Facebook is like being at a party where everyone is really attractive and sociable, but where everyone at the party feels ill-equipped to join in the festivities.
Thus, the individuals posture themselves as supremely accomplished, loquacious, involved animals, but no one's ready to be anything more than a spectator.
Case in point:
Your parents ask,
How's Ashley from high school? She was always such a nice girl.
You say,
Oh, Ashley's in Germany for graduate school right now.
Your parents say,
Oh, did you talk to her recently? Does she still play volleyball?
And you reply,
No, I just noticed that on her Facebook page.
So what's the goal here? To grow human beings as information-gatherers who never let that information drive them to personal interaction or confrontation? If you're someone who frets social situations, this encourages you to keep harvesting, keep harvesting, keep harvesting until you've SOLVED HUMAN COMMUNICATION and can actually talk to another human being. The problem? All communication, and life, is imperfect, and there's no algorithm for conversation or personality.
So if you're inclined to experiment in 2015, get off Facebook. If you find your social life and self-esteem shattered, then maybe it's a requisite for existence, for breathing air and uttering sentences.
If not, look who's talking! My guess is, you and your real friends.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
For Internet freedom, the loss of a true friend
I deeply miss my friend Ilya, who left for California some years ago
and never came back.
Fortunately, his infectious and thoughtful optimism will never leave me.
I remember one New Year's, I got a call. It was Ilya, who was calling every number in his phone to say hi, check in and look forward to a new year. This is the social space he occupied, where there was always a moment to acknowledge his fellow humans -- to share a laugh, to share an idea, and to share a vision for something greater.
In Ilya's world, there is no such thing as "too many people to say hello." We live together, we connect, we share and we grow. Thus, our relationships can rise above profit, above power, and above the often violent, dismissive discourse that pervades our Internet. We're only here for a short time -- why be anything but radically friendly, whimsical, and unflinchingly aware of our supreme talent and potential?
I recently logged this same note into the dizzying, absorbing medium called Facebook -- where I am unable to resist the fleeting sense of connectivity that permeates our jumbled displays. We like, we comment, we scroll to distraction, and yet we still miss the character and inspiration of a phone call, a visit... a true presence.
Ilya, thanks for showing me what's possible -- online, and in this global neighborhood that won't lose its humanity to an insincere 'network.'
Fortunately, his infectious and thoughtful optimism will never leave me.
I remember one New Year's, I got a call. It was Ilya, who was calling every number in his phone to say hi, check in and look forward to a new year. This is the social space he occupied, where there was always a moment to acknowledge his fellow humans -- to share a laugh, to share an idea, and to share a vision for something greater.
In Ilya's world, there is no such thing as "too many people to say hello." We live together, we connect, we share and we grow. Thus, our relationships can rise above profit, above power, and above the often violent, dismissive discourse that pervades our Internet. We're only here for a short time -- why be anything but radically friendly, whimsical, and unflinchingly aware of our supreme talent and potential?
I recently logged this same note into the dizzying, absorbing medium called Facebook -- where I am unable to resist the fleeting sense of connectivity that permeates our jumbled displays. We like, we comment, we scroll to distraction, and yet we still miss the character and inspiration of a phone call, a visit... a true presence.
Ilya, thanks for showing me what's possible -- online, and in this global neighborhood that won't lose its humanity to an insincere 'network.'
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Just can't stop starin'
I now present: The Outside World, a.k.a. STOP STARING AT THAT!
Hi friend, I'm admiring your poofy boots (SO POOFED OUT) and I'd love to compliment them, but your ears are plugged and your eyes locked on the… STOP STARING AT THAT!
Good afternoon, partner, I want to tell you how marvelous those yoga pants are (SO STRETCHY BUT THEY DON'T GET STUCK THAT WAY… IS THAT SOME KIND OF TECHNOFIBRE?), but you've got a bluetoothy thing hangin' on your face and seem to be having a very important conversation with… STOP TALKING AT THAT!
Evening, buddy, I may never believe how that goatee of yours comes to such a razor-sharp point (CAN YOU PICK UP HORS D'OEUVRES WITH IT?), and I WANT YOU TO KNOW HOW UNBELIEVABLE IT IS, but you've got a wire comin' out your head connecting to that yellow-and-green plastic box (good choice of iPhone 6 cover by the way, the purple ones look the same but they're apt to shatter when dropped)…ahem… STOP LISTENING TO THAT!
