I know that you have to know what you want so that the Universe can correctly fill your order in a timely fashion. I also know that when you aren't specific you run the risk of getting the left overs from the last cosmic firesale, a grab bag of neurosis. Doesn't that then impede the mystics favorite toy Serendipity?
We draw lines in the sand all the time. There are boundaries that show respect. There are boundaries that dare us to be bold and step up for a smackdown. These we must approach with caution because pain isn't fun. I get that. I TOTALLY get that. But then there are lines that we draw for protection that isolate us from good things as well as bad. I think back to no pic guy and I am sad for him. His whole profile is guarded. he is afraid of being trampled on. As I have said before people suck. There is no constraint to the ability people have to suck. Sucking transcends race, religion, political affiliation and famlily ties. He wants a good Jewish girl because she won't turn on him. Why can't a Jewish girl turn? She's still a girl. It isn't her religion and the depth of her faith. It's the quality of her person. I would say it's in her sign. I am an Aquarius. You'd have to beat me black and blue and break a few ribs at least twice to make me turn on you because I am as loyal as a dog that could love even Hitler. I keep coming back for more. Which would be why had such a hard time recovering from the 10 year reunion incident.
If ACG had kept to his no pics rule then I wouldn't have a great blogging buddy that also thinks Animaniacs surpasses Bugs Bunny. (I inferred that. I may have been mistaken.) I would still be a disconnected geek lurking on Wheaton's blog and trying to connect with other posters. Which I still do. But only becausee I feel the calling for all geeks to unite. (We will take over the earth. It might be a burned out shell but it will be ours.) And if I had responded to him as I had the Brit and No pics guy then I too would have lost some one truly wonderful. I don't know where it goes from here. But at least there is a somewhere to go.
And isn't that the point of living? To get some where with a bunch of some ones?
Saturday, August 9, 2008
with permission...
Awesome Chicago Guys says he doesn't mind being subject to my blog and thus the subject rendered moot is now back on the table for discussion. But I still feel a little weird about it. I mean, it's one thing to write about Verta and Liz and our classes because we are learning to help others and ourselves. There is always a chance that we will learn something between all the laughing that will help a reader...crap!
I guess that may also be the point in discussing ACG. Everyone needs help with something sometime. others have trod the path with which I struggle. Usually I turn to Sting lyrics for comfort, instruction or solace. And lately, as Karen and I talk in the real world about real world issues, we've helped each other. We aren't as alone as we think we are. I am beginning to remember that. We learn or we die. And ACG is either going to be a really awesome permanent part of my life in some as yet undetermined capacity or a temporary learning experience. I am hoping it is permanent.
I know there's that mantra. It was a balm for sore heart muscles. It was a bandage for a bruised wallet and a soothing lavender bath for a troubled ego. But it isn't a good mantra because it doesn't add anything to my life. Rather, it kept much from my life. Mantra's are supposed to expand one's world and awareness not constrict them. I also know that it is too soon to know how this is going to play out. There are options that i never would have considered possible until i started blogging. Blog buddies; the kind of friends that can kibbutz and commiserate when there is a kafaffel; creative sounding board; friends that can't be separated no matter how far apart; we could hook up; we could date for a few months/years; we could end up Kurt and Goldie or Newman and Woodward. I don't know.
But there is something in this that speaks to permanence. And there is something in this that says you can't draw a lot of lines in the sand without eventually boxing yourself in. Or drawing a bulls eye for you enemy.
I guess that may also be the point in discussing ACG. Everyone needs help with something sometime. others have trod the path with which I struggle. Usually I turn to Sting lyrics for comfort, instruction or solace. And lately, as Karen and I talk in the real world about real world issues, we've helped each other. We aren't as alone as we think we are. I am beginning to remember that. We learn or we die. And ACG is either going to be a really awesome permanent part of my life in some as yet undetermined capacity or a temporary learning experience. I am hoping it is permanent.
