First off, I have nothing against freegans, people who dumpster dive and share used everything so as to consume as little as possible. The dumpster diving for food aspect is, I think, more than a little repulsive and quite possibly dangerous. But to each their own. If you want to save money, fine. If you want to make your footprint smaller, great. What I do have a problem with is this:
“It’s really about boycotting the consumerist system.”
Is that what it’s really about? Then don’t boycott the system that supports your system of boycotting. If you’re taking old food out of a dumpster behind a Barnes & Noble, you need that corporation to stay in business to support your lifestyle. To actually boycott the system, one would need to go the route of the smelly hippy and have a good ‘ol commune. The high and mighty-ness of it kills me. No, they’re not buying stuff, but they still want stuff. And they don’t want to make any of it.
Not much sleep lately, which generally equals many infomercials. In my drug fuzzled and sleepy state the other night, passed quite a few infomercials, which had me thinking about the nature of the beast – Why the name? They’re certainly not informative. They don’t function well as commercials, either. I have discovered their essential fla: they should never ask questions. Companies with legitimate products, sure.
Want to save more money on your car insurance? You bet I do!
Have you always spent years struggling with bad breath…..? Nope, click.
Are you happy with your kitty litter? Cats aren’t complaining, click.
Want to fight aging with ancient Chinese methods? Maybe. Our patented pad takes bodily fliuids and toxins out of your feet while you sleep. Oh, god! Tiny precious bodily fluid thieves!
Seriously.
All I’m trying to say is that if your product seriously sucks, or is fundamentally creepy, maybe you shouldn’t focus so much on consumer need for them. No one needs these things. For your consideration:
I haven’t written, I know. I have nothing to say. Or, rather, a lot bumbling around in my head that’s yet to make it’s way onto paper (screen). I would love to say that this is because I’ve been so preoccupied with other fascinating interests and hobbies of mine, but it simply isn’t the case.
Eventually, ideas will (I hope) cohere, and I’ll write again.
Oh, how I love living in the Sunshine State. Classic love story. Man meets goat, goat give man the stink eye, man gets it on with goat anyway. Although it’s hard to apply the word rape to a goat, they do anyway. Then there’s a public outcry along the lines of, “Aren’t there laws against this???” The answer is no. Perfectly legal to fuck a goat. Not to rape a goat, but, uh, yeah. I can’t complain too much, though. I used live near
this looney tune and lived right by
this house. Maybe it’s me?
It’s been a floating around day. Going to parties for people I don’t know, deciding what to wear, not really caring all that much in the end. Forcing a contemplative mood when I think my brain is too tired to be bothered with it. If I’m not thinking about anything, if I’m too tired of it for it, then it’s a waste. And then I feel like I’m not contributing like I should. I don’t even know what I would be contributing to. I worry about these things and they don’t make sense. Even to me. But I know if I sit and think for long enough, gather enough seemingly irrelevant information for as many places as possible, it will cohere in my head and erupt into a (what I think is) a spectacular idea. So I invest this time, this forced wondering, to stave off the questioning and guilt, in the hopes of something brilliant. Something like what I’m currently reading, but of course, nothing like it at all.
It’s so odd how the same person is often the bane and joy of your existence. Those odd people who move in and out of your life, terrifically baffling and comforting you just because they are in the world. They’re a good thing, these people. Maybe a different form of love? The actual one I’m not aware of? It’s only after you truly know someone that they can have that effect on you.
So. Last night I was laying in bed. Naked. There was a banshee of a scream. Now, I’m not sure if it was a person or animal (or perhaps an actual banshee?) but it was not quite right. What I find interesting about all of this is the way I processed it.
[Dialogue in my head] I need to put some clothes on. I can’t fend off an attacker naked. Wait, that’s stupid. Naked has nothing to do with this. The element of surprise! Naked can work for me, who would see that coming?
Everyone. Everyone would see it coming. All slasher flicks have a topless woman running through the woods, and she always dies. I need clothes. Ok, clothes are on. What could I defend myself with? I have a phone, but by the time I call the police it’s all over. I can dial 911. Vonage will probably send the police to Juno, Alaska. GPS is mandatory on cell phones. I’ll call 911 with my cell phone and then I will… throw my teddy bear at him? Why am I assuming it’s a him? It’s usually a him. Statistically, I’m alright with that one. Will teddy work for or against me? It could hit a soft spot, touch that withered, fossilized part of humanity in him. Who was ever stopped, during a blind rage, by a teddy bear? No one. Teddy bears enrage these types of people more.