To my great associates, welcome to The Outside World, and YES, I'LL STOP SHOUTING. Soon.
Hi friend, I'm admiring your poofy boots (SO POOFED OUT) and I'd love to compliment them, but your ears are plugged and your eyes locked on the… STOP STARING AT THAT!
Good afternoon, partner, I want to tell you how marvelous those yoga pants are (SO STRETCHY BUT THEY DON'T GET STUCK THAT WAY… IS THAT SOME KIND OF TECHNOFIBRE?), but you've got a bluetoothy thing hangin' on your face and seem to be having a very important conversation with… STOP TALKING AT THAT!
Evening, buddy, I may never believe how that goatee of yours comes to such a razor-sharp point (CAN YOU PICK UP HORS D'OEUVRES WITH IT?), and I WANT YOU TO KNOW HOW UNBELIEVABLE IT IS, but you've got a wire comin' out your head connecting to that yellow-and-green plastic box (good choice of iPhone 6 cover by the way, the purple ones look the same but they're apt to shatter when dropped)…ahem… STOP LISTENING TO THAT!
To my great associates, welcome to The Outside World, and YES, I'LL STOP SHOUTING. Soon.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Thursday, September 11, 2014
a poem for this new world
A Competent Host
crafting his intrigue in stable objects,
crafting his intrigue in stable objects,
the two-legged table assembles a
balance,
arranges the matter in such a way, that
bouquets extend and permeate,
dishes forget their inhibitions,
disregard the cold
potatoes and lukewarm meatloaf, while
customers ease into conversation,
subconsciously
aware of his measured display:
“I have no idea what to order.”
“Everything has garlic… I hate garlic.”
“Just tell the waitress you’re
allergic.”
… the typical exchange.
Meanwhile, the structure braces with
laughter.
For his steady grace beneath the
folded hands, pointy elbows and
fugitive glances,
bits of wealth tease his smooth
surface.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Steering from the hip...
Is your brother a hipster? Your mother? Your uncle?
Of course not. Why would anyone maintain family ties to the greatest frenemy of our times?
The hipster is... that pierced barista... that jean-shorted bicyclist... that self-absorbed independent artist... who lives to ruin our day.
We associate their 'type' - a bohemian outward appearance - with pretentiousness, condescension and cheap sophistication.
But as hipsters seem to pervade our routine activities - grabbing a meal, catching a concert, walking the streets - I wonder if the label is nothing but an excuse to complain, to be miserable.
The next time you go out for drinks after work and you feel like that 'hipster crowd' is mucking up your evening, just remember - you're out to enjoy yourself in the company of friends. This is a blessing. And if the 'hipster vibe' is all it takes to mar that experience, you might want to recalibrate.
Before you go out, think about yourself. You're cool, you're good-looking (besides that mole, but let's be honest, it's charming!), and you're always down for a party. You've got an understated fashion sense, you've got an ear for great music, you've read some dense literature. You could say you're pretty damn hip...oh, wait...nevermind.
Forget the hipster myth and celebrate the amazing qualities that make you, your friends - and maybe even that tattooed, mustachioed, suspendered stranger - a magnificent bunch of humans.
Rude folks can wallow in their negativity, but assigning them a hipster label, a hipster look, a hipster aura, only furthers our antisocial tendencies in public spaces, where instead communities may interconnect and flourish.
And if we're always dreading the hipster over our shoulder, what happens if we see that face in the mirror one morning? Hopefully you'll at least have the decency to give hipsters a better name.
Of course not. Why would anyone maintain family ties to the greatest frenemy of our times?
The hipster is... that pierced barista... that jean-shorted bicyclist... that self-absorbed independent artist... who lives to ruin our day.
We associate their 'type' - a bohemian outward appearance - with pretentiousness, condescension and cheap sophistication.
But as hipsters seem to pervade our routine activities - grabbing a meal, catching a concert, walking the streets - I wonder if the label is nothing but an excuse to complain, to be miserable.
The next time you go out for drinks after work and you feel like that 'hipster crowd' is mucking up your evening, just remember - you're out to enjoy yourself in the company of friends. This is a blessing. And if the 'hipster vibe' is all it takes to mar that experience, you might want to recalibrate.
