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Tuesday, October 19th, 2004
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11:57 am - Why Are You Reading This? I'm Not Here Anymore.
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| Saturday, December 13th, 2003
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10:29 am - Buenvidos
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I'm moving to my new place today. I'll probably check my email on Monday after work.
Take care, all.
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| Thursday, December 11th, 2003
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8:47 pm - A Little Close to Home
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| You are 53% geek |  </td><td valign="top">You are a geek. Good for you! Considering the endless complexity of the universe, as well as whatever discipline you happen to be most interested in, you'll never be bored as long as you have a good book store, a net connection, and thousands of dollars worth of expensive equipment. Assuming you're a technical geek, you'll be able to afford it, too. If you're not a technical geek, you're geek enough to mate with a technical geek and thereby get the needed dough. Dating tip: Don't date a geek of the same persuasion as you. You'll constantly try to out-geek the other.</td></tr>
Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com
How did they know about my glasses?
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8:27 pm - On the Eve of My Imminent Exile
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I haven't been keeping tabs on how I'm feeling. How very male of me, as my coworker K. pointed out (she's sweet all throughout, really. Even when she's sarcastic). Several crying jags at inappropriate moments today.
I'm signing the paperwork for my apartment tomorrow morning, and I'll start moving on Saturday. I should be more excited about having my own place, and I'm sure I will be once I'm there. But the silence of things unsaid is rather oppressive here, and we'll both feel better about it once I'm gone.
So here's the thing. Unless I can successfully negotiate the purchase of M.'s old computer, I'm going to be only occasionally online for a while. Which sucks, because I happen to enjoy being connected. It leavens the lonesomeness greatly. For the time being, however, could y'all send me your mailing addresses? You can email them to caricthewicky@yahoo.com -- I can check my email, and post on a somewhat regular basis, at the store after work, but it may actually be therapeutic to be out of cyberspace for a while. I'm going to miss you all.
I usually avoid Christmas like it was a bucket of SARS, but where I work it's a little difficult to keep it out of mind (I'm surprised to say, though, that while I'm no fan of Christmas music, we have the best anywhere, from all over the world. I'm especially fond of John Fahey's, because he feels no need to bind himself to melody and just goes off into space like he does, and the one by Medieval Babes, which is mostly Pagan anyway). But my exposure to it in retail has not allowed me to hide from the very real yearning for family and comfort which the season manifests, and guarantees that I'm going to feel all the lonelier for it.
In other news, since I don't see another failed attempt at a committed, long-term relationship anytime soon, I'm thinking that maybe I need to reconsider my views on (relatively) casual sex. I'd still like someone in my bed, thanks. Anyone know any poly bi women in search of a sensitive New Age guy, for secondary partnership and cuddling?
current music: Abyssinia Infinite (feat. Gigi Shibabaw), "Gedawo"
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| Tuesday, December 9th, 2003
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10:39 pm - Why, yes.
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7:31 pm - The Myth of Sisyphus, Reread
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Well, I'm still here, and I still haven't broached what Camus calls "the only really valid philosophical question."
After a weekend of phone calls and scurrying about, I have found a place to live. It's a fairly spacious (for its cheapness) one-bedroom apartment on Circle, which puts me at the bottom of the hill that neither I nor my truck have ever liked much. If I really wanted to walk to work I could, and if I had a bike it'd be no big potatoes. Plus, I can have a cat.
The Cheeba question is still up in the air, however: what if he's perfectly happy where he is? What if his caretakers don't want to give him up? What if his heavy ass can't leap the fence around my patio? I'll see what happens once I'm settled. If I have learned to put any creature's needs above my own, it's his. So I'm ambivalent.
Anyway, I should be able to move in next weekend. Guess I should start packing. Tomorrow. Or when I find some boxes. At least I don't have to fit all my possessions in one truckload this time.
I told Gretchin I'd call her tonight, so off I go. Please send furniture and love in my direction.
current music: Pernice Brothers, "How to Live Alone"
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6:56 pm - Now, THAT's a Good One
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The best survey ever, thanks to ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) la_bocagrande
Choose a band and answer only in song titles by that band
Mine:
Robyn Hitchcock
Male or female ? Queen Elvis
Describe yourself ? Transparent Lover
How do some people feel about you ? A Skull, a Suitcase and a Long Red Bottle of Wine
How do you feel about yourself ? I'm Only You
Describe your ex ? Sinister But She Was Happy
Describe your current boyfriend or girlfriend ? She Doesn't Exist
Describe what you want to be ? One Long Pair of Eyes
Describe your current mood ? Let There Be More Darkness
Describe your friends ? The Shapes Between Us Turn Into Animals
Share a few words of wisdom ? Give Me a Spanner, Ralph
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| Saturday, December 6th, 2003
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12:19 pm - This Just In...
