tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16623594777828806062024-03-06T00:10:10.880-05:00The TwentySomething FreakOut DiariesWelcome to the Entitlement Generation...for over two decades, we've been taught that we're going to inherit the earth, that we're strong, safe, and free, and that the world is our oyster. Well, welcome to the world, folks. This is a compilation of stories, viewpoints, rants, and observations from a generation trying to figure itself out. <br /><br /><b><a href="http://20somethingfreakout.blogspot.com/2007/06/rules-of-twentysomething-freakout.html">Click here to join the FreakOut.</a></b>The 20Something Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07761674591679000459noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-50101149190718226402008-01-03T16:59:00.000-05:002008-01-03T17:10:29.671-05:00Whatever happened to this site?That's really all I wanted to say. I'm used to giving up on things, I'm a born quitter. But I have to admit it really makes me laugh that as a generation of lazy fucks we've even given up on this little site. Although to be fair a site based on whining about how much life sucks was probably going to get old after a while anyway. Not for me, mind you. I'm also a born complainer, so reading complaints is actually entertaining for me.<br /><br />But then again I also wonder to myself whether people just don't want to recognize how shitty things are in their lives. I mean, if I had a crappy job and a crappy place to live (of which I have 50% at the moment) and I really didn't like my life, I doubt I'd want to visit a site like this and read all about the same feelings I had. Just because it's easier to pretend things are ok if no one else says anything. (Not that I think everyone who ever visited this site has a crappy life. I'm really not trying to insult anyone here, which is a first for me.)<br /><br />But I'm sure that's just me overthinking. Afterall, I don't really have anything better to do.<br /><br />By the way, don't become a mailman. It sucks.Bitter with a dash of Humorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17762602276017696053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-12495870545042807612007-11-08T19:17:00.000-05:002007-11-08T19:18:24.836-05:00Adult LiteracySo I'm 24 years old, and I just started reading books. Probably not a great sign. Better late than never, I guess.<br /><br />I think that might be a generational thing. Although maybe not, I do know people my age who read. It's tough-I'll watch awful crap on TV anyday before I open a book. That just feels like homework, or something.<br /><br />I'm backed up on books right now. I got one I'm in the middle of, one after that, and a couple more I want to get. I like non-fiction, actually-history, politics, biographies.<br /><br />You know who I'd love to read a biography on? Hitler. Specifically, I've always wanted to know if anybody ever wrote anything on what his plans for the Japanese were if Germany won the war.<br /><br />Has anybody ever wrote anything on that? That fascinates me.<br /><br />Because you just know, Hilter wasn't going to just let it slide. He wasn't going to be like, "Hey, Japan. I know you don't fit into my master Aryan race, the one where no one has any pigment, but... ah what the hell, help yourself to some Beck's and new VW. Just you take your half of the world and we'll take ours, whatevs..."<br /><br />Like you just know somewhere in Hitler's office there was day planner lying around somewhere that read--<br /><br />NOTE TO SELF-RE: Japan.<br /><br />"If the Allies don't take the atomic bombs they've secretly been testing and bomb the Japanese...BOMB THE JAPANESE!<br /><br />P.S. Don't forget Eva's pint of Cherry Garcia."--<br /><br />I take it back. That's actually the biography I want to read. Could you imagine being Eva Braun, the person who banged Hitler? A Hitler-fucker, if you will...<br /><br />And, I don't if there is an afterlife or not, but you gotta imagine banging the most evil person who ever lived has to be bad enough to go to Hell.<br /><br />Imagine she gets to the Heaven and St. Peter, or St. Paul, or whoever the fuck runs the gate is like, "Well, let's see here. You were affiliated with the Nazi party, which is pretty bad. Then again they'll be able to say that about the Pope in sixty years or so, so I guess we can't hold that against people anymore. On the other hand, you did bang Hitler. And, on the list of the worse five things in history, banging Hitler ranks somewhere around number 3 between feeding someone their own parents and having anything to do with the perpetuation of The Simple Life...with, of course, the number 1-ACTUALLY BEING ADOLF HITLER! Anyway, long story short, you don't need that sweater where you're going."<br /><br />I had a point when I started. Oh, yeah...reading is fundamental.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-35795701764891768042007-09-09T11:43:00.000-04:002007-09-09T11:56:12.970-04:00"That Stuff Will Rot Your Brain..."So it's been said of our generation we watch entirely too much television and too many movies. To which I've always replied, "No such thing." But, I'm starting to think our parents were right because I think popular culture has finally broken my brain. <br /><br />The last few nights I've been having the weirdest dreams. Usually, I don't even remember my dreams because they're so boring and mundane. In fact, they're so commonplace on rare occassions I've had trouble distinguishing between them and real life. So periodically I'll say things to myself like, "Did I ACTUALLY go to Subway yesterday?" But, all of sudden Hollywood has finally broken through into my subconscience. <br /><br />Two nights ago I dreamt I was hanging out in Trenton, NJ with Samuel L. Jackson. Although, he wasn't really Samuel L. Jackson but more like a non-descript Samuel L. Jackson character like the guy he played in Die Hard 3 or Snakes on a Plane. And, then last night I dream I'm on vacation with my parents waiting for a train, and I look over and my mother is talking to two girls-it's the Hilton sisters! And, I wake up and I'm like, "What the hell is wrong with my dreams lately?"<br /><br />I mean, granted, it's not the first time I've dreamt about Paris Hilton. But, usually, it's just the one dream over and over again. She goes on a talk show to promote a movie she's going to be in or that album she made, and I just walk out of the audience and proceed to bop her on the nose with a rolled up newspaper. And, I say, "Paris! No! Look at me. NO," you know, maintaining eye contact the whole time so she knows that I'm the alpha male...JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-62796013473323340332007-09-04T23:26:00.001-04:002007-09-04T23:46:54.285-04:00The Successes and Failures of Preventing the Early GraveA month ago I posted a blog about how I was trying to get in shape. Now usually, a month later after that type of resolution I'd already have given up entirely. And, mostly because being healthy is really hard, but being unhealthy feels really good. But, I'm trying, which has yielding successes and failures.<br /><br />I went surfing today for the first time in over a year. Unfortunately, despite mustering up the effort there were no waves whatsoever. I actually got more of a workout buying the movie, Blue Crush, than I did today surfing. Still I felt like it was a moral victory.<br /><br />I had written in my last post on this subject that I had given beer and cigarettes. The bad news, the beer didn't take. I've cut down, definitely. But, it just didn't work out with total barley/hops abstinence, and I'll tell you why-beer is the drink of the people, the common man. And, I'm nothing if not a man of the people. I think I went about 10 days without a beer which tops my record in the last five years by about ten days... Athough in my defense, I had like ten beers the whole month and there was a time, and I'm not proud of this, that if I had drank 10 beers, that meant it was about 7 P.M. on any given day. Moral Victory.