Before you go out, think about yourself. You're cool, you're good-looking (besides that mole, but let's be honest, it's charming!), and you're always down for a party. You've got an understated fashion sense, you've got an ear for great music, you've read some dense literature. You could say you're pretty damn hip...oh, wait...nevermind.
Forget the hipster myth and celebrate the amazing qualities that make you, your friends - and maybe even that tattooed, mustachioed, suspendered stranger - a magnificent bunch of humans.
Rude folks can wallow in their negativity, but assigning them a hipster label, a hipster look, a hipster aura, only furthers our antisocial tendencies in public spaces, where instead communities may interconnect and flourish.
And if we're always dreading the hipster over our shoulder, what happens if we see that face in the mirror one morning? Hopefully you'll at least have the decency to give hipsters a better name.
Monday, June 2, 2014
The Money Issue
If you're in cliff-hanging suspense about my job situation, don't be.
At present, I've got some interesting leads and some edifying experiences under my belt, so let's just say I'm taken care of.
But what about you? Do bloggers have no regard for those precious eyeballs, connected to precious neurons bouncing preciously about your noggin?
The newsflash for your noodle: money reigns supreme.
If you've just graduated from college or high school and want everyone to know you're just fine, thank you very much, get a paycheck. A regular one. Doing anything. The more miserable the job makes you, the better.
"But why?" -- you fairly question this snarky provocation.
Simply, to learn that others gauge your success based on financial stability. And if you appear to have a steady source of cash, concerns about your individual aspirations or personal well-being can take a backseat.
The good: I hate money. Like a diploma, it's a piece of paper that has no value to humans, but we afford a compelling persuasion -- such that our behaviors must be affordable. Have you ever seen a squirrel snag loose change from the sidewalk? That would be nuts! Ahem... if you excuse the terrible humor, what I mean to say is: the items of real value to squirrels are nuts. A nickel's just dead weight.
The bad: I need money to sustain a living and fuel my dreams. So in a cash-strapped economy, it's practical to ignore the personal, emotional or social benefits (or costs) of a job, focusing solely on its financial promise. Unfortunately, capital gains can never refund time spent on unfulfilling pursuits, or repair the personal damage of an exhausting, dispossessed working life.
The ugly: No one wants to talk about money. It's awkward, it's impolite, it's far too enmeshed in social value judgments. But if finances are so touchy, why does cash run the show? If humans are mere arbiters of our printed valuations, why do joy and inspiration serve any purpose in our lives?
The conclusion: I've got no sharp insights. But a drive toward honest, fair and conscientious financial exchanges could, at the very least, draw some human value from the lifeless bills we trade.
At present, I've got some interesting leads and some edifying experiences under my belt, so let's just say I'm taken care of.
But what about you? Do bloggers have no regard for those precious eyeballs, connected to precious neurons bouncing preciously about your noggin?
The newsflash for your noodle: money reigns supreme.
If you've just graduated from college or high school and want everyone to know you're just fine, thank you very much, get a paycheck. A regular one. Doing anything. The more miserable the job makes you, the better.
"But why?" -- you fairly question this snarky provocation.
Simply, to learn that others gauge your success based on financial stability. And if you appear to have a steady source of cash, concerns about your individual aspirations or personal well-being can take a backseat.
The good: I hate money. Like a diploma, it's a piece of paper that has no value to humans, but we afford a compelling persuasion -- such that our behaviors must be affordable. Have you ever seen a squirrel snag loose change from the sidewalk? That would be nuts! Ahem... if you excuse the terrible humor, what I mean to say is: the items of real value to squirrels are nuts. A nickel's just dead weight.
The bad: I need money to sustain a living and fuel my dreams. So in a cash-strapped economy, it's practical to ignore the personal, emotional or social benefits (or costs) of a job, focusing solely on its financial promise. Unfortunately, capital gains can never refund time spent on unfulfilling pursuits, or repair the personal damage of an exhausting, dispossessed working life.
The ugly: No one wants to talk about money. It's awkward, it's impolite, it's far too enmeshed in social value judgments. But if finances are so touchy, why does cash run the show? If humans are mere arbiters of our printed valuations, why do joy and inspiration serve any purpose in our lives?
