Ruminations on air and space

I’m in a restless state, and it’s a particular kind of restlessness that I’ve finally been able to identify after years of trying to figure it out: it’s a mood that strikes when I’ve been spending too much time reading things. In particular, I’m talking about reading internet message boards and news sites. I can kill weeks keeping up with my favorite discussion sites, being amused at other people’s humor, touched by other people’s shared emotions, and irritated by their occasional idiocy. But at a certain point it’s just overwhelming to constantly be the recipient of communication—it’s tiring and even depressing. At that point, I get restless, and it’s only recently that I’ve put my finger on exactly why.

To constantly receive, and never create—well, it’s an imbalance and I apparently feel it at a visceral level rather than a conscious one. (I do want to acknowledge right up front the irony that you who are reading this are now slightly behind in your own subconscious striving for that same balance. And I’m the one who’s done that to you—sorry.) It manifests in a particular feeling that my head is too crowded with noise, that there’s an interfering hum of chatter that’s pushing out my own inner voice, and that there’s not enough air and not enough space inside for me to think any of my own thoughts.

You know, the Air and Space Museum in Washington is incompletely named: here I’m talking about mental air and mental space. It’s probably a stupid cliche that ideas need a little room to spread out in, or else they don't make it past the germination stage. Something patly metaphorical comes to mind about giving those young ideas room so they can grow to maturity. Let me really run this into the ground: it’s hard to differentiate ideas in the seedling stage; they all look much the same. With all the clatter of the world around me, it’s getting too loud in here. So it’s high time I stopped screwing around reading other people’s blather and started listening to what I myself might be thinking about.

As usual, in attempting the creative process, I end up thinking about the creative process. This isn’t a new phenomenon by any means. I suppose it’s like the old joke about telling someone not to imagine an elephant. Anyway, I’ve been feeling frustrated about how mercurial creative thinking really is for me. It seems to happen at specific times of day, under circumstances that aren’t easily quantified, and it’s incredibly fragile. To continue ramming my botany metaphor into the ground, it’s more of an African violet or an orchid than a spider plant. And unfortunately, I love routine, and my routine doesn’t allow for a whole lot of opportunity for true creativity. The minutiae of daily life are always first on my mind, and if they aren’t taken care of, they nag me and keep me from freeing myself. Maybe if I had a chef and a personal assistant, I’d be a more creative person—heck, my African violet would probably still be alive, too.

But then I want to be more optimistic about my circumstances. There are a lot more ways to be creative in life than just the obvious methods of writing, or designing, or creating art or music. At least, I hope so, given most people’s need of a paycheck. Few people have the time to break out of the daily grind to really do something wild and new. This is where I do have to admit that there is one thing I had better in childhood than adulthood: the freedom to be unburdened by basic worries about life needs and to be creative on a large scale. Now it’s far more restricted, with more of my time taken up by other demands. A short story, a song, these are rare and precious, and I’m frustrated by that.

And if I’m not really producing something major, why go for small-scale achievement? When I hum a song or appreciate a design or read a novel, I’m being touched by someone across a wide gulf. The people who created those things really achieved something in their creation, to have an impact that reached me at all. That phenomenon never fails to make me feel intensely jealous. Of course, reading a post on a message board or blog is nothing like that in terms of scale. Do those matter, then? But that brings me back to my restlessness, and the reason for it. By typing out these ideas, by spending a little time in my own head just sifting through some thoughts, I can add a little weight to my side of the scale and restore a little bit of balance to things. That helps. And maybe some day I can clear the little things out of my way and really get on to something big.

Facebook ate my Blogspot

After futzing around on Facebook for a couple of months, I realize that it’s cutting horribly into the time I spent thinking about this blog. That seems to be a pretty frequent happening on the net; I certainly don’t claim to be suffering from something unique, here. But it’s interesting how that’s come to be. Maintaining the blog requires a lot more active work, whereas I can just hang on FB and watch my often hyperactive friends pepper me with links and the occasional burst of personal information. I suppose that everyone’s short attention span is also more rewarded by the Chinese fortune cookie style of writing on FB. On the other hand, FB isn’t nearly as anonymous, and isn’t the right forum for getting an interesting idea across.

Nevertheless, I’m still trying to come back here a few times (once?) a month and say something substantive. And I’m not interested in bashing the flourishing of FB as some kind of evidence that our society is crashing in flames like the Hindenburg. That’s what I think about Livejournal. Kidding!