<br /><br />I am however, much more proud to say that I have not had a single cigarette in a month and have no desire to. ...I did smoke a lot of cigars though, like A LOT. But, not because I enjoy them, but because I'm trying to be more like my idol Groucho Marx...who I think was one of the three Stooges...Moral Victory.<br /><br />I think I had a point when I started-something about Rome not being built in a day. Well, what have you.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-87588437226906660042007-08-29T20:50:00.000-04:002007-08-29T20:55:14.491-04:00The DecisionSo I started posting on this site with a dilemna I had. I didn't know whether or not I should take a promotion at a job that meant absolutely nothing to me. I thought about it, then some more, then some more after that, and ultimately I turned it down as of this past Sunday. Why? Because at the end of the day I just couldn't sell out over another 1.75 an hour and a future at a company that means nothing to me. <br /><br />It's one thing to have a crappy job. It's another to have a crappy career. That just feels so permanent, and I couldn't have that. Maybe it's me-I'm sure I have commitment issues across the board. But, the thought of being at the same stupid meaningless job a year from now, two, five...it just kills me. I have dreams and goals, and I'm going to try like hell to reach them, and if I fail then I fail, but with 8 days before my 24th birthday I'm just too young to start settling for less.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-31272143070939718092007-08-16T14:56:00.000-04:002007-08-16T14:58:10.615-04:00The Anti-Vote™I’ve decided there needs to be a new system for voting. Because Hilary and Obama suck, and Edwards, who used to be my number one, is pissing me off with this “America isn’t ready for gay marriage” bullshit, (Even though I guess in honesty everyone except Dennis Kucinich is pretty much saying the same bullshit; and how can anyone possibly vote for that guy? He looks like a pedophile. Seriously, I mean you can joke around about what a pedophile “looks like”, but God, have you seen this guy?) I don’t really want to vote for anyone. I mean, what does that even mean? America isn’t ready for gay marriage? When will it be ready? How will we prepare to get ready? But anyway that’s not the point.<br /><br />I want to vote so I can exercise my freedom of choice, but these douchebags suck. So here’s what I propose: voting against a candidate instead of directly voting for one. Basically it’s the same principal as voting for Nader or Ross Perot, except you’re not directly flushing your vote down a toilet, so you don’t feel as bad.<br /><br />Here’s how the brand new (and copyrighted) Anti-Vote™ works: you can either vote directly for a single candidate, like in the old days, or you can use your Anti-Vote™ against a single candidate. You either get one traditional vote or one Anti-Vote™. You can’t vote against multiple people or parties. When all the voting is done, all the traditional votes are added up. But then comes the new part. All the Anti-Votes™ are added up, and that number is subtracted from a candidate’s total number of votes. So, for example, had the Anti-Vote™ been in practice in 2004, everyone who realized John Kerry was a stupid douche (which I hope was pretty much anyone who voted for him) could have simply used their Anti-Vote™ against Bush. Now, ultimately Kerry would’ve won, because even though few people would’ve directly voted for him, so many people would’ve Anti-Voted™ against Bush that Kerry would’ve wound up on top. But, then at least for the next four years we all could have said, “Hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t vote for Kerry. I Anti-Voted™ against Bush.” And I think then we would have felt a lot better about ourselves when Kerry consistently fucked up, which he no doubt would have.<br /><br />Because my hatred for jerks like Rudy Giuliani and John McCain outweighs any slight admiration I might still have for Edwards or any other Democrat, I would use my Anti-Vote™ against Rudy or McCain if either wins the Republican nomination. But I think the beauty of the Anti-Vote™ is that really it just adds more choice to our democratic election process. Now you would have to choose whether you wanted to vote for someone, or against someone else. You might actually have to think more about your vote. (I should add that the Anti-Vote™ would only be available in final elections, not primaries. Otherwise candidates might actually become more bland and generic so as to avoid pissing off potential voters who could vote against them.) Plus, with the new voting system, it would hopefully be harder for losers to contest election results in court because people wouldn’t simply be voting for one jerk or the other, but could also vote against certain jerks, making it more clear who should win or lose.Bitter with a dash of Humorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17762602276017696053noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-81023845002981835882007-08-13T18:21:00.000-04:002007-08-13T18:23:54.796-04:00Christina Aguilera:The Unlikely RockSo with all the celebrities our age having gone wild in the media lately: Britney, Paris, Lindsay, Nicole Richie, I think everyone who thought 5 years that Christina Aguilera lost her mind when she came out with the "Dirrty" video owes her a big apology...<br /><br />'Cause clearly, she turned out to be the stable one. Like she's married now (to a guy who doesn't leech off her fame), she's been dressing all classy lately , she's doing jazzy little pop tunes... she's our generation's Aretha Franklin, quite frankly.<br /><br />And, that's the thing right there, because, again, 5 years ago everybody was like "oww, she's gone too far!" Which, just shows how little we knew back then about what "too far" really was. Nowadays the biggest young female stars are going to jail, Britney, who was her biggest kind of competition has kind of gone over the edge, and Christina, like a real adult, has kind of grown-up and matured, and pulled herself together even moreso as opposed to following apart like her contemporaries. Which is, especially amazing when you consider the fact that she was actually the talented one. Like when Britney, Christina, and Jessica Simpson all came out at once-it was very clear with Aguilera, "Okay, this girl actually has the pipes. She can really sing." And, normally, it's the most talented people who usually fall hardest. Because while Janis Joplin, Jimmy Hendrix, and Jim Morrison all left this world way too early-clearly, in this topsy-turvy world, The Backstreet Boys will live forever...<br /><br />So I applaud you, Miss Aguilera, for proving to our nation's youth that an entertainer who is actually good at her job can also stay off drugs and out of prison. Kudos.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-70864003902908108012007-08-03T21:48:00.000-04:002007-08-03T21:56:15.896-04:00Trying to Get In ShapeSo a week ago I decided that I miss being in shape. See-long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away I actually did not have the body of Keith Richards. Oh, I used to swim laps, lift weights, I used to surf every day. You wouldn't know it to look at me now, but I was actually a human being once.<br /><br />But, then I had a hernia that needed surgery, and I stopped working out, and I never really started again. On top of which I I started smoking, started drinking more, started referring to bacon and cheese as condiments...it's not pretty.