actuality.log

Try this. Next time you’re, say, in the shower don’t think of, say, Eskimos, and I’ll give you this big bag of money. Yes, Eskimos. Just don’t think of them. Anything but, you heard me, ESKIMOS.

I know it’s hard and I doubt you can do it. That’s kinda sorta been the story of my weekend. I’ve tried so fishing hard to be normal. I’ve tried so hard to just sit down and enjoy a movie. To forget sad events attached to movies. To be able to watch 30s of the film without this pang of emotion shooting through me… and for what? Shouldn’t I have forgotten by now? They obviously mean very little in the grand scheme of things. What is wrong with me?

And I tried it both ways, a Moulin Rouge DVD last evening (my favorite musical, though I haven’t seen too many movie musicals, I admit) and Mystic River in the theater earlier today. It was a very good movie, extremely serious, dark (and hence sad) with everyone acting very well (Tim Robbins especially). Quite interestingly, they all spoke without pronouncing their ‘R’s’. “The goils aww wather late awwent they?” – Kinda like a cross between Elmer Fudd and a Mafia guy from Italy (or wherever else these types are generically assumed to spring from). It screamed Massachusetts before it was made clear where the story was set. It’s just your usual story formula – evil child molestation ruining childhood (and hence life), coupled with hot woman dying, a whole lot of (well reasoned out) violence, and obviously a generous dose of sadness. It was very disturbing, but was brilliantly portrayed, if that’s how one has to put a positive spin on these sorts of things. Movie goers apparently want more reality in the movies. Not fantasy. These people should just see more of the news. Just what is wrong with happy endings? Why couldn’t that be real?

But a movie review wasn’t where I wanted to go with this. It’s this need to rid myself of senseless emotion. After a point I begin to wonder whether it’s the sad thoughts I have attached to the events that is bothering me, or whether it’s the extreme effort taken to forget them running behind “normalcy”. It’s pretty messed up. I hate being this way.

NP. All Saints – Saints and Sinners
(Yes, that’s right. The girl band. I do things when no one is looking you know.)

I seem to have lost the drive and inspiration to do anything. I’ve slowed down, been rather dull and life seems pretty pointless. This is the primary reason for the reduction in frequency of journal updates. I’ve not been able to convince myself to sit down and try. This post was typed out in bits during the course of a day, whenever I felt like adding to it. It is probably lacking in general continuity and structure.

Salons are nice places. I fear them like a normal person might fear the dentist or the plague, but they are inherently nice places. I mean, where else are you going to find a bunch of women with fabulous hair comment about how long and sexy yours looks? Now that isn’t the fun part either. The fun part is that sets up the “Why thank you.. for now” sequence of (well worn and worked out) humour involving everything from faulty genetics to old bald men. I will maintain my affected understated air of dry dynamism, and they will laugh. It’s a good thing I do this only once in 6-8 months. They tend to forget I basically repeat the same thing every time it happens and they crack up each time. The reason why I’m usually a bit apprehensive is because I don’t want all that work ruined by some snip happy maniac.

But this week has brought about a few major changes in my life, and I made an appointment for this too earlier, thinking I might try something brave and exciting. But that’s not quite how things turned out. And I’m glad. I love how it looks now. So while I called it a “haircut” and the entire procedure took like an hour, less than 10% of that was actual cutting of any sort. The woman was totally sweet. For once I was having a normal “totally pointless but fun” conversation with a perfect stranger and was enjoying it. So while getting it shampooed, conditioned, volumized, my head massaged and other such general niceties, I was all relaxed and started to open up about changes, and how fast I felt they were happening, and how scared I was and how unprepared I felt and things like that. I don’t know, I felt like this person all alone in a bar cribbing to the bartender about her life. And this guy sort of listening because he had to.

Anyway, she was totally sweet about it. Either that or insanely lazy. I’m going with sweet. So it was settled then, I wasn’t emotionally prepared for anything major. I just needed some neatening up, trimming and evening out. No fancy anything. So 726 brush strokes later (you doubt I counted?) and some careful alignment and precision snipping, I lost about an inch overall. Then it happened. During the “rub stuff in while blow drying while straightening-styling-stroking” phase, I was introduced to a wide array of cool hair pamper products. I mean woah! Smooth down creams, detangler oils, frizz reduction mist sprays, shine (forgot what it’s called) inducing something, and so on. Good god was I excited. Curiously stared all wide eyed when I noticed these magical things do their trick. I loved how it looked and the texture. So I just had to. I found out a nice combination that works for my sort of hair and mentally noted their names.