Sometimes I wish I was Catholic

Relax, that’s a line from a song. So I’ve turned the big 35 today, and I got this awesome peep cake from the Swami earlier, so I’m totally jacked on sugar right now. I took the day off work, which was schweet—now that’s a constitutional amendment I could get behind, that everyone should get their birthday off of work. Paid, I might add. Who’s with me!

Creativity, where is thy muse

I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity recently, because I’ve been in what feels like a slump on and off for the last year or so, and also because I just read Sandman: Dream Country. One of the short stories in that collection (“Calliope”) deals with the creative muse and writer’s block.

But I should elaborate on both of those reasons. The first reason might seem surprising, because it’s not like I haven’t been writing. The prime exhibit is this blog, which does count as writing, even if it doesn’t all necessarily count as entertaining writing. But it’s not like I’ve been staring at blank screens nonstop for the last year. What kills me, though, is that I had a taste of real inspiration, where I sat down and banged out a scene-by-scene plot for a story over the course of just a few minutes, a plot which sprang so fully formed out of my head that I was able to actually produce a complete work once I filled in the structure. This is in stark contrast to the rest of my fiction writing, where I have probably finished less than 1 percent of everything I’ve started.

So now that I’ve experienced one time where it was blissfully easy, really paint-by-numbers easy, I want to feel that again. But of course it hasn’t happened, and I wonder if it will ever happen again. I’d better be satisfied even if it doesn’t, you know? It’s a damn lucky thing, damn lucky.

Then, reading Sandman, I wonder how it is even possible to live entirely based on one’s own creativity. Anyone who writes anything, from novelists to people trying to put together an email in their cubicle, knows that many times it’s just a brutal slog to get something down. But to think that the result of that slog could be the difference between the success and failure of one’s livelihood, well, that would be a crushing responsibility. I suppose that right there explains the impetus behind works like “Calliope,” where writer’s block itself becomes the driving force of the tale. At some point you figure you might as well use the block itself for material. It’s a particularly crafty bit of self-preservation.

Creativity itself deserves a little more scrutiny, too, I think. I tend to think of people as either using it, or not, but that’s far too simplistic. It’s not just writing, or composing, or singing, or playing. It’s actually realizing that if you are hammering away at a problem and it’s not getting resolved, that you should try something different. It’s going around something, rather than through it. Which is why I’m sitting here typing this, rather than wondering when the hell I’ll ever have that flash of inspiration visit me again. At least there’s a blog post for today, now, and that’s worth more than nothing.

A little catch-up

It’s been way, way too long since I posted, sorry about that. I’ve been waiting for a theme to surface that covers the last couple of weeks, but it turns out I got nothing. So here’s a summary.

New nephew! Welcome to Earth, Corey Michael.

Work kind of sucks. Counting on other people doesn’t work when they’re slacking fuckups. And getting a lengthy lecture from the Usual Suspect is enough to sour my cornflakes for days. At least I have an office door I can close when it all weighs on me a little too heavily. And, of course, there are good points such that I shouldn’t stalk out the door with no plan for the future. But still, right now it’s generally bleah.

Tennis is better. Despite my automatic feeling of disappointment for getting demoted down a skill level, the last three matches have been a lot more enjoyable than the first three. And not just because we won two of them. (Although: hooray!) When I play people who are a little more laid-back, it’s a lot easier to temper my naturally psychotic competitiveness. Having said that, I do have a bit of advice for people who play in social leagues: please, please, keep the score carefully. Giving yourself a boost by announcing it’s 15-15 when it should be 0-30 makes you look like a tool. (I’m glad we ended up beating them anyway, despite losing more than one game due to the crappy scorekeeping.)

Cycling is an obsession. But you dear readers already knew that. Last Saturday we rode 35 miles, the second longest ride ever. And it felt great. Just signed up for this year’s Hub on Wheels, too. This year the goal is 45 miles!

Hooray for Crowded House. Not only did they kick ass both nights I saw them in August, they had Kufala sell discs of the complete live shows. I’ll happily pay $20 to get a soundboard-quality recording, over a free one taped by the audience that sounds like shit on toast.

Live Nation/Clear Channel sucks. Thanks to their dickishness, CH shows performed at their venues have been pulled off Kufala and can’t be sold. Monopolistic jackasses. At least their bogus patent got busted. Still, there is work to be done to bring these bastards down.