I have a stockpile of used syringes in my garage. Thank god I’m so lazy/conflicted about throwing them out. I will find a Betaseron one, not a Copaxone syringe, I don’t want to mess with glass. The Betaseron syringes are bigger anyway. Tell him I have some obscure disease. Not so obscure it’s unbelievable, but obscure enough for him not to be sure if it’s contagious, or even treated with injections. Yes! No. That’s too insane, even for me. Probably cats or something. Maybe my neighbors got into a tickle match at midnight. I’ll just turn on the lights outside. And keep the cell phone on the night-stand.
[end dialogue in my head with the voice of a British hypnotist telling me to release all my cares and drift into deep, deep sleep during which I will only have pleasant dreams]
This is the first real thing I’ve written in a long time.
This has to be one of, if not the, best holidays all year. I had the most adorable and polite trick-or-treaters. One of them was dressed in this little bumble bee costume with shimmering antennae bouncing in errant directions. Too cute. Everything about Halloween is great – adults allowed to be afraid of the dark, the idea of entirely reinventing oneself (if just for a day) and chocolate. There’s nothing better in life.
I think this year it may be resonating even more so than usual. I’m at such an odd point in my life. I’m about to lose more all at once than I ever have, but it’s freeing at the same time. Where will I live in six months? I have no idea. I don’t particularly care, either. Work is going well, I got confirmation that I absolutely can get a tuition waiver on my doctorate program, and I’m even feeling hopeful about my love life for once. I’ve been out and about, dating quite a bit recently. I’ve come to understand that there is some appeal to me, don’t ask me what, but it’s there. I know it sounds odd, but I’ve always felt more like the person I’m with is doing me a tremendous favor just by putting up with me. It’s only very recently that I’m starting thinking maybe I’m not so damaged. There is no invisible, but detectable, Return To Sender stamp on my head. I have things wrong with me, but they’re past things and some stupid disease. They aren’t who I am, not the core me. I realize it sounds d’oh simple, but it’s not so easy to believe after years of thinking otherwise.
And, in honor of this wonderful Holiday – the original Nosferteau. It’s fantastic, I promise.
Would you want to find that thing under your pillow? I didn’t think so. Imagine my surprise, months ago, when I climbed into bed, pulled up the covers and grabbed my extra pillow (to prop myself up for reading) and finding THAT in bed with me! I slept on the couch for a week and bombed the house. It’s not the first time I’ve had an insect problem, and I honestly think something happened to my house during Hurricane Wilma (I can’t believe I was leveled by a Flintstone). I’ve had mass mosquito attacks, ants (flying), more ants (sugar and carpenter), and now spiders. Yesterday morning I went to put on my shoe and found a fully fucking formed (alliteration is fun) spiderweb in it. And no, I did not find it by looking for it. It was all the sticky grossness at 7 am.
It’s so on. I’m buying the most noxious pesticide I can find. A brand that features -ICIDE in big letters. More bombs. Line the perimeter of the house.
I haven’t written in a long while because I haven’t had anything to say. I’ve been walking around numb, smiling and nodding, while my fingers slip through some version of reality I thought I lived in. We have so little control over anything in our lives. Buddhists are right, I have to give up wanting, but I can’t. I’m losing, or have lost, the things I want in my life, the things that make it bright. The things I don’t want, and never asked for, don’t seem to be going anywhere. It and I are so out of control, I’m starting to not care anymore. That frightens me, I don’t want to live in the third person. I don’t want this sense of unreality, of that were concrete things to vaporize. It’s knowing the stars are dead to the point where you can’t enjoy looking at them anymore. But all these things I don’t want, I have.
And then you question every fucking thing. Am I the model of self fulfilling prophecies? Do I hate myself that much? Where I would unconsciously destroy all the good things in my life? But I don’t think so. I have such high goals, used to feel so deeply. Now it’s between a dull ache and detached observation. I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t want to learn.
$52,500 for this atrocity of a handbag. The "see and be seen" accessory this month. According to the Washington Post, it’s made from 17 other handbags. Clearly, Mr. Vuitton either has Alzheimer’s or has been accosted by Victor Frankenstein, back from the dead. Or undead. This thing makes my eyes hurt. Clearly, the red handbag was a mere child!