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...I'm a textbook codependent. So says M., with a deluge of supporting documents that she found online and put in an email for me. This diagnosis is about as far as she's willing to go, in terms of conversation, until I'm out of here. The email (yes, that's how we've been maintaining contact; that and the dry-erase board in the kitchen) made me feel very small and not quite human, but she may the fuck be right.
I made the big call to my parents last night, who
1.) Were very supportive;
2.) Told me they weren't going to tell me they told me so (a bit of semantic slippage that amounts to the same thing, don't it?); and
3.) Offered to come out and help me move (especially if it's back to Colorado).
Last night I went out to dinner with two of my gorgeous coworkers (we're a pretty attractive lot, all told) at a campus-area funkhold called Nearly Normal's. That was nice.
I have determined that living on my own is not only a welcome novelty (apart from a semester in my undergraduate days, I haven't done that in my life), but a real priority, health-wise. This morning I called about several apartments, and have a couple to look at today and a bunch of return calls to wait for. I'm looking for something under $400, utilities included (yes, I'm poor, but I've been livin' large in M.'s codependency-enabling digs), where maybe I can have a cat, or at least keep it on the D.L. I'd also like to be able to travel on foot as much as possible (another good healthy criterion).
I might rent the expanded Two Towers tonight, since I've only seen it once in the theatre and I actually am getting excited for the impending conclusion (especially in light of one_11's endorsement).
I have received numerous sweet and supportive emails and phone calls, and I want to thank you all for your fulsome love.
Shout outs to faelad, pixiespage, aviatrix, kittymonkey, drsus, foolishboy, veve, freakykitten, a_narchist, yarrowkat gretchin, and tobiedammit (whose username I recently learned is the name of a band).
I would also like to express my hopeless and dizzy intellectual lust for skoptzygrrl, for whom it's a good thing we can't date. I'm codependent.
current music: Venetian Snares, "Yes Love, My Soul is Black"
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| Thursday, December 4th, 2003
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7:07 pm - Should You Get the Chance, Don't Date Me. Thanks.
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Boy, I'm in a bad, bad place right now.
To acknowledge how bad things have gotten should feel like a release. It should open up into a new space with more room to move around in, and more light to see by, and more air to breathe. Instead it feels like a weight.
M. has done me a service I genuinely appreciate, which is to let loose with the honesty she's been holding back for so long. And she's not projecting. She's not dissembling. She's right on every count. I have no self-esteem, I'm co-dependent, and I think that another person should be there to fill in the space left by my refusal to deal with my issues and become more self-sufficient. That what she really wants is a fulfilled and self-actualized partner is the only thing that baffles me: have you seen one of those lately? In any case, that's not what I have to contribute. So I'm out of here.
I need to be alone for a long time. This is not a miserablist fantasy, and it does not give me comfort. It's terrifying. But it's true: I'm not going to figure anything out for myself until I learn to do it without anyone in which to hide myself.
It has been suggested that my prior posts have been ambiguous as to how I feel about all this. Well, I've been fibbin.' It sucks. It makes me terribly sorry for the hurt I've caused.
It makes me feel like shit, really.
current music: Sandy Denny, "The Northstar Grassman & the Ravens"
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| Wednesday, December 3rd, 2003
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7:34 am - It's Official
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I'm moving out. Soon as I can find a place with rent I can afford (namely, $300 or less: basically I'm looking for a nice laundry room).
There's a lot more to this story, obviously, but I've been rafting on Denial. Which has some lovely switchbacks, by the way. And what a view! Fact is, we are the most incompatible couple in three counties. Should you ever get a chance to move in with someone whom you mostly know through email, umm, don't.
But here I am, anyway.
Another issue is that I need to go friends-only with this puppy. Some people (you know who you, etc.) have not honored requests to drop me from their friends list, which is downright rude. And besides, I need for my writing to be unfettered if I'm gone get through this (M. doesn't read it, by the way), and these days a little paranoia is not a bad thing.
Which means that some people (y.k.w.y.a.)need to be offered an access code so that they may read my posts. C'est acceptable?
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| Tuesday, December 2nd, 2003
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9:10 pm - My Day
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This morning I almost got fired.