I know there's that mantra. It was a balm for sore heart muscles. It was a bandage for a bruised wallet and a soothing lavender bath for a troubled ego. But it isn't a good mantra because it doesn't add anything to my life. Rather, it kept much from my life. Mantra's are supposed to expand one's world and awareness not constrict them. I also know that it is too soon to know how this is going to play out. There are options that i never would have considered possible until i started blogging. Blog buddies; the kind of friends that can kibbutz and commiserate when there is a kafaffel; creative sounding board; friends that can't be separated no matter how far apart; we could hook up; we could date for a few months/years; we could end up Kurt and Goldie or Newman and Woodward. I don't know.
But there is something in this that speaks to permanence. And there is something in this that says you can't draw a lot of lines in the sand without eventually boxing yourself in. Or drawing a bulls eye for you enemy.
More to woot about
August 7th
- Officially an employee at [redacted] with rumors that we will be participating in a wellness program with the goal of slimming down and toning up.
- blog gets it first comments
August 8th
- Liz wants to trade shiny rocks for computer lessons
- on Green Lake with friends
Thursday, August 7, 2008
the Great Freedom Debate
I am considering offering my brothera buy out to jump start my new life that I am growing ever impatient to grab. I'll take a settlement and recuse my right to the rest. Think that'll work?
Crossing fingers...
Crossing fingers...
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
So my nerves are rattled how about yours.
I've been telling Verta that she would have to get onto my blog just to see how easy it is. I knew she would never do it so I wasn't worried. But now, I have made friends with someone who either has been to/will be to/or is here now. And now I feel like I have stage fright. There isn't anything that I should be embarrassed about. It's all just life. But from this point on I have a potential audience.
There are not enough Scooby snacks to get through this adventure. Or... I hate Heisenberg. I wish I were as calm and sophisticated as I imagine most writers to be.
There are not enough Scooby snacks to get through this adventure. Or... I hate Heisenberg. I wish I were as calm and sophisticated as I imagine most writers to be.
Woot again
Okay... Shy guy outside of Chicago turns out to be really awesome. Yea him! It also turns out that he will alter my writing. It's Heisenberg at work. [And if I put the wrong guy with the principle of observation I will lose geek points.] Anyway... he is totally cool. And now totally off limits as a topic. That makes it sound like he was a topic to start with. No one is a topic. the subject was online dating.
And now the subject is moot.
And now the subject is moot.
Why Wheaton?
To begin, I don't have a crush on him. We're nearly the same age and I almost never have a crush on anyone I could have gone to school with. James Frain being the exception to the rule. The new bearded Wil looks so much like my brother that Freud would resurrect himself and be uber disturbed on many levels. The BFD with Wil is manifold.
Firstly, he is a spokesperson for reinvention. I know... believe me with Madonna in town for Film Fest Four I've heard it all. I'm not talking about ways to stay in the public eye. And maybe she doesn't do it for that reason, how would I know? How would any of us know? And there is where Wil is cool. We know. We know because he shares. It isn't the buy my next [insert project description here] sharing that draws us and keeps us. It's deeper. It's life's changes deeper.
Rather than beat down Hollywood's doors screaming "I am somebody!"- get depressed when it doesn't work and go on a child actor crime spree- he looked at who he was, sedately turned on a computer and there he is so many years later telling us about ourselves. Some days he sucks as a writer just like we do. Some days he he beats technology; some days it kicks his ass just like us. Some days he's living the dream [insert your dream here] just like us and some days he's just a guy just like us. He does this blog thing that is brave, scary in scope and depth and encouraging.
Wil doesn't tell people what to believe. He tells us what he believes... agree or don't we are all still welcome. And that's the second thing I like about Wil.
As the leader of the club that's made for you and me as opposed to clubs designed for the club leader, there is no double secret password, secret handshake or a bouncer checking his clipboard. Everyone is welcome. Wil is "just a guy... you know." He puts himself out there and whoever wants to participate can. There are no exclusions, provisos or quid pro quo's [Genie, Aladdin]. He just insists "don't be a dick." Dicks exclude themselves because they can't handle the acceptance. We are a club in many ways, family in others. We are bound by something bigger than Wil Wheaton who used to be on ST:TNG. We are bound by a common quality intrinsic to each of our beings: geekhood. Wil is the forum, not the source. He is the springboard and we dive right into the pool. he acknowledges this not so much by statement of fact but almost exclusively by consenting to being a flawed, vulnerable and concerned human being. He is amazingly open with that vulnerability and yet manages to preserve his family's privacy.