There goes the eat healthy and your hair will radiate health theory. All you need is a bunch of fancy chemicals. After a long time I could walk around without a cap, and have hair out of my face on the windiest of days (yesterday was especially bad) and in general stay soft and shiny. Needless to say I ran down to the nearest store that stocks this sort of stuff later that evening and went through the whole 3 year old in a candy store experience all over again. It was awesome.

So here I am, many hours later. A small fortune and most of a day spent on all of this. Looking not particularly different. But happy that it’s a constant. (For now.)

No, you aren’t dreaming. You just endured a boring account of a boring day in a boring person’s life. One so boring that trimming dead keratin was a major enough event to dedicate an entire post to.

NP. Dashboard Confessional – The Places You Come To Fear

And I do have stuff to say. It’s just, my head is killing me right now and the bright glow from the monitor isn’t helping. I will try this again tomorrow.

NP. Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra – Beethoven Symphonies Nos. 5 And 7

A song by The Cure
As abstracted and modified by me
As brought to my attention by a cutely haunting HP ad campaign

I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believed that they were real
I’ve been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believed that the pictures are
All I can feel

If only I’d known all the right words
I could have held on to your heart
If only you’d thought of the right words
I wouldn’t be breaking apart
All my pictures of you

Looking so long at these pictures of you
But I never held on to your heart
Looking so long for the words to be true
But always just breaking apart
My pictures of you

There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel me deep in your heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel this breaking apart
All my pictures of you

Not related but still might be. I took this yesterday near the ChemE department. I don’t know what these things are supposed to do. I have always just seen them sit there. I think I’m going to call it Constrained Perspectives.

Clickey clickey.

NP. The Cure – Disintegration

Now at various points in your life, a smart teacher would have handwaved her way to a seemingly excellent explanation of something with actually nothing more than a few purposefully chosen examples. Now I am going to follow that route, but I’m not even going to fake the excellent explanation bit.

Life isn’t fair. Hunks, and I am going to generalize, beautiful people, call all the shots. The geeks can try and all that, but they’re just wasting their time and energy. The hunks can waltz in, say very little, be all dumb, but the hot woman will fall for them anyway. You know, their waxed chest and all. Why do I say this? Here, I present exhibits A and B. Both the women, very similar circumstance, same decision.

But this time I didn’t know what it was. I thought Brian Worth (the geek) was a shoo in to win. If not for any other real noble reason (not like they didn’t exist), but for ratings. I mean, they had one show where the hunk won. They almost HAD TO, to keep the thing real. Or probably they did. Which is why the geeks lost both times.

I want to snicker, <Nelson>Haahhaaa! Karma caught up with her this time.</Nelson>. But that is totally besides the point. The fact that she got dumped by the hot blonde guy she picked over some rather trivial reason doesn’t undo her decision. She dumped the sweetest guy there.

Yes, I am a guy and even I know the guy she picked looks hot. But could he talk for 20 seconds? No. Did he seem like he cared? No. Was he shallower than almost anybody else would have been? Yes. Was he in construction? Yes. Did he do one sweet/thoughtful thing? No.

Did he have eyes that reminded her of the ocean? Yes.

Yes, he is definitely the one. I can see the overwhelming logic she’s applied. This isn’t about the show at points. This is about how reality is portrayed, or for all I know, is. It’s scary. I think I probably rooted for the geek so much for some stupid sort of validation thing. Just as a reassuring reminder to geek kind that they can do this. Apparently, not so.