I came home tonight to an email from M. with an ultimatum: get counseling now or get out.
How was yours?
[Update: faced with ultimatum, I can't but take the choice that doesn't lead to more ultimatums. I hope I can find a roommate--the only way to do it in Corvallis--in the next couple weeks. Leads are appreciated. I'm quiet and I get along with people. Heck, I'm a professional roommate, really.
Why did I come out here, again?]
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| Sunday, November 30th, 2003
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4:45 pm - File-sharing sucks! No wait, I'm addicted.
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Never mind what I said about Limewire. I am officially an MP3 crackhead. I figured out that you have to go with what has the most hits, and that if you follow that rule it's smooth like Country Crock.
Highlights of my first batch include a beautiful Jungle-fied violin piece by Aphex Twin (on the cover of this month's Wire, by the way: he says he will never release what he considers his best music because just putting it out into the world will corrupt it irrevocably--if only because it will be imitated by every laptop music geek who hears it, and he'll be hearing knock-offs of it on Audi commercials. This means that the music he actually releases is invariably either stuff he doesn't care about, tossed off on a whim, or is sick to death of in the first place. Richard D. James may be one of the Fin de Siecle's great geniuses if for no other reason that it's sometimes impossible to tell if his work is brilliant or pure crap. Who else can inspire that sort of confusion with their art?); the infamous, listener-hurting remix of NWA's "Straight Outta Compton" by Kid 606; Digital Underground's "The Humpty Dance," which just makes me smile and laugh every time; some Run DMC, Missy Elliott and Outkast (I must have their new album immediately! I realized how little hip-hop I've been buying in the last couple years and this makes me sad); and a crazy techno remix of the disco version of the Star Wars theme (which reminded me to track down stuff from the super-rare Star Wars Breakbeats album).
Oh, I knew this would be bad.
Yeah, and I also got some Fairport Convention, Elliott Smith, John Fahey and The Byrds. Heh.
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| Saturday, November 29th, 2003
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11:27 am - Another Sunless Saturday (sans Fishbone)
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Well, you can't argue with a four day weekend.
Thursday, or Genocide Day proper, I did laundry and learned from M. how to use Limewire. I must say that file-sharing, at least in this instance, is hardly a threat to the recording industry. Out of the 300 or so tracks I attempted to download, only seven have made it to my hard drive, and only one (the long-coveted "Don't Fear the Reaper") is completely intact. Really, I don't see what the big deal is. But I DO understand the genesis of the glitch-techno subgenre, which is built largely from the sound of garbled sound files. As long as that's what you end up with anyway, might as well use it as a compositional tool. Go punk ethic!
M.'s family holds Thanksgiving dinner on the day after; we went to her cousin's house in Newburg (a small town w/suburb in the direction of Portland) and I ate myself silly. I learned that this family's gatherings involve a great deal of drinking, hollering and merciless insults, which was refreshing. I expect to show up on several home movies artfully fleeing the mise en scene. Surprise of the day: Finding Nemo is actually a stone hoot, Disney or no.
Today I hope to finish The Da Vinci Code, whose suddenly ubiquitous popularity makes perfect sense. It's cleverly constructed, breathlessly paced, and counter-patriarchal to boot. Full of the sort of wonderful hidden Goddess history on which Tom Robbins so gleefully expounds, with the high-brow conspiracy-unraveling of Foucault's Pendulum AND plenty of academics-in-peril kung fu action.
"Hold on, Teabing. I do believe I've discovered the final secret of the Knights of Templar!"
"Do tell, good chap."
"Oh no, here come the assassins! Run!"
How can't ya love it?
On Tuesday night I'm hosting a reading group at Grass Roots for Middlesex, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novel by Jeffrey Eugenides. My co-worker K. is in charge of the narrative portion of the reading (you know, what actually happens and in what order), while I hope to introduce unsuspecting Corvallis bookworms to Queer Theory by rambling on about how the entire book is structured as a parable of in-between-ness, in which there are no fixed identities and characters slip freely between genders, ethnicities, class positions, and sexualities.
Wish me luck.
It looks to be a pretty barren holiday movie season this year. LOTR aside (about which I've just never been that excited anyway; I'll see Return of the King and have a great time, but I'm not all that invested in Peter Jackson's translation of the trilogy. I just like the monsters and beheadings and riding around on horses parts), there's not a damn thing I want to see right now. Though if local (and so far disappointing) art theatre the Avalon gets around to showing The Station Agent, I'll be pretty happy.