Happy Birthday to MWL. Somehow I missed the first anniversary of this blog. I bet nobody else noticed, either. But how about that! Blogito, ergo sum.

Crazy moon language

Like anybody’s, my day is mostly filled with routine and sometimes with outright drudgery, but every once in a while I remember why I slogged through grad school and took this crazy job. Here’s an excerpt from something I’m editing:

That’s part of a text in Glagolitic, an alphabet used in the Slavic-speaking world before the more familiar Cyrillic was used. (They were used contemporaneously, though—the exact chronology is a little fuzzy on which one was invented first. At any rate, we’re talking ninth century AD.) I’ve always thought it was the coolest looking script, all loops and impractical forms that look like they’d take a while to draw. But then again, monks spent their entire lives copying books out by hand, so maybe those curlicues kept them from getting bored.

I can’t read Glagolitic freely by any means—one of my professors in grad school actually could, which makes her pretty much a god in my view. And when I had to retype this particular Glagolitic passage using a Unicode-compliant font, it took a good while before I could get any speed going. Here’s a picture that shows the Cyrillic equivalent, just to give you an idea:
Working with Glagolitic is cool, and it definitely keeps me from getting bored when I get to do it.

Tag, I'm it

All right, I got tagged by kaskasero last week and it’s high time I got around to responding.

Instructions: Each player starts with 7 random facts/habits about themselves. People who are tagged need to write on their own blog about their seven things, as well as these rules. At the end of your blog, you need to choose 7 people to get tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them that they have been tagged and to read your blog!

1. I am completely hopeless for the rest of the day if I don’t get breakfast (usually some healthy kind of cereal drowned in a huge bowl of milk).

2. I used to sleepwalk when I was a little kid. I’d walk downstairs and talk to my parents while asleep, or engage in my favorite sleepwalking activity of trying to flush my pajamas down the toilet.

3. In 1988 I won tickets to a Howard Jones concert in a radio contest by correctly identifying a lyric from Poison’s “Talk Dirty to Me.” In 1993 (or 1994?) I won tickets to a Cracker concert by identifying the difference between a reflecting and a refracting telescope.

4. Despite my rep as a worldly, cosmopolitan chick, I’ve never been overseas (not counting Canada, here).

(Editorial comment: This is a lot harder than it looks!)

5. My pie-in-the-sky dream job would be professional musician. My somewhat-more-feasible-but-still-unlikely dream job would be book designer or editor at a saner place than where I am now.

6. My first single was a 45 of Thomas Dolby’s “She Blinded Me with Science.”

7. Last but not least, in the spirit of kaskasero’s revelation, my Halo gameplaying handle is Fang. Although I haven’t played Halo in ages, too busy with Morrowind!

Now my true confession: I don’t know seven bloggers to tag! But I’ll call out Lifton, Danielle, and Frantix. Make me proud, guys. (TJ, if you’re reading this, you could always post your 7 to my comments if ya want.)

Tagged in a good way

Whoa, this is a new thing for me, I’ve been tagged by my man Lifton. (Edit: To my embarrassment, I see I missed one last month. Sorry, man.) And I say, why pass up a chance to blab about myself? To pass it on, I hereby tag Raoul, Frantix, Sashe, and Danielle. Maybe this will inspire those slackers to get back to posting.

And now on to the Q and A.

FOODOLOGY

Q. What is your salad dressing of choice?
A. Bleu cheese

Q. What is your favorite fast food restaurant?
A. National? Chipotle. Local? Boca Grande. One might sense a theme.

Q. What is your favorite sit-down restaurant?
A. Of all time, the Galaxy Cafe in Columbus, Ohio. Sadly defunct.

Q. On average, what size tip do you leave at a restaurant?
A. 20% on small checks, 16% minimum on large checks.

Q. What food could you eat every day for two weeks and not get sick off of?
A. I actually eat the same Kashi cereal every morning, but breakfast is a special circumstance. Chocolate for when I'm wide awake.

Q. What is your favorite type of gum?
A. My parents’ deep hatred of gum has taken hold in me as an adult, alas.

TECHNOLOGY

Q. What is your wallpaper on your computer?
A. Right now, a Japanese postcard. Alternates with a still from X2 and Neil Armstrong on the moon.