Thirdly, Wil Wheaton is just plain cool. He likes what I likes. Maybe its that i likes what he likes. Dunno. But given my incredible shrinking personal realm in the real world and the frightening realization that my brother (my own personal Lore) almost succeeded in getting me to abdicate my Trekkie status, thus subjugating my geek, Wil is home. In all things geek, Wil is encouragement to be what I am because that's what I am best.
Resistance is NOT futile. Difficult and fraught with inner turmoil and nightmares? Yes! Futile? NO! Wil resisted the stereotypes when the world dismissed Wesley Crusher. What, no- who, he's become is the best Wil he can be. By sharing his life he encourages me to be my best within my circumstance and then to always strive to be more. Wil is my travel buddy, keeping me awake behind the wheel even though he is just as tired as I am.
Firstly, he is a spokesperson for reinvention. I know... believe me with Madonna in town for Film Fest Four I've heard it all. I'm not talking about ways to stay in the public eye. And maybe she doesn't do it for that reason, how would I know? How would any of us know? And there is where Wil is cool. We know. We know because he shares. It isn't the buy my next [insert project description here] sharing that draws us and keeps us. It's deeper. It's life's changes deeper.
Rather than beat down Hollywood's doors screaming "I am somebody!"- get depressed when it doesn't work and go on a child actor crime spree- he looked at who he was, sedately turned on a computer and there he is so many years later telling us about ourselves. Some days he sucks as a writer just like we do. Some days he he beats technology; some days it kicks his ass just like us. Some days he's living the dream [insert your dream here] just like us and some days he's just a guy just like us. He does this blog thing that is brave, scary in scope and depth and encouraging.
Wil doesn't tell people what to believe. He tells us what he believes... agree or don't we are all still welcome. And that's the second thing I like about Wil.
As the leader of the club that's made for you and me as opposed to clubs designed for the club leader, there is no double secret password, secret handshake or a bouncer checking his clipboard. Everyone is welcome. Wil is "just a guy... you know." He puts himself out there and whoever wants to participate can. There are no exclusions, provisos or quid pro quo's [Genie, Aladdin]. He just insists "don't be a dick." Dicks exclude themselves because they can't handle the acceptance. We are a club in many ways, family in others. We are bound by something bigger than Wil Wheaton who used to be on ST:TNG. We are bound by a common quality intrinsic to each of our beings: geekhood. Wil is the forum, not the source. He is the springboard and we dive right into the pool. he acknowledges this not so much by statement of fact but almost exclusively by consenting to being a flawed, vulnerable and concerned human being. He is amazingly open with that vulnerability and yet manages to preserve his family's privacy.
Thirdly, Wil Wheaton is just plain cool. He likes what I likes. Maybe its that i likes what he likes. Dunno. But given my incredible shrinking personal realm in the real world and the frightening realization that my brother (my own personal Lore) almost succeeded in getting me to abdicate my Trekkie status, thus subjugating my geek, Wil is home. In all things geek, Wil is encouragement to be what I am because that's what I am best.
Resistance is NOT futile. Difficult and fraught with inner turmoil and nightmares? Yes! Futile? NO! Wil resisted the stereotypes when the world dismissed Wesley Crusher. What, no- who, he's become is the best Wil he can be. By sharing his life he encourages me to be my best within my circumstance and then to always strive to be more. Wil is my travel buddy, keeping me awake behind the wheel even though he is just as tired as I am.
What Hoagland said
Mars has:
- water
- ice
- petrified trees
- monuments
One of these things NASA denies.
