vvvexation: (yell)
Pet peeve: people who want to be your fwend for absolutely no reason, or at least no stated reason, other than that they want fwends. Not because, y'know, you actually have anything in common with them or anything. Why would that matter? And if you aren't interested in talking to them you're obviously a snotty bitch, because just the fact that they're friendly should make you like them, right? If they'd bothered to, say, read your self-description, they'd know what you're like, and more importantly that your tastes are damn narrow--but of course they haven't because they don't care what you're like, just that you're vaguely cute er somethin, and that's all they figure you oughta give a shit about too. Either that or they have indeed RTFM and plowed ahead regardless. They just figure if they're nice enough you'll like them anyway, because of course you didn't mean it when you said or at least strongly implied that you preferred to spend your time with people who have a few brain cells.

Okay, so I realize there's this scattershot kinda mentality going on among certain members of the male persuasion, whereby if you hit on enough chicks at random, eventually one of them will say yes. What I don't understand is when this gets crossed with the mentality that it's cold and heartless to have *gasp* standards when it comes to whose acquaintance you want to invest energy in pursuing, with the result that some of 'em actually get offended when you tell them to bugger off for reasons they were supposed to have figured out before they even tried to talk to you.

I'm going to get some very predictable responses to this, I just know it.

Edit: I'm not referring here to anything LiveJournal-related. As I explain in my profile, I am perfectly fine with people LJ-friending me for any reason or no reason, just as long as they understand that this doesn't necessarily mean we're going to end up interacting much. The people who annoy me are the ones who do want me to make an active effort to interact with them (email, chat, and suchlike) and don't understand why I might not be inclined to do that.
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I've mostly figured out how I'm voting on Tuesday, but I'm still undecided on Props. 1A, 61, and 63. Anyone want to argue me into a position on those?
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I seem to've become a shade more irritable of late. I've gotten better at not taking it out on my friends, but this means it's aiming itself in the direction of online strangers instead. To borrow a rather trite metaphorical framework, my superego is of the opinion that I should fix this but my id figures the idiots deserve it and I need some outlet, right? And my ego is finding it easier to go with the flow than to try and change something that I don't know how to change without it reemerging in some other destructive form.

I wonder if the decrease in physical activity has anything to do with this. Not that knowing that would help a whole lot, as I still don't know how to make myself get out and fix that right now.
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Aaaaand a few minutes after my last post, I check my friends list and find a post forcing me to delve into the reasons I haven't been journaling in considerably more detail. Someone had written: "I find myself writing less lately because I feel as though I'm not getting much of a response or that people just don't care about what I have to say. Have any of you experienced this problem?" So, of course, I was obliged to respond, in part:

I write partly for myself and partly for my friends, but the basic problem is similar; I've been feeling less motivated to write for myself but also feeling that no one will be interested in what I write, and oddly enough the two feelings seem to be so closely linked that I have trouble telling them apart. I think that's because when I write for myself I think of my future self reading what I write in the same way that I would think of my friends reading it, and right now I keep thinking both of those hypothetical audiences won't care.

I further realized, though I didn't add, that this in turn is part of the dangerous trend toward solipsism and even nihilism that my brain has been taking lately: I don't feel like I or anyone else oughta care about things because nothing really matters in the grand scheme of things anyway. This isn't stopping me from getting work done or making long-term plans (no, plenty of other things are stopping me from doing that, as always), but it does have some rather eerie feelings associated with it--like having a hard time believing any of my friends really exist whenever I'm alone, and having a hard time believing any of the things I remember ever really happened.

This is actually getting scary of late. I've always (or at least since I was a teenager) had brief flashes of this mental state from time to time, but it's never been so pervasive or long-lasting as it is now. I'm worried that it's gotten permanently etched into my brain chemistry or something. I want to change it but I have no idea how. Frankly, if I were a suicidally inclined sort of person, I think this might push me over the edge if it didn't improve in another year or two.