The conclusion: I've got no sharp insights. But a drive toward honest, fair and conscientious financial exchanges could, at the very least, draw some human value from the lifeless bills we trade.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
A word from Father Francis Xavier Seelos (1819-1867)
National Seelos Shrine, Josephine St. and Constance St., New Orleans, Louisiana
For those restless, frustrated and bedraggled souls of the world, Father Seelos saw a clear path to peace in the actions of Wilhelm Luehrmann, a German immigrant whose homesickness discouraged his aspirations for priesthood:
But now, in addition to the sadness in not being able to attain his goal, came an attack of homesickness that just about crushed his heart; so much so that often he could no longer stand the oppressive feeling and only wanted to find a place where he could really cry himself out. What did he do then? He took a horse, got on it, and rode far, very far into the woods. And when he was deep in the wilderness, and no one could hear him anymore, he got off his horse, and cried and shouted so loud that all the hills echoed with it and so long until he felt relieved. *
Job-seekers and job-escapists alike can use a horseback trip to the woods - in whatever form it takes - to put their lives back to work.
*Source: "Father Seelos in Action: His Kindly Approach." Carl Hoegerl, ed. SPIRITUS PATRIS, vol.XXVI, Number 1 — March 2000. As published on www.seelos.org.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
resolved; unemployment
Who uses a semicolon in a title? The sophisticated; the bluthering; the anti-establishment; et. al.
But bollocks! My business is to punctuate something more practical:
Studies of these blogs have yet to reveal their utility, and this one is polling insignificant viewership data at this very line.
But codswallop! Here are my admirable, resume-driven goals:
But bollocks! My business is to punctuate something more practical:
- I just left my job.
- I have a degree in journalism.
- I refuse to buy a smartphone.
Studies of these blogs have yet to reveal their utility, and this one is polling insignificant viewership data at this very line.
But codswallop! Here are my admirable, resume-driven goals:
- Entertain (with pizzazz) the most pressing question: What's your next move?
- Participate in my own case study of leaving one job before finding another occupation.
- Be ecstatic. Through the whole bit.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
2014's greatest Internet quip thus far
"I noticed a woman using a contraption to get water at the far end of the counter."
Veronique L., Yelp Review of La Colombe, Feb. 3, 2014
Amongst other brilliant and telling observations, mostly about the existence of people in the alleyways surrounding this coffee shop, Ms. L. has also discovered the notion of water dispensers (perhaps a throw-back faucet, even). Thanks and praise to you, Ms. L., for the best, and most useful, prose of our collective Internet life this calendar year.
Veronique L., Yelp Review of La Colombe, Feb. 3, 2014
Amongst other brilliant and telling observations, mostly about the existence of people in the alleyways surrounding this coffee shop, Ms. L. has also discovered the notion of water dispensers (perhaps a throw-back faucet, even). Thanks and praise to you, Ms. L., for the best, and most useful, prose of our collective Internet life this calendar year.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Thursday, May 2, 2013
mural juggling: Columbia Heights
Sunday, November 4, 2012
park{scenes} 1: meridian hill park
On Sunday afternoons, enjoy a drum circle and an array of slack-liners, acro-yogis and jugglers at Meridian Hill Park (a.k.a. Malcolm X Park) at 15th and Florida NW.
This is the first in a series of videos profiling parks in the D.C./Metro area. Please contact me if you are interested in appearing in future park{scenes}.
Thanks to Vanessa, Josh and Joel for sharing their talents with me and making a scene in the park!
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Yelp! review of life
[3 1/2 stars]
Dropped into this place on my half-hour lunch break - what a cute little spot! The bars on the window add a rustic, chic atmosphere to what would otherwise be just another dumpy take-out joint.
The guy at the counter kindly guided me through the menu and explained the combination buffet, it's a steal at $6.99! (hope the price doesn't go up from all the hype)
Anyway, I surveyed the options and decided to live dangerously and get the 'beef tripe stew' - NOMNOM right?
WRONG - how could anyone look at this monstrous bowl of despicable product and decide there was anything worth enjoying? And why didn't anybody WARN me that tripe is stomach???? I took one cautious bite and flung it straight into the trash. I think my coworkers were wondering what the suspicious smell emanating from beneath my desk was.
So to feed my growling belly FOUR HOURS later I forked over $9.50 for my regular Asian chicken salad from Au Bon Pain. So much for trying something 'ethnic.' The hipsters can have their bowls of mush. *Just sayin*
If I never go near this place again, I will die happy :P
Dropped into this place on my half-hour lunch break - what a cute little spot! The bars on the window add a rustic, chic atmosphere to what would otherwise be just another dumpy take-out joint.