My dreams have been much more eventful than my life, really. My subconscious has been working overtime to process things. Every morning I wake up wondering if I've actually had all those conversations with people in my life, or just dreamt them.
I'm not particularly driven to DO anything these days, and I'm not sure that's really a bad thing.
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| Sunday, November 23rd, 2003
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1:07 pm - A Dispatch from the Land of Sentences that Modifiers Dangle From
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Time to update, I suppose. I went to my consultation on Tuesday to determine the viability of antidepressants. After an extensive interview, the smart and wonderfully blunt therapist and nurse-practitioner told me that I needed regular counseling and B12. She said the drugs probably wouldn't do what I wanted them to do (namely, help me figure out what I want to do when I grow up), and agreed with my long-held assessment that what I think is basically existential angst, well, basically-- is. "Some people are just late bloomers," she said. "When you figure it out what you're here for, you'll be eminently prepared to realize it."
Which is just about the best consultation I could have had.
Actually, she recommended Folate in addition to B12 for mood regulation, and Inositol for anxiety. Assessments of any of these over-the-counter substances are appreciated. And she did say that I obviously couldn't afford drugs right now so the point is rather moot.
The next step is to shop around for someone to talk to. I've decided that it would be best to find a male counselor, contrary to my immediate feelings otherwise. It has been pointed out that it's important for men to have decent male role-models, and since my dislike of men (especially those in authority) is one of my "issues" in the first place, I think it may be a good first step.
I have been feeling better, though. My innocent forward of one of those personal questionnaires (you know, the email prototype for a particular strain of LJ-rash) from Chicanamama to several of my old friends lead quite unexpectedly to a flood of replies, bringing us back into contact for the first time since about a year ago, when our enthusiasm at being in touch lead to a hastily (but well-) planned reunion in Alamosa. It's interesting that once again I seem to have acted as a sort of catalyst for this (note all the qualifiers in this sentence). Which is a good feeling. I think that last year's meeting happened largely because it took a new Century for EVERYone to finally have email. And to use it. We were never the most tech-friendly crowd.
I'm not sure we're going to get anything together this time (maybe next year, chilluns?), but there does seem to be a pattern here. Maybe the holidays really do make me want to be closer to my family. And my family is everywhere.
Anyway, given the high concentration of said family in California, perhaps I could take a trip south in Naughty-four. Wait. California, or Colorado? I have a lot of reasons to head to Denver, as well. Oh, the decisions.
Gretchin and Michael (I use their real names because she does; not an ounce of paranoia in that girl) visited from Portland yesterday, which was a stone hoot. We sampled Corvallis' idea of an Italian restaurant (I gave it two-and-a-half pthtpththts) (which means whatever you want it to mean), gave them a tour of mein place du arbeit, and headed back to our grotto so's gl. could show off souvenirs of her Burning Man experience (I decided that I would like to go more than I thought, but also that my first time should be as a worker, so that I could learn it all from behind the scenes. This would be a perfect example of that "work" to which I was referring a couple posts back). Gretchin and M. had a lively discussion about fused glass, and Michael and I talked about-- not much, really. I wish that I were more up on my role-playing games.
Gretchin and I tend to have a lot more to talk about on our own. I guess not everyone shares our willingness, tempered by so many years of (admittedly sporadic) familiarity, to burst one another's comfort bubbles. Still, 'twas a lovely visit.
And now I must run. Go and sin no more.
current music: Max Roach & Abbie Lincoln, "Mendacity"
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| Tuesday, November 18th, 2003
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7:34 am - Fight a Texan with a Texan
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Now I know why so many people are in love with Molly Ivins.
Don't worry, honey, my liberal guilt leaves plenty of room for Bush-hating.
[Edit: Oh yeah, and Bush is visiting Britain next week, where fully half the population hates his evil white ass. This is gonna be fuuuuuuun. Excuse me whilst I make some popcorn and create a shortcut to the BBC.]
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| Sunday, November 16th, 2003
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3:35 pm - Memory Recovery Project, Delayed
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Books I've read of late (before I lose track):
Mary Doria Russell, The Sparrow.
Lewis Shiner, Say Goodbye.
Kirk Read, How I Learned to Snap.
Dave Eggers, ed., Best American Non-Required Reading 2003.
John Burdett, Bangkok 8.
Jim DeRogatis, Milk It!: Collected Musings on the Alternative Music Explosion of the 90's.
Nick Hornby, Songbook.