(Let me hasten to state now that I never have inclined that way. I think that's due to luck more than anything else, but I'm glad of it--and if that fact ever changes, I will certainly tell people. I'm not sure what there is to be scared of, psychologically, if I'm not scared of that--but somehow I'm still scared.)
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I haven't been in a writing mood for a while. In fact, it's tough for me to even write down that I haven't been in a writing mood. It's not that less has been going on, it's just that I've somehow quit feeling motivated to write any of it out. This worries me a little because they always say losing interest in things is a symptom of depression, and while I don't feel (I think) any more depressed than I did a few months ago, I have been losing interest in a hell of a lot of things. I have no idea what to do about it, though, or if anything needs to be done. But I figured I'd write this just so I don't appear to have fallen down a mineshaft or something.
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In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial
Who, squatting upon the ground, held his heart in his hands
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter--bitter," he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

Stephen Crane rocks the house. Seriously.

So, yeah, everybody go post a poem of their own. Baaaaa.
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One thing I've noticed about the new AC Transit buses is that the back windows, the ones you're supposed to use as emergency exits, seem to get opened a hell of a lot--considerably more often than the windows on the old buses. I imagine something about the lever mechanism on the new bus windows makes it easier for people to open them while idly playing with them, but I haven't had the chance to look closely at both the new and old ones to figure out the difference, and I suspect I really couldn't tell anyway without actually opening them, which wouldn't be terribly responsible of me as I've never been able to close them. So I've sat through a lot of bus rides with this big honking window flapping open and shut right next to my elbow (evidently they're hinged at the top.) Not always annoying enough to make me switch seats (I'm picky about so many seat-location factors, after all, that I usually can't accommodate all my kinks at once), but still somewhat disconcerting--'specially since it's tougher to perch your elbow on the sill, as is my wont, when half the sill is swinging back and forth and banging ominously against the other half.

But this evening, I discovered a very surprising side benefit of this window-flapping. I was seated next to one of these windows on the way home, well after dark, and spent most of the ride directing my unfocused gaze at the bottom edge of the window--though the darkness meant there wasn't much to see through the gap, there was still better visibility there than through the window since the window was reflecting the interior lights.

I was completely unprepared for the effect this would have as we drove through the 12th street tunnel.

Driving through tunnels often feels a bit odd, but usually the oddness is at least somewhat proportional to the length and this one, being fairly short, never weirded me out noticeably before. Granted, I'd hardly ever before ridden through it with as little visibility as this--but I think what really did it was the flapping motion. The slight tilt and curve of the tunnel and the change in lighting as we entered it, fairly ordinary things normally, became much less so when my field of vision had nothing clearly visible in it except one erratically moving object that was suspended over empty space. For several long seconds, I was in the grip of some serious vertigo. I actually felt as though the bus had tilted enough that I might just fall out that open window--an impression aided still further by the breeze on my face, which made me feel exposed in a way one normally doesn't associate with being safely inside a bus.

This is where I should hasten to note that this was not in fact the traumatic experience it might sound like. It probably would've been if I'd been feeling ill already, but as it was, what it felt like was the closest thing to a roller coaster I'd experienced in years, or ever expected to for years to come. In other words...


Or perhaps more like WHEEEEEEEE since it was over so quickly, but still, yayness was involved somehow. Note to self: from now on, find open window to sit near whenever riding home after dark. (If only I weren't such a sickeningly good citizen, I'd start opening them myself. In fact I doubt even that'd stop me if I could only figure out how to close 'em.)
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Generally I don't expect to feel my soul poked at when studying for a history class. But for this class most of the required reading is in novel form, and the following paragraph just sneaked up and clubbed me over the head:

