Time to break out the old blogging shoes and write like a wolf in a deer-eating frenzy, or whatever it is that wolves typically eat in a frenzy. I just wanted to evoke some really intense natural imagery. Speaking of, it’s time I get in some kind of frenzy that isn’t related to job stress, which is lately the kind I’ve been closest with. You’d be surprised by the amount of stress one can amass sitting at a desk (or maybe not, for those who work such a job), though I probably create it more as a diversion from the sheer boredom that is desk work. I do get to indulge in my most intense organizational impulses, though, which is relaxing. My desk is an empty plane onto which I can build all manner of paper and plastic structures. Stacks and stacks of notepads and binders, carefully aligned in a not-quite perfect grid pattern, because the real interest is creating interesting spaces in between. Too much symmetry is stifling and intimidating–there should be that playful quality of mayhem peaking out from under what at a glance appears to be the utmost level of tidiness. That’s often how I feel about writing, too. It isn’t simply the words that get written, it’s how they get written. Literally, how do the letters and words and sentences look next to each other in sequence? All about the variety. Short. Followed by something lengthier, the words flowing along in a stream; they keep running down, down, down, down to the terminus. Maybe that’s why I’ve come to enjoy poetry: form and content at play. There are rules to abide, but mostly it’s a Candyland free-for-all go with your gut extravaganza. And who doesn’t love an extravaganza? A frenzy, if you will, to bring things full circle. Does that mean I’ve negated what I just said about too much symmetry? Guess I should work on that.
Author: kgb
Mapping the ancestral tree
So, just a few months ago I was swept up in piecing together the family genealogical record. It is the kind of activity that at the start would offer maybe mild levels of fun, but as I quickly made my way into the grandparents and great-grandparents and fourth cousins 3 times removed, it became clear that my family relations could’ve been the subject of a great Russian novel, or perhaps even a Greek classic. These folks got around, and with such appellations as Creed and Leonidas, they weren’t just whistling Dixie.
Though my particular branch of the family has elected to stay within a certain fifty square mile radius for several generations, my other relatives ventured far north, west, and occasionally overseas. They left it all behind for the promise of something better, even if that something better turned out to be death by massacre (RIP cousin Crockett). It’s inspiring, to say the least.
I suppose I’ll have to achieve some kind of greatness; wouldn’t want to disappoint the ancestors, after all. Changing my name to Luther seems like a good start.
An obligatory 5 year retrospective of blogging
Actually, there’s nothing saying I have to write a blog concerning the fact I have been blogging for five years (however intermittent my posts), but somehow it seemed like an important benchmark of my internet life. That’s half a decade of writing things of questionable literary quality and thrusting it into the quasi-public sphere of internet readership. Sometimes I feel angry that I don’t have a million followers and haven’t figured out how to make my livelihood just on the basis that I have a blog with more than zero posts in the archives, but I quickly realize this anger is misguided and born of some delusion that because I am on the internet I should be famous. That’d be like saying since I lived in L.A. I should be a celebrity.
The internet has this potent magic, a heady mix of entertainment and information; and, somehow, it can easily convince an individual of his massive importance to the world. It’s even more intoxicating when you realize that it only takes one thing to distinguish yourself amongst your virtual peers. Heck, sometimes it doesn’t even need to be original. In fact, the internet is so full of simulacra that even if you thought you had an original idea, it already exists.
So, what to do? Well, in my case I jumped on pretty much every internet fad that has passed through the limelight. (And since internet time is exponentially faster, that count is reaching the septillions.) Consequently, I have been deeply disappointed since about age 12, but I did have a pretty fine mastery over the Geocities html editor interface. Now, in the third decade of my life, I have come to an understanding that if I am not destined to be an internet elite, I will be its connoisseur. Like a sommelier, my palette will discern the very best, leading me to the deep and complex underneath a sea of facsimile. Then, rather than projecting my good taste onto the world via some social networking medium, I’ll keep it to myself, treasuring my snobbery in that tiny reptilian heart that beats so cold in the deepest reaches of the soul.
playing the waiting game
I have approximately one and a half hours to go until setting out for the LAX airport for an early morning flight. I wish I could allow myself to say with utter conviction that we’ll be there in plenty of time, but my superstitious nature forbids it. My hope is that I’ll fall asleep for a while on the drive, then again during flight/layover, and finishing up with some more sleep after arriving back in WA. It will be a day of sleep, fantastic sleep.
And that’s all I have in me for now to write…
the dream continues
I’m sinking ever deeper into my television frenzy. These recent weeks have been Homeland with the intermittent episode of House, because I like to keep things fresh. I also apparently enjoy television shows featuring british actors portraying americans. Something about the tenor of their voices, I suppose. That plus the fact they’re amazingly talented.
I’ve also thrown The Hour into the rotation, perhaps a subconscious decision on my part to pay homage to the english actors I so enjoy on my american programs, though none of the folks featured in this show appear in either of the other shows (flawed logic, I know). This show also indulges my obsession with all things mid-twentieth century, particularly the smart mode of dress and everyone’s blatant dismissal of smoking as anything but cool.¹ If that’s not enough, the story itself is full of spy plots and cold war intrigue.
¹ Hey, kids: Don’t smoke (to excess).
Give me entertainment
So, I have to come clean about a serious issue in my life: I am completely fanatical about television shows. Now it’s a bit of a strange thing, since I don’t watch television, to be obsessed with shows, but with the internet and Netflix and all that it’s simply easier to watch lots and lots of shows. And the best part is that you don’t have to suffer through nearly half an hour of commercials for every hour-long episode block (in Math, this means you’re watching pretty much the same amount of commercial as you are actual show).
Lately (this past weekend) I stumbled across a show called Smash, an NBC concoction about the creation of a new Broadway musical. I have to be honest and say it isn’t the best show ever created, but for the small part of me that loves musical theater and romantic fluff it’s like pure grain alcohol. You really only need a sip of it to be satisfied, but the more you drink the more vivid everything around you becomes, and you can’t stop. Then you go blind, or just make very poor decisions like drink more. Or draw embarrassing fanart. No one wins.
On the other hand, watching a show that’s currently airing on television does nurture a sense of camaraderie with my fellow tv-goers whom I’ve never met. Makes me feel less bad for being so anti-social because somewhere out there I have people who understand me and potentially share my madness.
desirous woman, online 
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