Nick Hornby, ed., Da Capo Best Music Writing 2001.
Jonathan Lethem, ed., Da Capo Best Music Writing 2002.
Judith Viorst, Grown-Up Marriage.
Ursula K. Le Guin, Lathe of Heaven.
Amy Fusselman, The Pharmacist's Mate.
Lawrence Sutin, ed., The Shifting Realities of Philip K. Dick.
Richard Price, Samaritan.
Hanne Blank, ed., Zaftig: Well-Rounded Erotica.
Susan Choi, American Woman.
Christopher Moore, Fluke.
John Savage, England's Dreaming: Anarchy, Sex Pistols, Punk Rock & Beyond.
Joel Turnipseed, Baghdad Express: A Gulf War Memoir.
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2:34 pm - Rainy Sunday Afternoon; Discourse Follows
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Catching up--
Yeah, so M. bought a house this week. It doesn't exist yet; it's in the "final phase" of a development in Albany (so many implications in that phrase: fruition? Perfection? Will this house be the best, most self-actualized version of the development home? Will it be sentient? Will it be able to morph into other shapes and slip through tiny spaces like living mercury? That would be cool). It looks (I'm projecting here) like your basic dial-a-house. Pristine and cube-like. Not much yard to speak of. But it has three bedrooms and two baths, a garage and a covered porch. It'll work for a couple years and it's equity for the purchase of other, cooler houses. I must say I'm in awe of M.'s practicality and foresight. Taking things step by step and all.
And really, though I'm not enamored with the house or its location, I wasn't about to live in a house anytime soon unless I rented a chunk. And we have similar notions of what our dream home would be like. This ain't it, but this renders it one step closer.
I'm not happy about the 10-mile commute, but if I put it in Albuquerque terms it's not much of a drive, really. I don't like to have to rely on my vehicle, but since I've got one, why complain?
Yes, I'm rationalizing. I still don't know what I think of the whole deal, or how it has to happen inevitably according to M.'s terms. She's buying the damn thing. But I was hoping that when we did get a house, I'd be better able to contribute to it financially. Thing is, I'm overeducated and underskilled and that's not going to happen for several years. So in the meantime, here we go. M. does not begrudge me my relative poverty in the least. She just wants to own property and she wants me to live there. So there it is. I'm a kept man.
So I asked her how I could really contribute, and she wants me to just be happy. Recognizing that this is both 1.) a complete reversal of my recent internal state (hell, I don't think it's all that recent; the last time I think I was really happy was during my last years in Alamosa), and 2.) a long and rather complicated process, one which she undertook at great pain and peril herself.
So. How can I be happy? I can reconcile my feelings of failure at not having lived up to my much-touted "potential" in any tangible way. I certainly never imagined that all my education and training would make me rich, but I did hope that it would provide me with challenging and fulfilling work. Here I am in the world of retail (a world which only gets more frantic and surreal as the holidays approach), and I can only take comfort in the fact that this job really IS the most challenging and fulfilling I've ever had. I feel more responsibility for this independent bookstore and its ideals--and more enjoyment when I have visibly contributed to its success--than I ever felt for the University or, really, the young minds I warped and molded as an instructor.
All of which is strange and inscrutable revelation.
Obviously, something's missing. Something HUGE.
( Much like the rest of this post. )
current music: Rachel's, "Systems/Layers"
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| Tuesday, November 11th, 2003
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6:19 pm - Gosh
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8:03 am - Clearing up Some Things with Oregonians
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Okay, so Ken Kesey grew up in Oregon, but he was born in Colorado.
The Shins are in Portland now, but they're really from Albuquerque. One of them worked at Bow Wow.
Jesus lived in the Northwest, but he's from Bethlehem. Which is in Utah.
And Jesus built my hot rod.
Bing bing bang a bang a bang bing bong bing a bing bang a bong
Binga bing a bang a bong bong bing bong bing banga bong
Bing bing bang a bong bong bing bing binga binga banga bong
Bing bing bang a bang bang bing bong
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| Sunday, November 9th, 2003
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4:06 pm - Part-Time Queer
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A fascinating article about the mobility of the term "queer" as it has recently slipped into the mainstream. Funny that there's not a single mention of Queer Theory. But it looks like sexual ambiguity (I think that "heteroflexible" is my new favorite word) is coming back into vogue. I guess it's been about twenty years since the last go-round. I wonder if it's going to make any sort of lasting impact this time. In other words, is sissy the new macho?
Does this mean I can wear my boa out more often?
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