I mean, let’s look at the final geek objectively. Yes, he didn’t look like a sculpture like the other guy. But he was witty. Endearingly so. He was wickedly sarcastic, dry, and bold around all the hunkier men. He didn’t back down or chicken out because he was smaller. Around her, that turned to a nice sort of funny. She laughed. A lot. (And I distinctly remember he joked about the shaved chests too. He was funny.) He expressed himself very well when the show started getting serious. Every thing he said and did toward the end had some sort of nice hidden meaning she understood. He took time, effort and carefully portrayed to her all that he wanted to show. He was kind and gentle. He was smart and educated. He made some bold heart openey moves. He expressed himself physically, to the levels you can on national TV anyway. She knows how much she means to him. I mean, unless those send him away tears were some fake chemical in her eye. He thought about things, her, and everything he said/did/radiated made that clear. He was willing to give up a lot he liked to be with her. He seemed earnest when he said he could be there for her in a forevery way. He did everything a normal person could/would have done.

But then again, he didn’t have eyes that reminded her of the ocean.

When you open yourself to the possibilities of highest highs, you’ve got to be ready for the realities of lowest lows too.

But then again, there is always karma.

Why do I keep thinking colour contacts? Hmm. Of course, the sane among you will realize this is just a show. And Gill dumping her over a cheesy ex is actually a lot better than me going on and on about it here.

Die.

NB. I can’t write (or do anything else for that matter) when listening to stuff. But I was having so much fun I didn’t plan to stop to concentrate on sounding ok. And only extremely new stuff. Tasting different things. Good god there are some cool stuff I haven’t heard.

NP. Maps – Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Update: Another (actually funny) take on all things real. Not.

Today was rather nice I must say. It wasn’t too different from my usual day, on the surface. No actually, it was a quite a bit different. The little things. I am home at 9 PM for one. I worked like a normal person, through normal hours and left at a normal hour. Ate at a cafe at a normal hour, reading, talking, and I have to say, mildly showing off. It was good. I worked with a homework group after so long. I planned, made it on time, and just got the whole groupey thing going. I spent less than an hour on computers all day long. Work and this post included.

I am quite proud of that.

For some reason I want to get my ears pierced again. (As in the want has returned again. I haven’t had them pierced before, not counting the first time when I was a kid kid.) Let me rephrase that, I want to get an ear pierced. I have to decide whether I want the left or right one done. There is this straight/not straight thing I’ve got to get sorted out. And I remembered, there is this woman who still owes me this fabulous pair of dolphin earrings. I remember commenting about how cute it looked a long time ago, and was offered it if I decided to ever pierce me.

I will. And I won’t forget to claim my little prize. I distinctly remember it being very cute.

Obligatory plug for derivative work. The stylesheet and xhtml I mean. It isn’t particularly funny. Probably if I were drunk. Hmm.

Update: I will probably scream about Average Joe tomorrow. Just who the fish is Fabio?

Looking back at the past pattern, you know the, HAPPY sad HAPPY sad HAPPY sad…., pattern, today I should be sad. But I am not really. We talked for the longest time today. And it wasn’t nearly as strained as it has been for a very long time. It felt quite good actually. I am able to separate need, want, understanding, fantasy. Life isn’t a whole lot more complicated than it has to be. I let mine become that way when emotion blurred the lines between these things. I needed today’s events so much. I am peaceful now. I’d say broken, but a peaceful broken. I am not fantasizing over events that probably wouldn’t have ever happened and letting it eat me knowing I “lost it”.

At some point you have to realize fantasy is all nice and good. But reality is where you live in, and more importantly, there is nothing preventing it from being a whole lot nicer than fantasy. I have fished around with lyrics enough. This just wouldn’t feel right without a dialogue from (easily one of the greatest movies of all time, yes all time, and no, your opinion does not count) High Fidelity. If by some anomaly you haven’t seen it, I pity you.

Rob: I’m tired of the fantasy, because it doesn’t really exist. and there are never really any surprises, and it never really…
Laura: Delivers?
Rob: Delivers. And I’m tired of it. And I’m tired of everything else for that matter. But I don’t ever seem to get tired of you, so….

Exactly. Any other dimension, any other universe, any other point in time, I will do the exact same things I’ve done. None of it was a “waste” of anything. If I “end up like this” then too, so be it. I am happy. I am I. I know exactly how much I need her and on what level I need her. And I know I have her forever on that level.

Starting tomorrow I am going to live real life a little. The small things. Meet people. Take walks. Smell the flowers. The small things. Things I have neglected to do in a very long time. I am getting a hair cut. I am contemplating exercise. I was considering swimming. I am going to compose. I am going to draw. I am going to sing.