<br /><br />Now for a long time I was content to just give up on ever being healthy again entirely, and as much as I hate to be a flip-flopper, I decided I might need to settle in for the long haul. See-I never actually thought I would live this long. I always figured I'd go out young and leave a beautiful corpse like James Dean. However, from my experience, much like The Grimace, it seems as if no conventional means can kill me. As such, if I'm going to live a long life it's probably better to do so without emphysema, cirrhosis, quadruple bypasses, etc.<br /><br />So this past week I gave up two staples of my very being-beer and cigarettes, or as I called them, "my comfort foods." And, I don't miss them...yet. Because the first couple days of giving up stuff is always relatively easy. Oh, they say it's the hardest time, but they are wrong. Let me tell you what the hardest time is-having to sit through anyone you find boring, annoying, or just plain stupid without a drink or a smoke. I don't claim to know anything about this world let alone if there is any sort of afterlife, but let me tell you that if there is a Hell then I'm pretty sure I'm going to be sitting in hot room between Paris Hilton and Al Gore with an empty pack of Pall Malls and a bone-dry bottle of Johnny Walker Black, begging for the devil to just stab me in the eyes with a pitch fork repeatedly instead.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-65350896549631290452007-08-01T17:01:00.000-04:002007-08-01T17:15:41.848-04:00The Internet-An Underrated AppendageSo I didn't have the internet for four days, and it kind of felt like being an amputee. Oh, I could live without a phone. Truth be told, when people call me on the phone I'm almost a little bit upset sometimes. It's like, "Why are you calling here? Just send me an e-mail. I don't need to hear actual voices. I'm good; I believe it's you."<br /><br />And, I think that's a generational thing. I think every generation kind of adopts the newest technology as "their technology." When the phone was first invented people didn't even have them. And, then the cell phone came out, and I can remember less than ten years ago looking at people who had cell phones and drank bottled water, and saying, "Yuppie bastards..." Now it's ten years later, my primary phone is a cell phone, and while I'm not disgusted if someone hands me tap water, I pay for it in bottles like the rest of my peers. <br /><br />But, we were basically the first generation to have e-mail. Readily accessible, anyway. We were the AOL generation. I do everything pretty much via e-mail right down to getting my schedule from my job. If I can't access my e-mail then I can't go to work. Not to mention my job involves me going somewhere different every day, without Map Quest I might as well take out a compass...<br /><br />I think it was Thoreau who said, "A man is rich by the amount things he can live without?" You just don't realize how dependent you are on these things until they aren't there anymore.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-18487915992331452772007-07-24T23:51:00.000-04:002007-07-24T23:52:47.710-04:00What's in a name?This is the third time I've changed the name that appears on this blog. Why? It mirrors my struggle to figure out who I am, what I'm all about, what I want to be. Do I need to do it right now? No, but I feel lost without it. There's something unsettling about not knowing who you are, not knowing where you're going. Shouldn't life be about the journey? It is, at least until you realize that so many others have already arrived. I wonder if arrival is scarier than the journey...<br /><br />I started this post wanting to talk about how I have so few friends where I live. I keep wanting to move, keep wanting to escape from what isn't working and what doesn't make me happy. But for what? To where? It's the questions, the details that paralyze me. Paralysis. That's it. I feel paralyzed. But I'm in my 20s. I can go anywhere, do anything, become anyone. So why do I feel so trapped?Brittanyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01315731736704833528noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-10534487827937434992007-07-23T19:55:00.000-04:002007-07-23T20:10:38.739-04:00Always Go With What You Know-Even If That's NothingSo an old friend of mine just brought to my attention that my last blog wasn't all that creative. And, you know what? She was right. I tried to take a broad topic that we could all relate to religion (or, faith, or spirituality-whatever you wanna call your beliefs, or lack thereof) and used that to dovetail into a bunch old, recycled musings from the ghost of blogs' past because I happened to think there was traces of wisdom in them at the time.<br /><br />But, that's not what this experiment is. It's not the old- it's the right now. So what do I know right now? Truthfully, nothing. You wanna know what it's like to be in your twenties, trying to grow up, trying to make things happen? In my experience you spend a lot of time being lost. Why? Because you don't know shit. And, you probably won't until your at least 30 and more realistically 40 and 60 and 80. That's why I don't understand why people can get married before they're 30. It's not because I don't believe in love. I just don't believe I know what it is yet.<br /><br />That's what this decade is-we're still figuring it all out. And, if you disagree; if you think you know what you're doing. Boy, I envy you. Because I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I can't even get a cover letter in the mail for lastest book without getting it sent back to me for insufficient postage. Does that sound like somebody who has a lock on his life?<br /><br />I know where I'm going tomorrow, and that's about it. And, honestly, anything else is pushing it. With my luck I'll finally know everything I'll ever need to know the day I die...but I'll have the flu that day and won't be able to use it. You know what though...that information is still gonna make me smile just like I'm smiling right now.<br /><br />Maybe some of you can relate? <br /><br />And, like another old friend of mine used to say-<br /><br />Peace Out, Cub Scouts!JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-82383871463424075372007-07-21T11:31:00.001-04:002007-07-21T11:31:58.689-04:00My SinsSo I was raised a Catholic. During which, I struggled with the faith until I finally left it behind. As you get older you wonder why your parents would put you through that. I suppose it's due to some underlying desire to instill values that they don't know how to. Still I can't help but feel that while doctrines of faith are overrated, occasionally a value can be found in a tenet or so. Confession, for one. I don't think I've been to confession for nearly half my life at this point. Truthfully, I don't even believe in God. I've just seen too much to disprove it.<br /><br />Nevertheless, they say confession is good for the soul. As such, these are my sins from the last 12 years:<br /><br />I have abused drugs and alcohol to numb myself to the pain within me and to insulate myself from the world around me.<br /><br />I've taken pleasure in the pain of others.<br /><br />On occasion I've caused the pain of others in the hopes that it would somehow make me feel better about myself.<br /><br />I have responded to those whom I felt have slighted me in kind rather than turning the other cheek.<br /><br />I've taken people and things for granted simply because I could.<br /><br />I've been selfish, inconsiderate, belligerent, and at worse, cold and emotionless.