Richard C. Hoagland was Walter Cronkite's space expert in the early 70's. He has continued to pound on the desks of some pretty big space and aeronautics giants to get them to tell the truth about what is out there, where we come from and just what the hell they are planning to do about it. NASA has rigged photos and buried documents that they couldn't steal out right just to keep everyone in the dark. Enterprise Mission is Hoagland's continuing journey to seek out new life, past civilizations and to boldly disclose what no one has disclosed before...
We are the Martians.
Yeah, join my brother by signing the petition to commit me to the nearest asylum. But ask yourself this... if Hoagland was right about water, ice and trees... why can't he be right about the rest? Those things have been relegated to Vernesque fantasy for as long as astronomers have had telescopes but the Rovers have proven them wrong. Let's take a giant step outside our minds. [Monkees]
I also notice that I don't address some things head on, but let the reader wonder
So here's a list of things I will address in the near future:
- Wil Wheaton's importance in Geekdom, this blog and my inner life in general
- Michelle Ward's influence on my art
- What is happening in studio
- a psuedo ode to Mellencamp with a look at the economic impact on my small town
- things I left out of the initial list making process... like Mellencamp
- personal mottoes
Wonder no more!
Tempted to write over the top instead of honest...Bad Author! Bad!
So now I have this idea in my head that I should keep hard copy of my blog posts, sorting into categories, organizing thoughts, footnoting entries and trying to clarify some murky logic with a"Best of" edition in mind. I do have more of a self conscious approach to this today. Last night I was pretty geeked (surprise!) by my concept. Now, I feel fumble-fingered and uncertain. But here's the plan... well the purpose of the plan. I hope to learn to be a CONSCIOUS writer not a SELF-CONSCIOUS writer.
Yes, Virginia, there is a difference. In self consciousness there is still the stream of thought writing with only intermittent meaning beyond the author's pen. It tends to be disorganized and tangential. In a blog, this requires many many more labels than the stream lined Conscious approach. For instance, I noticed that while I follow many interests I have left, in the post, many open brackets. While I have written in earnestness, I have not followed the clues in my own writing to a satisfactory end. I am abrupt and leave much out that could be interesting. Admittedly, that was due to a misunderstanding of window size in the drafting phase more than my thought process. But an expanded understanding didn't lead to better writing. If I write consciously I can get more meaning for the amount of words I use rather than ramble. This is the soul of wit. Of course, sometimes rambling is fun... it is just inefficient.
Unconscious writing doesn't lead to an end. I know, if I get to the end of the blog, I've gotten to the end of my life. That isn't what I mean. I mean that I get to the end of a point with the option of returning to the start via well trod path instead of reaching the end by falling off the end of my point and drowning in inky black blueness. [Part of Pyramid point dropped into lake Michigan a few years ago. see Good Harbor Bay]
Yes, Virginia, there is a difference. In self consciousness there is still the stream of thought writing with only intermittent meaning beyond the author's pen. It tends to be disorganized and tangential. In a blog, this requires many many more labels than the stream lined Conscious approach. For instance, I noticed that while I follow many interests I have left, in the post, many open brackets. While I have written in earnestness, I have not followed the clues in my own writing to a satisfactory end. I am abrupt and leave much out that could be interesting. Admittedly, that was due to a misunderstanding of window size in the drafting phase more than my thought process. But an expanded understanding didn't lead to better writing. If I write consciously I can get more meaning for the amount of words I use rather than ramble. This is the soul of wit. Of course, sometimes rambling is fun... it is just inefficient.
Unconscious writing doesn't lead to an end. I know, if I get to the end of the blog, I've gotten to the end of my life. That isn't what I mean. I mean that I get to the end of a point with the option of returning to the start via well trod path instead of reaching the end by falling off the end of my point and drowning in inky black blueness. [Part of Pyramid point dropped into lake Michigan a few years ago. see Good Harbor Bay]
More to Woot! aboot, eh?
Yep... in very good mood.
- Still squeeing about yesterday's second to my nomination of Matt Beck as t-shirt design guru #1.
- Chicago guy congratulated me on avoidance tactics re: photo downloads, AND said I'd made MacGyver proud. Two woots for him.