I know it sounds as if I want to do a whole lot to prevent myself from spending every moment of my life thinking about her, or how to make her smile, or making something cute for her to giggle about, or worrying about how to help her fight her problems, or worrying about finishing work as soon as I can to maximize my time with her, or … . Then again, maybe I am to some extent. Maybe I need this for retention of sanity. Maybe I need this to actually taste some of the world outside. Not to make her feel any less important than she knows she means to me.

I repeat. I am going to live. I know it will be fun.

I know, my standards are easily met. Weee.. an exceptionally cute ladybird!

Update: I feel a tad guilty. I have to admit some of this has to do with responses to me reporting my rather huge strides at work.
“If this is true I’ll buy you coffee, tea, drinking chocolate, nougat, malt, etc. of your choice.”
It’s times like this when I wished I fancied warm beverages.

Guess who was handed a codebase that was at the time capable of handling ~9 million variables.
Guess who took about a month and scaled that up to over 460 million, while finding problems in the original code, fixing them and sending patches back to really smart people in top places.
Guess who, over the last unhappy week, diverted his attention to this and kicked that up a notch to now handle 2+ billion.
Guess who can now run really really really complicated problems, fast, while snickering at those who cannot.

Guess who is beyond glowing.
Guess who felt he probably did all this to negate being as sad.

Guess who feels guilty it did negate a large portion of it.

Baby’s got blue skies up ahead
But in this I�m a rain cloud
You know she needs a dry kind of love
Oh oh oh, the sweetest thing

I�m losing you
I�m losing you
Ain’t love the sweetest thing

I have done a lot I am not particularly proud of over the past few days. I don’t know what I was thinking or what I hoped to achieve. I’ve been feeling horrid, but I deserve to be this way. I have been doing nothing but causing sadness to the one person I want to see happy more than anything I want in this world. I don’t have the right to do any of this. Right now, I know it would crush me if it were so, but I almost wish I didn’t mean enough to warrant such emotion. At least my stupidity wouldn’t be hurtful.

The more I behave like this, the more I push her away, the more distant she behaves, the more hurt I get, the more I tend to react this way, …

There is almost no line separating ‘fighting to get back what you feel you lost’ and ‘actually losing it while behaving like an insensitive clod fighting to get back what you feel you lost’. I’ve unknowingly crossed it a long time ago.

Saying ‘glass screeching while being scratched does not realize it is hurting the lens cleaner’ does not cut it. I am not glass. I have a brain.

I hate my brain. I hate it.

I fished up. Big time. I feel horrid. My tummy is all quesy. I really am a mean person.

I am not risking croaking here in this state. I chose to do something different elsewhere. I cannot hurt or sadden anyone that way.

Now to go home and toss and turn. I deserve that too. What is wrong with me?

Today was an exceptionally amazing day. Oh my god am I happy. But you do realize it is not going to last don’t you? I mean, I do, so I am going to be exceptionally amazingly happy and that’s that. We take our temporally happy phases seriously.

When we get them that is.

So you run along and have a great day too.

Update: Hmm. So much for that. I just found out my brother broke his phone.

And his leg. Hmm.

I will keep coming back to this at different points of time because screaming into space is strangely therapeutic. If what I say bothers you, don’t read it. Just leave. I need this and you know it.

How much can you let someone’s actions take away from you? I mean, there must be some limit, shouldn’t there? Shouldn’t our happy-peaceful places be sacred and untouchable? When is it that a person opens up those places to be routed too? When was it that I opened up those places to be routed? Where then can you go in your head when you need peace anymore?

In the beginning, it was the small things. At first, I couldn’t see movies in theater any more. Sure, big deal, I could live without that. Then I found out more, and now, I cannot sit down and watch them at home as well. But then again, they were just movies. Not particularly a big portion of my life. It bothered me, but not particularly so. These weren’t related to my happy-places. Their loss was noticed, but not mourned. Hey, I now found stand up comedy. It’s orders of magnitude cooler. Really.

And then things evolved. Things were hitting closer to home. Closer to regions that shouldn’t have been touched. We were now tiptoeing into music. I never realized I was that weak that I needed these things to keep me comforted when there was nothing else to lean on. That my happy places were functions of external stimuli. That I wasn’t self sufficient when it came to retaining my state of peace.