<br /><br />And, I swear to Whatever that I honestly never did any of these things with malice aforethought. I never had the desire to be a "bad" person. I don't think most people do. Mostly, I just couldn't help myself. I tried to do the right things, but for a long time they were just too hard. Then when my sins brought me to my knees I realized that this wasn't much of a life. Since then I've done my best to change. Perhaps, I have. Perhaps, I haven’t. Only time will tell. Most importantly I say all of this both aloud and written not to ask for forgiveness, but in the hopes of preventing it in the future. Because if we don't grow, evolve, then what's the point?JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-82512980776543735872007-07-18T20:52:00.000-04:002007-07-18T21:05:55.388-04:00Top 5 Stupid FAQs About My Crappy JobSo I work for an inventory company. Basically, this company is hired by different retail companies to come into their retail stores and count everything in the store. This is how companies get inventory reports, which help them learn things such as how much money they lose each year from shoplifting and lots of other boring economic crap. Anyway, each day I go to a different store and count stuff. Me and lots of other people. It’s not a hard concept to understand, and yet many people don’t understand it. The following is a list of stupid questions people constantly ask me:<br /><br />1. “Really, you work in grocery stores, too? What do you count there?”<br />I count the tiles on the fucking floor. What the hell do you think I count there? It’s a store, it has shit, I count the shit. What’s complicated about that?<br /><br />2. “Do you work here?” or “Do you know where (insert product) is?” or “How much does this cost?”<br />This question often comes from old people in stores while I’m actually counting. Here’s why that question pisses me off: everyone who works for my company wears a uniform. Generic black pants and shoes, and the red (or grey for supervisors) shirt the company gives us. The company name is embroidered on the sleeves of this red shirt. So there’s nothing better than being in a Lowes, where all the employees wear blue vests, and having some dumbass ask me a question about where shit is. I guess I forgot that red and blue look the same to morons, and a collared shirt looks just like a fucking vest.<br /><br />3. “So what else do you do, besides counting?” or “Is that really all you do? Just count?”<br />I don’t how to make it any simpler. I count all day, then I go home. I work for an inventory company. The name says it all.<br />Oh wait, I forgot. I count all day, then I go downtown to headquarters where I fight inventory vampires. You know, the kind that like to miscount everything and try to get away with it. Dirty vampires.<br /><br />4. “Oh, you’re in a different store everyday?”<br />Nope, I go to one CVS every single day and count. This particular CVS needs to know exactly what is in their store and how much of it every single day. They might actually sell shit, and so obviously everything needs to be recounted daily to reflect these sales.<br /><br />5. “You must be really good at math, huh?”<br />Oh I guess I forgot to mention, I went to MIT and have a degree in advanced mathematics. Yeah, and that’s why I work for nine dollars an hour doing remedial counting.<br />It’s not like they send us in there with a pencil and paper and expect us to use our brains; we point and click on the laser and it sends the information into the mini-computer we use. A trained chimp could do the job.Bitter with a dash of Humorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17762602276017696053noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-22566094396180508352007-07-18T14:48:00.000-04:002007-07-18T14:51:56.052-04:00Slow Down, Science!In case you haven't noticed, in the last few years a whole lot of stuff's been going on in the scientific community. NASA’s got all kinds of cool stuff planned in outer space; new energy sources are being discussed and discovered as we speak; and lots of other crazy stuff too, I'm sure. But my main concern here is the medical field. Life expectancies are way up, and we have new drugs and treatments for all kinds of diseases and conditions. And that's great. Or is it? Don't get me wrong, treating the sick is a great thing. No one should have to suffer from medical ailments.<br /><br />But I'm beginning to think science is to blame for my laziness and lack of a real job. You see, I graduated college in '05, and applied to lots of jobs during that summer. In October I briefly went down to Florida for a job, but then returned home with lots of goals and dreams. I then proceeded to lounge around and do absolutely nothing for a year and a half. I didn't work at all. I barely even applied to jobs. And why? Because of stupid science and all its dumbass "breakthroughs." Here's what I'm getting at: one hundred years ago, I couldn't possibly have afforded to sit on my ass for a year and a half at age 23. I would've been dead by age 40. It would've been time to start my life and my family by age 16 or so. But in today's world, I'm gonna live to be over 100, so what's the point in rushing out and getting started now?<br /><br />I'm only gonna get bored sooner if I start busting my ass now. And granted, I may not have medical insurance, but it's not like I have to worry about getting sick. We can treat practically anything. Because I know I'm gonna live a long time, and I'm probably gonna be healthy, I don't really care about getting on with my life. It'd be nice to move out and live on my own, but not if it means working hard. Science is really screwin me here.<br /><br />And it's only gonna get worse as I get older. By the time I'm forty there'll probably be all kinds of crazy stem cell medications and stuff. I could probably chop off my arm and just have it grown back. And what's gonna be the point of working hard if I don't have to worry about permanently losing an arm? Science is slowly taking away all the former pressures of life. Stay out of society's norms, science! We're supposed to fear all kinds of stuff and therefore get crappy jobs and lives.<br /><br />I work a crappy retail job now, and I hate it a lot, so I'm probably gonna quit soon and return to my former ways of sleeping a lot and watching DVDs. I think 30 is the new 16, so I've got like 5 years until I really need to worry about getting going with my life. But by then, I'm sure science will find some way to screw me again. And if not, I've got a long list of other people and things to blame for my lack of motivation. Watch out Steve Jobs, you're next.Bitter with a dash of Humorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17762602276017696053noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-79815398931929497602007-07-16T08:48:00.000-04:002007-07-16T09:15:26.124-04:00Life in the Future<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5odDt4rJaWDRGTSVA2FD1v9J4XohVPUrhZS26jbgRk0IcAeuwcqoITLeH3C5BPfxe55PGz-znqU3A1agRJ5Tij0yycWh6fpMJNiTktHkm846jbio-Bmcz61Zesv3U2qAN9AB8jJ6bOAcT/s1600-h/dippin+dots.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5087782189513909714" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5odDt4rJaWDRGTSVA2FD1v9J4XohVPUrhZS26jbgRk0IcAeuwcqoITLeH3C5BPfxe55PGz-znqU3A1agRJ5Tij0yycWh6fpMJNiTktHkm846jbio-Bmcz61Zesv3U2qAN9AB8jJ6bOAcT/s320/dippin+dots.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Dippin Dots have been "the ice cream of the future" for most of my life. Most people eat regular ice cream. This is a failure of our parents' generation. </div><br /><div><em>Their</em> parents' generation polished off the Germans and Japanese and came home and built a spaceship and took it to the moon. Our parents won the Cold War by default and a few years later they made ice cream that looks like little styrofoam balls and they sold it at Six Flags. What the hell happened to the moon?