- Self doubt and over-reacting on the paranoid side of things is no good for anyone.
Why does that realization mean anything a good mood? Maybe now I won't have to have as many bad moods with that bit of knowledge tucked into my utility belt.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Submitted for your approval...
A concept that Wil inspired. He's writing and intro for Scalzi's best of his blog book. Which got me to thinking. How will I look back at a years worth of blog entries? How will I follow my trains of thought without derailing them mid journey? How will I keep up with them and be able to do that overview thing without too much fatigue?
I will have to keep a running best of list going so that I can do something with best of.
Why?
Um because...
Who cares what your best of is?
I do. I want to see what progress I am making. First to see if my goals are kept or to trace the changes. Second to see how my writing improves or diminishes. Third... because someday I am going to have to be held accountable to what I've written. Someday, when I have a site as cool as Michelle's I will want to know what came before.
I don't have children that I can make scrap books for. Asa single person the only people who will care decades down the road are my nieces and nephews who will want to see outside of their parents world to have a clearer picture of what was happening. I want a record that says I am not a total screw up. I also have people in my life right now, whom I feel as close to as the "cool aunt" I could have been to Morgan, but with the added benefit of being a friend and co-worker. To them, I am something like Mrs. Garrett (see Facts of Life). This is for them in our new tech age.
I will have to keep a running best of list going so that I can do something with best of.
Why?
Um because...
Who cares what your best of is?
I do. I want to see what progress I am making. First to see if my goals are kept or to trace the changes. Second to see how my writing improves or diminishes. Third... because someday I am going to have to be held accountable to what I've written. Someday, when I have a site as cool as Michelle's I will want to know what came before.
I don't have children that I can make scrap books for. Asa single person the only people who will care decades down the road are my nieces and nephews who will want to see outside of their parents world to have a clearer picture of what was happening. I want a record that says I am not a total screw up. I also have people in my life right now, whom I feel as close to as the "cool aunt" I could have been to Morgan, but with the added benefit of being a friend and co-worker. To them, I am something like Mrs. Garrett (see Facts of Life). This is for them in our new tech age.
Befuddled
An incident, similar to an RBI in effect but originating from an entirely different source, occurred ten years ago. I wouldn't be thinking about it except that as a human being, anniversaries do that to you. They make you think and remember. So ten years ago there is a thing that happens that is like a star going nova in the vicinity of a planetary system called me, a planet called my heart. Having advanced no further in advanced planetary and solar monitoring systems than our own Earth is now, I had no choice but to watch the resultant shock wave approach. When the graviton wave reached the atmosphere, all the oxygen burned off and then the planet cracked, charred and in classic Warner fashion, disintegrated into a pile of cinders. Oops.
In the course of this cosmic disaster, I lost two best friends, unconnected with a friend I had just connected with and bore the brunt of misdirected and unjustified anger because someone had lied 12 years earlier.
My heart, that disintegrated pile of cinders, never reconstituted itself like Wylie Coyote. The event that caused the solar implosion was my detection and the confrontation of the person who lied. I had thought there would be a sorry and we would go our own way or move forward together. But I was dismissed. In writing. In no uncertain terms. And the devastation has been great.
But now, with a 20 year reunion looming, the liar, the accomplice and the counselor credited with the death of a dwarf star wish me what they describe as heartfelt wishes for my happiness and good health along with the desire to see me... dare I apply the quote?... live long and prosper. I have not prospered. I have contrived to orient my life to the beliefs of those around me... even the ones who dismissed me so brutally. I only realized it within the realm of the blog and the work I am doing with Verta. They left me. Brutally left. I have not prospered. I have not been happy. I have felt like I have not deserved any of what they have all wished for me this past month because they have told me that I could not deserve it. I kept their secrets. I did not try to reveal the truth even to expunge the lie and remove the stain of it from my person.
I don't want to go and endure the same taunts and ridicules as last time. The lie is still in place. It is now an epic tale of deceit and sorrow, a legend among the people of my youth. I am still stained. And the innocent still strive to protect themselves and the victim from the lie that wears my guise. I do not want to go, continuing to bear an other's guilt. But I have no voice. These decades of silence will not be undone in a night. Those who convivially invite me now were those who destroyed me then. How do I trust? How do I know that I am safe from another form of torture? What have they planned for this event?