Again, it started of small. Random bands I liked, no loved, but did not need. I can’t stand to listen to them or even think about them anymore. But again, such losses are bearable. And then, it really hits. The only band’s music that has mattered to me. They have the most nonsensical lyrics. They lack talent. They’re stupid, always in trouble and obnoxious. None of that matters. Their “noise” calmed me. I’ve felt that way since I heard bootlegged copies of demo tapes before they had major labels backing them and copies of gigs in pubs. It was their music. Now, with events, I cannot stand some of their stuff. I’ve lost that. Too. They do not calm me when they used to be able to.

How hard is it for someone to see how much things they say and do can affect you? How hard is it for me to see I shouldn’t be affected so easily?

I wonder how she’d be if another woman read me lines from poems by her favorite poets, ones she didn’t read me, and I am affected by it. It didn’t have to mean anything. Just me excitedly describing it to her.

What is it with me huh? I am the most rational guy I know. I am cold, calculated, sane. I am realistic. I am more than realistic, I am pessimistic. Where is there room for the heart? Where is there room for hanging on to threads of hope? Why the hell should the heart have a say when it is all so clear in my head? At what point did it start having a say? Why am I doing this to me? Am I happier hurting me? Do I relish pain? At what point of time did I change?

When did I start listening to what it was saying. All body parts have strict duties. The brain does the thinking, and the heart does what it does best, pump blood around my body. When did I forget that? What is this obsession with things that cannot be realized?

I spoke to her and was so calm. I had accepted eventualities. At first she was “drawn” to him. Now she’s “very drawn” to him. I doubt if it can be called love, but does that matter? My brain tells me “Now hear this, all body and soul, please remember you will always mean a whole lot to her. Her feelings or lack of for other people doesn’t discount what she feels toward you”. At which point I was extremely happy, and peaceful.

I honestly believed I was all fine. I believed we were good again.

And then it hits. A tidal wave of emotion. I hear bits and pieces of news. I hear from her she’s happy with him. I hear how I cannot do that anymore. It’s not always what I hear. It is how I hear it. How excited she is. How excited.. his actions makes her. I know I am not supposed to feel displaced. I know events don’t have to kick feelings to magically higher levels. I know all this. But they can. I cannot bear it now, when she is here to tell me over and over how much more important I am. Or how much more I mean to her. How will I take it when I finally have to face it someday? Listen you, he means more now, get over it.

I know her better than anyone ever can. I know more about her than anyone ever will. All of this works the other way too. We don’t even need to talk at points because it’s redundant. We just know what is in the other’s head. So much of what I hear from her now is she mirroring what I’ve told her over so long. We’ve felt one at points of time. I understand her life issues has me put in second place before I even started the race.

I know so much. I understand so much. I am not “losing” anything. We’re still the closest. I still matter a great deal to her. Why do I have to go through so much pain? How is it that my brain can tell me one thing, and the stupid heart decides it still has a googol unresolved feelings? Can’t it just get no means no? Can’t it realize she didn’t use me until the next best thing showed up? How can I even think that of her?

I wish I were fast enough to resolve this before he showed up. I wish I weren’t so far away.

If I were some romantic, none of this would be a bother. That would be how I saw and felt things. I am not. I am sane and rational.

What is it with rationality these days? What is it with me?

Under most normal circumstances, I would have cracked up every single time I heard the woman say it, but I was having a very hard time trying to laugh.

This is about my trip earlier this week to a performance of the vagina monologues. There are a bunch of reasons I didn’t write about this earlier. The biggest being life. Life is messed up, and I’ve never experienced a bigger creativity (or even just enthusiasm) zapper. I’ve just been feeling sluggish and in general, disinterested. The me I was before I morphed for a little while.

Anyway, braving along.

It all started a little while ago when I was walking past one of these ticket selling places, and I saw the little pamphlet sized poster for this act. You know, the one with the dominatrix leather boot thing, with the words “Vagina Monologues” on it. Hmm.. talking genitalia? I have to admit I had no clue what I was getting myself into. I am quite the connoisseur of the stand up comic, and for the most part assumed it was “just another show”. A good one, but nothing out of the ordinary. On to that later. So there I was, near the ticket stand and lil miss I’m so cute you have to buy a ticket was there too.