</div><br /><div>Of course there are other theories. Ok so maybe after the Cold War somebody built a time machine and went to the future and everyone was eating Dippin Dots. And the guy was like "I gotta have these" and the future people said "we have lots of extra, take some, sell it at Six Flags" and the guy came home and scrapped the time machine. Which would explain why we don't have time machines but we still have Dippin Dots. That's probably not it. </div><br /><div>Our generation came up with YouTube and E-bay and got the word "twentyfour-seven" into the dictionary. And we demanded martian landers and flying cars and instead we got iPods and stealth bombers. So I can't go live on the moon but I can watch TV on my phone. And I have to drive on <em>roads</em>. Imagination is dead. Or we need to grow up quicker, and get more say. </div><br /><div>So if you're say sixty or something and the best you thought of is Dippin Dots and bombing the shit out of other countries, then you should resign and let one of us takeover. And there should be 5 parties or more so there's less deadlock and I don't have to fear for my grandchildren. And then we could have consensus and we could override vetoes when eighty five percent of us agree and three assholes think otherwise. </div><br /><div>And we can bring back the stealth bombers and turn them into flying cars, and fly over to Ben and Jerry's and eat regular ice cream and go "screw you, Dippin Dots. You were wrong. <em>This</em> is the future." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Just a thought. </div>spiegalionhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05984240054246533586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-19001263508925088702007-07-15T19:27:00.000-04:002007-07-15T19:29:00.383-04:00Forged by the DevilSo I’ve decided the hardest part about being young and desperately trying to make something of yourself isn’t the hard work. Granted, constantly swinging for the fences and usually only hitting foul balls can be frustrating. Yet, there is something in this world far more evil. Naturally, I’m talking about the mere existence of My Super Sweet 16.<br /><br />Now if you haven’t seen it because you’re too busy having a life allow me to explain. You see, My Super Sweet 16 is an evil program existing on MTV that shows us the real problem plaguing America, spoiled rich girls. And, I don’t like spoiled rich girls because, well quite frankly, I envy them too much.<br /><br />What, it’s not bad enough I only make like 350 dollars a week between two jobs then come home to try and write books and films so I can make something out of myself one day? I have to be aware of the fact that there are girls in this country turning 16, pissed at their fathers because they can only get a SLK Mercedes and not a SL, too? As if my life wasn’t filled with enough metaphorical kicks in the balls, that’s the knowledge I needed to keep me up at night?<br /><br />The cruelty of the show’s existence into the inner-workings of these families with way too much money, and apparently not a hint of discipline, is matched only by the sheer bitchiness of these girls who seemingly can never (and most likely, will never) be satisfied. My hatred of this show hit its peak one day when I saw a full-length movie on MTV. I didn’t even watch the movie; I didn’t have, too. I’m sure it’s exactly like the show.<br /><br />Now if you want to make a good movie, let me direct it. I’ll start them out waiting to get their fancy car and have their lavish party, and then BAM!!! There on Fear Factor. And, they only get free by eating parts of the pig they won’t put in hot dogs. What can I say? I’m tough but fair.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-3952937441546038432007-07-14T15:47:00.000-04:002007-07-14T15:51:29.989-04:00Nearly TwentySomething FreakOut<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m not even twenty, and every day feels like a mid-life crisis.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I think I peaked early. I can reminisce about the good ol’ days, back when I owned the shit outta the spelling bee and kicked ass and took names in algebra; when I was reading at an eleventh grade level in fifth grade and the teachers just didn’t “know what to do with me”. I was <i>bright</i>. I had <i>potential</i>. Hell, yeah, I’ll say it: I was a goddamn <i>prodigy</i>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Then what? School got harder, and I didn’t get any smarter. I didn’t really need to; I graduated high school with a B average and pretty dang sweet SAT scores and got into every college I applied to. That’s the kicker. I got in everywhere I applied, so what am I doing here, unable to handle basic coursework at community college? Was I so good at bullshitting my way through high school that I fooled everyone, even myself, into thinking that I could handle higher education, when really I’m about as ready for college as Paris Hilton is for a dirty orange jumpsuit and a girlfriend named Bertha? Am I just afraid of failure? Am I just plain lazy?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family: arial;">The answer to all of the above is yes. The scary part is, I don’t know what to do about it. And the down-right </span><i style="font-family: arial;">terrifying</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> part is, I don’t think I really </span><i style="font-family: arial;">want</i><span style="font-family: arial;"> to do anything about it.</span> </span></p>Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03758301956102461631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-27075180673203647592007-07-14T12:14:00.000-04:002007-07-14T12:22:04.352-04:00Finding meaningPart of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">FreakOut</span> for me is the realization that I lack faith. Faith in myself, faith in humanity, faith in the world. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">NewsWeek</span></span> had an article a month or so ago about how our generation was raised in spirituality rather than within a traditional denomination. Sometimes I love this, sometimes I lament it. Why? Because with all the uncertainty, I just wish I could turn to some book, some prayer, some <span style="font-style: italic;">thing</span> to restore my faith, give me hope, erase all of the pessimism. Where is it? Where can I look? Where do I go?<br /><br />Finding meaning in nearly everything seems to be what's just happened to me. It's not what I wanted, not what I would have asked for but it seems like every book I read, fiction or nonfiction, has all these little nuggets of meaning for me. Quotes, ideas, subtle intimations at something more. Is this my faith? Are books the source of my spirituality?<br /><br />Maybe I should become a librarian.Brittanyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01315731736704833528noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-30853030530769175812007-07-11T15:39:00.000-04:002007-07-11T17:58:24.568-04:00Stop me if you've heard this one before...I was born poststructuralist, understanding that context is everything, meaning is relative, and value judgments are set in marshmallow.<br /><br />This perspective has always been a trade-off. There's a lot of worrying and overthinking and an infinite regress of doubt, to the point that some days only an offseason swim in the ocean can snap me out of my head (making summertime and Middle America all the more worrisome); but always after a while the tenuously poised considerations wind down into an easy acceptance of everything and a general okayness with any possible outcome or conclusion. Relativism sets up the joke, and it always pulls through with a punchline.<br /><br />About a year ago I graduated from college, and rather than go straight to grad school <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oLopR8siXDo/RpVSOAcddpI/AAAAAAAAAAs/l8dxZgs1aTk/s1600-h/daydreaming.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oLopR8siXDo/RpVSOAcddpI/AAAAAAAAAAs/l8dxZgs1aTk/s200/daydreaming.