method — with drinking or drugs or sexual seduction, buying new stuff, listening to the same old songs that reliably give us shivers — never quite recapture the spontaneous, profligate joy of the real thing. In other words be advised that Burger King billboards and Van Halen are not a sure-fire combination, any more than are scotch and cigars.
I didn’t always enjoy being a cartoonist. During the 12 years of my career, if I can call it that, I bored my friends and colleagues by complaining bitterly about the insulting pay, the lack of recognition, the short half-life of political cartoons as art. And yet, if I’m allowed any final accounting of my days, I may find, to my surprise, that I reckon those Fridays when I woke up without an idea in my head and only started drawing around noon, calling friends at work for emergency humor consultations, doing frantic Google image searches for “Scott McClellan” or “chacmool,” eating whatever crud was in the fridge, laughing out loud at my own jokes, and somehow ended up getting a finished cartoon in by deadline, feeling like an evil genius, to have been among my best.
But during the time I was actually focused on drawing — whipping out a perfect line, spontaneous but precise, or gauging the exact cant of an eyelid to evoke an expression, or immersed in the microscopic universe of cross-hatching — I wasn’t conscious of feeling “happy,” or of feeling anything at all. I was in the closest approximation to happiness that we can consistently achieve by any kind of deliberate effort: the condition of absorption. My senses were so integrated that, on those occasions when I had to re-draw something entirely, I often found that I would spontaneously recall the same measure of music or line of dialog I’d been listening to when I’d drawn it the first time; the memory had become inextricably encoded in the line. It is this state that rock-climbers and pinball players and libertines are all seeking: an absorption in the immediate so intense and complete that the idiot chatter of your brain shuts up for once and you temporarily lose yourself, to your relief.
I suspect there is something inherently misguided and self-defeating and hopeless about any deliberate campaign to achieve happiness. Perhaps the reason we so often experience happiness only in hindsight, and that chasing it is such a fool’s errand, is that happiness isn’t a goal in itself but is only an aftereffect. It’s the consequence of having lived in the way that we’re supposed to — by which I don’t mean ethically correctly so much as just consciously, fully engaged in the business of living. In this respect it resembles averted vision, a phenomena familiar to backyard astronomers whereby, in order to pick out a very faint star, you have to let your gaze drift casually to the space just next to it; if you look directly at it, it vanishes. And it’s also true, come to think of it, that the only stars we ever see are not the “real” stars, those cataclysms taking place in the present, but always only the light of the untouchable past.
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