"'Broad the waves,' Thomas Buddenbrook said, 'ah, see them surging, watch them breaking, ever surging, ever breaking, on they come in endless rows, bleak and pointless, filled with woes. And yet there's something calming and comforting about them, too--like all things simple and necessary. I've learned to love the sea more and more--perhaps I preferred mountains at one time only because they were so much farther away. I wouldn't want to go there now. I think I would feel afraid and embarrassed. They're too arbitrary, too irregular, too diverse--I'm sure I'd feel overwhelmed. What sort of people prefer the monotony of the sea, do you suppose? It seems to me it's those who have gazed too long and too deeply into the complexity at the heart of things and so have no choice but to demand one thing from external reality: simplicity. It has little to do with boldly scrambling about in the mountains, as opposed to lying calmly beside the sea. But I know the look in the eyes of people who revere the one or the other. Happy, confident, defiant eyes full of enterprise, resolve, and courage scan from peak to peak; but when people dreamily watch the wide sea and the waves rolling in with mystical and numbing inevitability, there is something veiled, forlorn, and knowing about their eyes, as if at some point in life they have looked deep into gloomy chaos. Health or sickness--that is the difference. A man climbs jauntily up into the wonderful variety of jagged, towering, fissured forms to test his vital energies, because he has never had to spend them. But a man chooses to rest beside the wide simplicity of external things, because he is weary from the chaos within.'"

--Thomas Mann

This isn't something I'd ever thought of myself, but it resonates with me. I'd almost like to do a study to confirm this idea, though that does seem rather like trivializing it.

I've always attributed my own love of the ocean (and by "love" I mean I include it in My Personal Pantheon), inasmuch as I tried to analyze it at all, to the power it represents, and if pressed I'd admit that there's something horribly seductive about the idea of just yielding to that power and letting it sweep me away. Probably this stems from my having too many things in my life that need to be taken care of and too much difficulty managing to do that, leading to the desire on some level to surrender control and, more importantly, responsibility (at this time I won't even get into what that implies for me in *ahem* other areas of life)--but that actually fits, now that I think about it, with Mann's talk of seeking simplicity. After all, when life is too complex, giving up control is the ultimate means of achieving simplicity.

I'd ponder this some more, but I almost don't feel I need to; for once, it's more like I've just had something click a little more firmly into place.
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Weirdness. I just got an email to which Gmail didn't see fit to attach any ads at all. It was very short, just a line or two about the time and place of an upcoming rehearsal, so that might be why--but then, I got another very short email within the last couple of days that had some completely unrelated ads attached to it--ads for domain hosting and suchlike. I can see why they'd throw in random ads if there weren't enough keywords for targeted ads, and I can also see why they'd just skip the ads in a case like that, but not why they'd alternate instead of doing one or the other consistently.
vvvexation: (Default)
Share your bad jokes. [livejournal.com profile] haggis_bagpipes needs a thousand of 'em.

Why? No particular reason. But hey, if we had anything better to do we wouldn't be on LJ, right?
vvvexation: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] vvvexation: NO! *commits hara-kiri*
[livejournal.com profile] uncledark: Unfortunately, hara-kiri is afraid of commitment.
[livejournal.com profile] vvvexation: That's why you club it over the head first.
[livejournal.com profile] uncledark: Ooh, feeling toppy, are we?
[livejournal.com profile] vvvexation: *drags hara-kiri by hair to cave*
[livejournal.com profile] uncledark: *hara-kiri screams innefectually*
[livejournal.com profile] vvvexation: dammit, the clubbing was supposed to take care of that
[livejournal.com profile] uncledark: How is taking hara-kiri dancing going to stop it from screaming?
[livejournal.com profile] vvvexation: It's not supposed to scream if it's having fun dancing! Especially after I bought it that expensive dinner.
[livejournal.com profile] uncledark: Maybe it's a scream of pleasure?
[livejournal.com profile] vvvexation: It's a little premature for that. Has someone been groping it on the dance floor?
[livejournal.com profile] uncledark: It was dancing awfully close to Hemlock, there...
[livejournal.com profile] vvvexation: The slut! What can Hemlock do for it that I can't?


vvvexation: (Default)

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