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086061754775860882" border="0" /></a>for my masters and phd (my long-term goal is to be a college professor), I decided I'd do well to take a year or two off and get some life experience. Being a privileged kid and not having had to work during high school and college, I developed a taste for socializing, sofa-lounging, and free time. I didn't really <span style="font-style: italic;">want </span>a job, unless it was one I loved, or at least with an organization I loved. So I made a half-assed attempt to find an entry-level position in the nonprofit sector, and an even more half-assed (quarter-assed?) attempt to find an entry-level position in any office-work type organization. Completely unsuccessful in finding a "real job," I've<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oLopR8siXDo/RpVRyAcddnI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Xkt63X21OgY/s1600-h/film_secretary.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oLopR8siXDo/RpVRyAcddnI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Xkt63X21OgY/s200/film_secretary.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086061273739523698" border="0" /></a> been working two restaurant jobs and soaking my feet in the very spare meantime. After almost a year of this, I would KILL for a job. I would <span style="font-style: italic;">love</span> a job! I'd be happy to have one!!! I would take any normal type job I could get -- administrative assistant, assistant to the executive assistant -- anything that would cover my superlow monthly expenses, plus like two hundred bucks left over each month. That would be lovely. That would be <span style="font-style: italic;">ideal</span>. I would thank them and heart them for ever and ever. I would bake cookies and bring them in to the office. I would make them without nuts so that everyone could have them. I would go to the supermarket specifically for colored cellophane to wrap them in! I would love it, I would love it, I would love it.<br /><br />Over this last year, life has beaten me down so persistently, that my standards are so low it's sad, and worrisome, and <span style="font-style: italic;">hysterical</span>. It's a riot, it is. Because I still go through my day giddy, at the thought of a connection I forgot I had, at the thought of the jobs I could possibly have, imagining what my workspace will look like, and the smooth feel of the buttons on their multi-line phone system. <span style="font-style: italic;">My </span>multi-line phone system. :) Yesss.<br /><br />Taking a step back, I can see that something has probably been lost, or disregarded, and it speaks of ideals and of principles and of potential. It asks me how much of a difference I am making in the world I've aimed for <span style="font-style: italic;">years </span>to improve and make sweet, philanthropic love to. And I come back to the conclusion I always circle round to: that if I'm ever to feel "good enough," I'm gonna have to lower my standards, and up the ante. And getting an office job <span style="font-style: italic;">would</span> be a challenge. And enjoying it would be a <span style="font-style: italic;">godsend</span>. So yes. To all this - to the routine, to the computer screen, to the button-down shirts and sexy pencil skirts I'll wear as I transfer a call and cherish the smooth ergonomic valley of the plastic buttons, I say Yes.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-63847514448015266562007-07-11T05:19:00.001-04:002007-07-11T05:24:30.432-04:00Water Up Your Patoot.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_baeXebGICssXpfoJQtUFSs1u5iQu3pT4s3XRUigdXmnMvbT62O5cOoufXWt6fEiJgUbD_Vo3rXupT-9h3SNJelgcqHmXbX98q2P5lWGHn_luGq7R81Egjxd8gbQPH8AZLeozMJdB6hs/s1600-h/washlet-frontcleansing800px.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_baeXebGICssXpfoJQtUFSs1u5iQu3pT4s3XRUigdXmnMvbT62O5cOoufXWt6fEiJgUbD_Vo3rXupT-9h3SNJelgcqHmXbX98q2P5lWGHn_luGq7R81Egjxd8gbQPH8AZLeozMJdB6hs/s320/washlet-frontcleansing800px.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085867719351631330" border="0" /></a><br />Okay, this is a little off-topic. But, in linking to the salon.com article in the entry below this, I found a weird-ass series of advertisements for something called the Washlet, which is apparently a cross between HAL-9000, a bidet, and a seat-warmer. I deem it relevant because there's a lot of smiling, fresh-faced 20somethings on the washlet website talking about efficient and pleasurable ways to clean their posteriors with this amazing machine.<br /><br />I am duly freaked out and intrigued.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cleanishappy.com/">Click here to be astounded and amused. </a><br /><br />Forgive this interlude; carry on.The 20Something Diarieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07761674591679000459noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-67097735053836361572007-07-11T02:23:00.000-04:002007-07-11T05:04:24.524-04:00Joining the Dark Side...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOcktBkiR0cSGi-vdEQG186ZjERTMAkWEw-8YCDLe_UxlcUToIRyjlLC8BQ1C7NrOORlF2TcxHxUi4elxt2elv-30uiCDJS-LaruRxoZ7WhHbCgyUp5GW-jcukkVr3wyziO0qMUMO77p4/s1600-h/vaderbear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOcktBkiR0cSGi-vdEQG186ZjERTMAkWEw-8YCDLe_UxlcUToIRyjlLC8BQ1C7NrOORlF2TcxHxUi4elxt2elv-30uiCDJS-LaruRxoZ7WhHbCgyUp5GW-jcukkVr3wyziO0qMUMO77p4/s200/vaderbear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085828038904587538" border="0" /></a><br />I don't think I've ever told anyone this, but when I was seven, I was a major, major Star Wars geek. Like, crazy bedspread, the t-shirts, the C-3P0 lamp...it was like George Lucas shotgun vomited a commercial wonderland of fantasy into my bedroom. The dirty secret of this was that I secretly, deep in my seven-year-old soul, wanted to work for Darth Vader.<br /><br />I knew the rebellion folks were the good guys, and that Luke was the charming hero and Han was the dashing rogue and Leia looked primo in a brass bikini...but I really wanted to be Darth's friend. I imagined myself, strolling the hallways of the Death Star in my stormtrooper gear, being his sort of go-to guy. Looking back, I think I used to fantasize I was a Death Star intern...I'd do what Darth told me to do, and we'd be pals.<br /><br />And I think seven-year-old me felt some sort of reassurance in this fantasy; I worked for the biggest, baddest corporation around--The Empire, complete with what must have been excellent benefits. Sure, Darth probably would have force-choked me for not putting the right amount of splenda in his Macchiatto, but every job has its pitfalls, right? To this day, I think this deep-seated desire to be Darth Vader's yes-man has scarred me; it's also probably why I have such a soft spot in my heart for Dwight K. Schrute from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Office</span>.<br /><br />I was a weird child--I loved science fiction, but for reasons that never quite jibed with some of my friends. I may share more awkward stories of this later, including my accidental daliance with blackface when, in fourth grade, I went out for Halloween as Star Trek's Giordi LaForge.<br /><br />The point here--and there IS one--is that even at that young age, I kind of understood the perks of selling out to the big, bad "Man." A little bird (read: a grad school prof and friend of mine) <a href="http://www.salon.com/books/review/2007/07/10/trap/">sent me this excellent salon.com review of Daniel Brook's new book <span style="font-weight: bold;">The Trap.</span></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5yhPShbJfYUa2gxjujn9TgamSvioeaJqEFoKE8d4ZOJmDezq9MBBm0YuzU9xNVelvlsqxj4UC6PKIsjo-rg8PN9CQQuARktd8x1zj8N_FwBwsuzXWLhDfHEYEURv0lPaNJKi6RbnjAnnA/s1600-h/story.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5yhPShbJfYUa2gxjujn9TgamSvioeaJqEFoKE8d4ZOJmDezq9MBBm0YuzU9xNVelvlsqxj4UC6PKIsjo-rg8PN9CQQuARktd8x1zj8N_FwBwsuzXWLhDfHEYEURv0lPaNJKi6RbnjAnnA/s200/story.