The guy at the counter kindly guided me through the menu and explained the combination buffet, it's a steal at $6.99! (hope the price doesn't go up from all the hype)
Anyway, I surveyed the options and decided to live dangerously and get the 'beef tripe stew' - NOMNOM right?
WRONG - how could anyone look at this monstrous bowl of despicable product and decide there was anything worth enjoying? And why didn't anybody WARN me that tripe is stomach???? I took one cautious bite and flung it straight into the trash. I think my coworkers were wondering what the suspicious smell emanating from beneath my desk was.
So to feed my growling belly FOUR HOURS later I forked over $9.50 for my regular Asian chicken salad from Au Bon Pain. So much for trying something 'ethnic.' The hipsters can have their bowls of mush. *Just sayin*
If I never go near this place again, I will die happy :P
Monday, August 20, 2012
'round noon
You knew it was a lost cause, but nevertheless manufactured hope in a reality the District, for all its worldly influences, could never fulfill.
A wasp buzzed, pummeling itself against the window overlooking Dupont Circle. You used to drive a truck through that black hole after a few wrong turns, then regret it for the next ten minutes of painstaking navigation through clueless pedestrians and conniving traffic signals. At least that whip had a good sound system. Every job has its small sacrifices, and that one grew more insignificant with each moment you thought about your current task.
The opera playing from a public radio station seemingly mocked your hapless state, though you never had a way with such grand languages.
A lady in proper proportion to her two bullish dogs crossed Q Street in perfect timing with the oncoming traffic, which kindly enough let the trio pass. She kept on her way, you thought, but suddenly the dogs were tied beneath the intermittent green of D.C. sidewalks and the doorknob was turning, leaving enough time for several more civilians to survive the traffic before the door finally gave.
She entered.
You stared at the page.
She broke the silent eternity of a few seconds, declaring:
"The only reason I came in here was to get a smoothie."
You exhaled.
You knew it was a lost cause. But the smothered panini sandwich, the lentil soup served in the same paper cup as your cappuccino, and the smoothies - God help the fucking smoothies - mocked your premonition that D.C. would never proffer what New York stocked in abundance: a decent bakery.
A wasp buzzed, pummeling itself against the window overlooking Dupont Circle. You used to drive a truck through that black hole after a few wrong turns, then regret it for the next ten minutes of painstaking navigation through clueless pedestrians and conniving traffic signals. At least that whip had a good sound system. Every job has its small sacrifices, and that one grew more insignificant with each moment you thought about your current task.
The opera playing from a public radio station seemingly mocked your hapless state, though you never had a way with such grand languages.
A lady in proper proportion to her two bullish dogs crossed Q Street in perfect timing with the oncoming traffic, which kindly enough let the trio pass. She kept on her way, you thought, but suddenly the dogs were tied beneath the intermittent green of D.C. sidewalks and the doorknob was turning, leaving enough time for several more civilians to survive the traffic before the door finally gave.
She entered.
You stared at the page.
She broke the silent eternity of a few seconds, declaring:
"The only reason I came in here was to get a smoothie."
You exhaled.
You knew it was a lost cause. But the smothered panini sandwich, the lentil soup served in the same paper cup as your cappuccino, and the smoothies - God help the fucking smoothies - mocked your premonition that D.C. would never proffer what New York stocked in abundance: a decent bakery.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
gnus of the day
Have you ever read the gnu? No, not the gnus. I mean, just one, singular gnu.
That's what I thought. And herein lies the problem with our gnus media today: all herd, no homeliness; all hegemon, no hungry man; all homo-, no hetero-.*
Plain and simple, we've lost the gnu. The new gnus are just "gnus" gnus, and no gnus are good gnus.
If you're not seeing my point, think about the old gnus and how gnu they were for their time; now think about how non-re-gnu-able they've become.
Shocking, I know. To realize that if we don't rediscover our gnu media we'll quickly become slaves to the shallow gnusings of radio gnus, television gnus and huffy internet gnus.
It's not too late to repent, gnus-men and -women. Click off your gnus stream, burn your gnuspapers and find your gnu self.
I'll be there for every step of your journey, so if you're already stifling fires of hatred for my prose, get out while you still can.
*speaking of which, no hetero brosef!
*speaking of which, no hetero brosef!
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