How often are you going to get a chance to use the word vagina in a conversation with a perfect stranger, and use that as humour material getting her to giggle without being slapped? Not too often, I just HAD to. Needless to say, I now had tickets to the show. And not just that, somehow the rest of it seems to be a blur, but I was now also watching Artemesia (the tale of a defiant and provocative woman artist in the 1600s!) and Kill Bill (I could describe it, but “blood”, should about cover it).

Yes, being a guy is kinda like trading brains with an imbecile, only worse. Anyway, on to the show.

Firstly, a good portion of the show wasn’t even a monologue. They weren’t even dialogues. There were so many women on stage during so many parts, even multilogues won’t cut it. And firstly (there are two firstlies, a tie) I’ve never been at a place with 2000 people or whatever with a 1:100 ratio of men to women. It was a good weird.

Initially, it felt just weird. For a long time, I didn’t see a guy. And I mean a really long time. I wasn’t being overly stared at, but I didn’t want to be some weirdo roaming around where I shouldn’t have been or some such. In a little bit, after I counted 3 or so more men, I realized I wouldn’t be stoned or however it is this half of the species deal with intruders. It rather quickly dawned on me (actually, a lot later than a normal person, but saying “quickly” makes me feel smart, and I will stick to quickly) that this wasn’t about comedy at all.

This was a front for educating people about (and attempting to end) violence against women and girls. A very very dark and disturbing theme, yet a noble cause. It was, at points of time a little too much for me to handle. I mean, in my world, the one in my head?, none of such evil exists. It took some convincing to get me to actually try to have a little fun and not puke.

Some stuff was actually quite funny. But you never really could laugh laugh, given the undertone screaming gang rapes, date rapes, genital mutilation, incest, brutality, sex trafficking, … and strangely enough … melted faces. I don’t know if it is the war, but somehow there were a lot of references to melted faces when bombs are dropped. Now, I am as compassionate and understanding as the next person, BUT THAT ISN’T SPECIFIC TO WOMEN. There would have been as many, or probably more men and boys who lost their faces to explosives too. Men don’t have magical flame retardant faces or something.

I originally planned to describe the show itself in g(l)ory(ious) detail, but I’ve chosen a different (and yes, obviously easier) approach. I’ve linked to an MP3 [3.24 MB] for a sneak peek, incase you HAVE TO EXPERIENCE THIS NOW. This was one of the relatively “funny” ones. There was this one hilarious bit involving a woman detailing on stage the different stages and sorts of moaning. Basically, she was up on stage for 20 or so minutes moaning.

My favourite? The college girl moan. “Oh Oh Ooooh, I should be studying, Ohhh oh, but I..forgive me.. ooooh”. Finally, a bit where I was laughing without worrying about the ultra serious messages and facts that were being conveyed. And obviously, the other woman, who kept calling it her coochie snorcher. Like who knew? The clitoris has TWICE the nerve ending concentration as the penis, and its sole purpose is to please the woman. Sheesh. Some halves of the species have all the luck.

(Obligatory, yet moot question. I am not equipped to answer it, but that’s never stopped me before.)
If my vagina could talk what would it say?
Umm… “Good god almighty! I can TALK.”?

I don’t know what it is, but the term vagina warrior keeps conjuring up the image of Xena, the warrior princess in my head. On a more serious note, you probably ought to check out their sites and how to help them if you happen to have this random piggy bank in your heart in which you store all those “I must give back so much to the world today” coins. Now is your chance. Make that huge withdrawal.

And yes, I just have to say it again, coooooochie snorcher.
You know you want to too. Go ahead.

Coooochie snorcher.

I made some “me time” a little while ago to just get out and clear my head. It isn’t too much clearer, but I noticed the sunset and now slowly beginning to melt snow seemed happy together, in their little orange world. I took multiple pictures at various points during this period, and I am posting one, for now.

Clickey Clickey.

It wasn’t the “best” picture in the set by a longshot. I just like cool haloey effect caused by manual exposure setting to over a 3^rd of a second.