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085827532098446594" border="0" /></a><br /><br />This passage made me want to sigh in relief and scream in frustration:<br />"'The Trap' opens with an anecdote hinting at one possible solution: Sell out. Milling about a wedding party, Brook sheepishly confesses his book's thesis to a young man who works for Goldman Sachs. To Brook's surprise, it turns out the guy's a leftist who went to Wall Street only after years of trying, and failing, to make it as a muckraking journalist. "That's how hegemony works," the reluctant broker tells Brook. "The system can contain all of the dissenters." The other option, to use Brook's terminology, is to be a saint. Let your student loans fall into default, rent a cheap, dingy room, go without healthcare, plan on staying childless; that's the price you pay for following your passion or adhering to your ethics."<br /><br />I happen to work in an industry--the performing arts--where it's just about impossible to earn a living wage; I'm still trying to figure out if there's a trick to it that I'm missing, or if maybe I'm just unfortunate. I suspect that eventually, I'm going to want kids, and a house, and all the things I was raised to inherently covet. Maybe then I'll become an I-Banker, or a business administrator, or something real and respectable. It's just the way of the world...right?<br /><br />Somewhere in me, the seven year old kid is laughing, as he gleefully polishes Darth's lightsaber with love.<br /><br />That sounded so much less naughty inside my head. Anyway, more later.Jonohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15375768339465646794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-12224515308567406022007-07-08T02:42:00.001-04:002007-07-11T03:35:33.043-04:00This is Why People Get Married!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4FzlgZ-wEwSJ-gCv5n_-hLe4_zATAVGH2WvCdBoNVkAxKo_Cyg-nqLxP0JEqVCFnTRHV_sSrdWlesTQya5OyLoKczcsVEkWPEgXP7ObLeqNZMiMqMn2kzyQg3aRSbP5X8hQerEntHKM/s1600-h/marriage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn4FzlgZ-wEwSJ-gCv5n_-hLe4_zATAVGH2WvCdBoNVkAxKo_Cyg-nqLxP0JEqVCFnTRHV_sSrdWlesTQya5OyLoKczcsVEkWPEgXP7ObLeqNZMiMqMn2kzyQg3aRSbP5X8hQerEntHKM/s320/marriage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085839690395057618" border="0" /></a><br />I'm supposed to have a minor surgery in a week. Tonight I sat down and finally filled out the paperwork that I'm supposed to bring with me. I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">trying</span> to be prepared.<br />My eyes read over the list of instructions that came along with:<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">No </span><span style="font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Aspirin</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ride home from the hospital.</span></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Caregiver for 24 hours post-opp.</span></li></ul>My mind comes to a screeching halt. Of course I have someone to bring me home from the hospital but I need someone to stay with me for <span style="font-weight: bold;">24</span> hours?! I admit, it makes sense. Someone needs to be there in case of any emergencies. I get it. But I wasn't thinking about it. I'm 23, for the most part I think I'm self-sufficient. But then the reality creeps in. What if I do have an emergency? My parents live far away and my friends have lives. My boyfriend just moved about two hours away. I'm doomed. Panic comes over me in waves.<br />Once you're a certain age you're trained to take care of yourself. You pay your own rent, in your own space, with your own car, bills and job.<br />In the midst of all my panicking, I begin to realize... this is why people get married! The love part too, but really, they get married so they're not the only one taking care of themselves. We get into relationships for that safety. Someday things like this, surgeries or other emergencies won't be as much of a ordeal. But for now... we all need our relationships for that support. What happens if you never get that support? I guess that's a worry for another day.Still Searching...http://www.blogger.com/profile/01361451137170830943noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-31221000411684579202007-07-06T19:48:00.000-04:002007-07-11T03:33:04.000-04:00internal monologue made external...aaand...goIn theory, the forty-ish thousand dollars I just spent on a graduate education should have prepared me to write for a living. The thing is, as well as pictures and video tell stories, my newly-earned degree requires me to speak in short sentences. They want short, simple, easy-to-process sentences, because the average television viewer doesn't have a lot of room in their consciousness to process a sentence with a conjunction or any adjectives. They've told us again and again that people will more or less pay attention to my writing only in their periphery as they're busy doing several other things. This kind of disheartens me, because the thing is, I think and type (and write by extension) in more than subject-verb-object kinds of thoughts. Sometimes, I even ramble. It's madness, I tell you, madness. I think my inner monologue is actually quite intriguing, which is also probably why I don't feel the need to speak at every occasion. Sometimes, I just like to observe and process things internally before I go running my mouth. Speaking of people running their mouths...<br /><br />D.C. is a beautiful city. I never thought I would fall in love with a place as much as I loved New York City, but D.C. is something special. It's accessible and grand at the same time. The weather's lovely so far and my apartment is way bigger than anything I could have expected. Tons of inspiration here. I can feel it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0aekCXJFAzqlrbsgO7_yhJwmy-G1MwUkbNbc3NkISLVPxwe2-Qx5VITK5nq01hxqo6y0tJMCbPMhsHekxn43WH_RNALtUbarRY3YDsdigGix3-hkWbkRzv0wVXIAMR0K-f6VGcxIhCeU/s1600-h/office_gossip-WEB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0aekCXJFAzqlrbsgO7_yhJwmy-G1MwUkbNbc3NkISLVPxwe2-Qx5VITK5nq01hxqo6y0tJMCbPMhsHekxn43WH_RNALtUbarRY3YDsdigGix3-hkWbkRzv0wVXIAMR0K-f6VGcxIhCeU/s200/office_gossip-WEB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085838891531140546" border="0" /></a>People are still wrapped up in high school bull-shit drama, though, and that makes me a little frustrated. He likes her because she's unavailble. She flirts with him because she likes the attention - but she'll never leave the boyfriend. He pines.<br /><br />He likes her because she's there. She feels the same way.<br /><br />Everyone's trying so hard to be included in the popular group. Girls are bitchy and conniving behind each other's back.<br /><br />Just like high school, I keep my head down and do my fucking work. Ipod in, world out. Many stories to come.iamthewaveshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15534341410674523013noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-134714145279971312007-07-06T00:29:00.000-04:002007-07-11T03:27:55.245-04:00AN "OUR GENERATION" PROBLEM<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCmDyHz9lyMjGIID3s5M1m13o65CM1jyL7ybZc8_9wW_Fz5QgUXtDtHJ1QrSY7EGz1JA4abxKQKB6wsMHAPA3lIxmNQK2zvn9eCImFKZQtVlcejPHfZeF7x-otfKm4c_n6jk3X1Lu6yRU/s1600-h/22248456.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCmDyHz9lyMjGIID3s5M1m13o65CM1jyL7ybZc8_9wW_Fz5QgUXtDtHJ1QrSY7EGz1JA4abxKQKB6wsMHAPA3lIxmNQK2zvn9eCImFKZQtVlcejPHfZeF7x-otfKm4c_n6jk3X1Lu6yRU/s320/22248456.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5085837710415134130" border="0" /></a><br />About two weeks ago, my boss offered me a promotion. I know. Tearjerker, right? Such an OUR GENERATION crisis, isn't it? The horror of getting promoted at a job you hate because it's "not really what you want to be doing."<br /><br />My whole life I've had crappy jobs. And, that's okay. You do what you gotta do. Still the thing that always gave me solace at the end of the day was that I wasn't really rooted in any of them. If things got bad enough, I could always find another crappy job. One's as good as another-no big loss.