Q. How many televisions are in your house?
A. One. Don’t despair, Raoul, someday there might be two!

BIOLOGY

Q. What’s your best feature?
A. Aw, I don’t know. It sure ain’t humility.

Q. Have you ever had anything removed from your body?
A. Wisdom teeth, the occasional vial of the red stuff.

Q. Which of your five senses do you think is keenest?
A. Taste, not to be confused with the abstract version thereof.

Q. When was the last time you had a cavity?
A. God, what a tragedy. My first and only one was in 2004. I am mildly convinced that the dentist scammed me. A thing about myself I was so proud of, crushed like a stale cornflake.

Q. What is the heaviest item you lifted last?
A. My suitcase, coming back from San Francisco on Tuesday. Metaphorically, the burden of being one of the two competent people at work.

Q. Have you ever been knocked unconscious?
A. I almost fainted once. And they knocked me out to remove the aforementioned wisdom teeth, thank the gods.

BULLSHITOLOGY

Q. If it were possible, would you want to know the day you were going to die?
A. No way, no way.

Q. Is love for real?
A. Yes, no doubt about it.

Q. If you could change your first name, what would you change it to?
A. I love my name, although there are times when I’ve been tempted to switch full-time to Fang.

Q. What color do you think looks best on you?
A. Good question. There are some shades of blue that make my eyes look even bluer.

Q. Have you ever swallowed a non-food item by mistake?
A. Oh man, when I was a kid I once collected a single dime for Unicef at Halloween, and I was holding the box above my head, shaking it, when it dropped down my throat. Sorry, Unicef.

Q. Have you ever saved someone’s life?
A. No.

Q. Has someone ever saved yours?
A. No.

DAREOLOGY

Q. Would you walk naked for a half mile down a public street for $100,000?
A. No.

Q. Would you kiss a member of the same sex for $100?
A. If her name were Uma Thurman, or Kate Winslet. Actually, I kid, I’m easier than that.

Q. Would you allow one of your little fingers to be cut off for $200,000?
A. No way.

Q. Would you never blog again for $50,000?
A. Tempting, very tempting. How would you enforce it!

Q. Would you pose nude in a magazine for $250,000?
A. No.

Q. Would you drink an entire bottle of hot sauce for $1,000?
A. No, man that stuff is too much for me. (See taste question, above)

Q. Would you, without fear of punishment, take a human life for $1,000,000?
A. There are a couple of people who tempt me, but I doubt I could actually do it.

Q. Would you give up watching television for a year for $25,000?
A. I can’t live without my Stewart and Colbert, unfortunately.

Q. Give up MySpace forever for $30,000?
A. Hey, I’ve never gotten into it! Start writing that check.

DUMBOLOGY

Q: What is in your left pocket?
A. Empty! My left pockets are, as a rule, terribly underutilized.

Q: Is Napoleon Dynamite actually a good movie?
A. I haven’t seen it, but my spidey sense says it sucks.

Q: Do you have hardwood or carpet in your house?
A. Hardwood with some rugs.

Q: Do you sit or stand in the shower?
A. Stand. What a goofy question.

Q: Could you live with roommates?
A. I have in the past, although I imagine I’m not an easy roommate. My misanthropy doesn’t help.

Q: How many pairs of flip-flops do you own?
A. None, plastic shoes are evil!

Q: Last time you had a run-in with the cops?
A. Never, as a matter of fact.

Q: What do you want to be when you grow up?
A. In Neil Finn’s backup band.

LASTOLOGY

Q: Friend you talked to?
A. Erin, though I already miss her.

Q: Last person you called?
A. Swami, of course.

RANDOMOLOGY

Q: First place you went this morning?
A. Bathroom. Outside the house, it was to work via the bus. Ah, suck.

Q: What can you not wait to do?
A. Get my damn condo sold and move into my new one! Not in that order.

Q: What’s the last movie you saw?
A. Theater: The Queen. At home: The Sting.

Q: Are you a friendly person?
A. Not in the least, until I warm up to you. If I do. Watch out!

Why blog?

It’s an efficient way to keep the peeps informed, and a forum for their hollers back.
It’s a good way to work shit out; writing encourages fuzzy ideas to form coherent shapes.
It’s a record of your life, for when time passes and you forget the rawness of the immediate moment.
It’s another way to kill time on slow afternoons at work.
It’s a window into your tiny, tiny slice of the world, and a precious link to exotic other slices you might not have known about otherwise.
It’s navel-gazing with cool cascading style sheets!

Testing, testing

If this doesn't work, well, then the gravitational constant of the universe has been somehow altered.