<br /><br />But, if I take this promotion then all of a sudden it's like "I'm invested." Time will pass, I'll make more money, I'll grow more comfortable there-next thing you know five years have gone by, and I've completely forgotten that this wasn't supposed to be a career. It was just the thing I was doing on the way to what I really wanted to do.<br /><br />I don't want to be one of those people who gives up on their dreams because something easy came along the way, and they were too practical to pass it up. I just got finished writing a book. It took six months. And, I don't mind that it took six months (if it works out), but I don't want the next decade of my life to be divided up into six month chunks of projects (that didn't work out,) while I'm cementing myself into some job I can barely stand. Just seems like there should be something more.<br /><br />But, there in lies the rub. I never wanted anything more. Some people they want a wife, a husband, two kids, and a picket fence. And, that's fine if that's what you want. Truth is none of that stuff ever meant anything to me. I am my work, which, sadly, is the hardest part because as long as I hate the thing I (barely) earn my living at then logically I'd have to hate my life, wouldn't I? One plus one, right? Always ends up being two.JManganellihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12926223914559534524noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1662359477782880606.post-3746397488815078732007-07-05T23:26:00.000-04:002007-07-11T03:25:45.808-04:00Burning Questions (aka “No, I’m Not Fucking Up My Life.”)A TwentySomething's 20 Questions From a Parent.<br /> <ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Did</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> we do a bad job of raising you?</span> No.</li><li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Are you acting out of some anger about your father and mine’s divorce?</span> No.</li><li><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why are you doing this to yourself?</span> </span>I’m not doing anything to myself. If anything, I’m giving myself an opportunity to be genuinely excited about something instead of being completely apathetic, which tends to be the state of mind I’m in more often than not. But you just see it as sarcasm and assume I actually care. In fact, that would be quite inaccurate.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Mle27YMmvT8cQjq53ezos9fzy2-743PPm54vwYZWgvpVvR6ZPCm3UgyV8sKmMgn77IdG_vOVFjXG_oTufM196VNF2VoRlciw0e9AhQtw5QoQvt37Hj5FdAWtuQg2YQg-6AVWQp-ojLI/s1600-h/greetings2b.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Mle27YMmvT8cQjq53ezos9fzy2-743PPm54vwYZWgvpVvR6ZPCm3UgyV8sKmMgn77IdG_vOVFjXG_oTufM196VNF2VoRlciw0e9AhQtw5QoQvt37Hj5FdAWtuQg2YQg-6AVWQp-ojLI/s200/greetings2b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083935319075880338" border="0" /></a> </li> <li><o:p></o:p><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Is this because of what happened with *insert name here*?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>No.</li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">How can you survive on 13K a year?</span> Not a fucking clue, but I guess we’ll find out now won’t we? </li> <li><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are you really going to live off of food stamps?</span> </span>That’s the plan.</li> <li><o:p></o:p><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">But it’s food stamps!</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>Your point being?<o:p></o:p></li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Where will you live?</span> Don’t know yet, but that’s part of the fun of it! </li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">What are you running away from?</span> Didn’t know I had to be running away from something to want to pick up and leave and try something new. I’m not so good at the stability thing - it's been made abundantly clear to me. <o:p></o:p></li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">When will you leave?</span> August 13<sup>th</sup>. They pay for me to fly out to <st1:city st="on">Berkeley</st1:city>, then to <st1:state st="on">Utah</st1:state>, then back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Berkeley</st1:place></st1:city>. Schwee! And all I have to do is get on the plane and look pretty.</li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I’m serious. Why are you doing this?</span> Because I have no commitments, obligations, or reasons to not do it other than being poor. The way I see it, it’s better than playing with monopoly money which really belongs to the federal government that I will have to pay back the day I get a real job, which might never happen if I can avoid it because I hate structure and with this job, I get to make my own structure, which when you think about it, is a bit of a paradox, now don’t you think?</li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">What about school?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>It’s been around since 1831. I don’t think it’s going anywhere any time soon. I’ll finish my brilliant, made-up bullshit master’s when I get back. It’s all on me anyhow, so I’d rather be interested in the subject matter and classes I take and actually make an effort instead of showing up and forgetting about it until the day of. Which is pretty much what I’ve been doing for the last…oh….year.<br /></li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Is this because all your friends have moved around the world and you feel like you’ve been left behind?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>No. But they’ve been pretty good about making a niche for themselves wherever they go which means I should be okay. Stop worrying.<br /></li> <li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">But you’re going to be clear across the country! How can I not worry?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>It could be worse. I could be going to London or Thailand. Or back to Israel. Then you'd really worry.<br /></li> <li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Won’t you miss us?</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>It’s possible. But I never know what I want until well after the fact. So I’ll let you know after I’m there. </li><li><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">When are you going to stop fucking up your life and start taking responsibility for your actions and realize you need to be an adult? </span>Probably never. Isn’t life supposed to be about fucking up anyway? The more fuck ups I have now, maybe the less I’ll have later. Or less severe at any rate.</li> <li><o:p></o:p><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">You know </span><st1:place style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:city st="on">San Francisco</st1:city></st1:place><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> gets cold, right? </span>That I do.</li> <li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">You’re going to kill your grandparents when they hear about this. And after the year they had…do you want to do that to them? </span>Well I certainly don’t want to be responsible for that. But they were young once too and they did things that people didn’t understand. My turn!</li> <li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Will you at least promise me one day you’ll settle down, marry a nice Jewish boy, and give me grandchildren?</span> </span>Haha. Hahahaha. Wait. Fuck. You were serious?<br /></li> <li class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I’m disappointed in you. I thought you were smarter than this. Why would you waste your talents on something that won’t even pay you well?</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"></span> Who needs money when we all end up in debt anyway? </li> </ul> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0