I know it's melodramatic to portray it thus. But I can't be more vague and tell the story. As it is, it only sounds like a treatment for a new fantasy movie. The fantasy is that I go, I tell, I am forgiven, he takes me back and renounces those who lied to him. Then they plead forgiveness and mercy. If I were heartless, I would not give it. But real life won't go like my fantasy. And perhaps that is what I want... the fantasy of setting the world right. I want to be the Reconstituter of Dead Planets, not the Eater of Souls that I have been portrayed as.
But I am still befuddled. I was told by these people who want to see me at the reunion to step off. I have it, as I said, in writing. There could be no more language plainer than "We are through forever." And now they wonder that I have been so silent. Why do they want me now? Is it just to feel like the reunion has accomplished something? If they cared wouldn't they have changed their minds by now? Why would a reunion make so much difference in so strongly held an opinion?
And why do I care still? It's been 22 years since the plot the lie wrote came to its painful climax, 24 since the lie was conceived and its course set in motion. Isn't that enough time to get over someone? Isn't it time I let this whole thing go?
Freud said that we are never more profoundly unhappy (depressed) than when we lose love. The lie had many participants, friends and family, friends that I held closer to my bosom than family. And not one person I knew then has ever acknowledged the truth. That means that I cannot employ any of my digits when counting the people I could trust then or do trust now. How do you recover from that? How do you get over that?
In the course of this cosmic disaster, I lost two best friends, unconnected with a friend I had just connected with and bore the brunt of misdirected and unjustified anger because someone had lied 12 years earlier.
My heart, that disintegrated pile of cinders, never reconstituted itself like Wylie Coyote. The event that caused the solar implosion was my detection and the confrontation of the person who lied. I had thought there would be a sorry and we would go our own way or move forward together. But I was dismissed. In writing. In no uncertain terms. And the devastation has been great.
But now, with a 20 year reunion looming, the liar, the accomplice and the counselor credited with the death of a dwarf star wish me what they describe as heartfelt wishes for my happiness and good health along with the desire to see me... dare I apply the quote?... live long and prosper. I have not prospered. I have contrived to orient my life to the beliefs of those around me... even the ones who dismissed me so brutally. I only realized it within the realm of the blog and the work I am doing with Verta. They left me. Brutally left. I have not prospered. I have not been happy. I have felt like I have not deserved any of what they have all wished for me this past month because they have told me that I could not deserve it. I kept their secrets. I did not try to reveal the truth even to expunge the lie and remove the stain of it from my person.
I don't want to go and endure the same taunts and ridicules as last time. The lie is still in place. It is now an epic tale of deceit and sorrow, a legend among the people of my youth. I am still stained. And the innocent still strive to protect themselves and the victim from the lie that wears my guise. I do not want to go, continuing to bear an other's guilt. But I have no voice. These decades of silence will not be undone in a night. Those who convivially invite me now were those who destroyed me then. How do I trust? How do I know that I am safe from another form of torture? What have they planned for this event?
I know it's melodramatic to portray it thus. But I can't be more vague and tell the story. As it is, it only sounds like a treatment for a new fantasy movie. The fantasy is that I go, I tell, I am forgiven, he takes me back and renounces those who lied to him. Then they plead forgiveness and mercy. If I were heartless, I would not give it. But real life won't go like my fantasy. And perhaps that is what I want... the fantasy of setting the world right. I want to be the Reconstituter of Dead Planets, not the Eater of Souls that I have been portrayed as.
But I am still befuddled. I was told by these people who want to see me at the reunion to step off. I have it, as I said, in writing. There could be no more language plainer than "We are through forever." And now they wonder that I have been so silent. Why do they want me now? Is it just to feel like the reunion has accomplished something? If they cared wouldn't they have changed their minds by now? Why would a reunion make so much difference in so strongly held an opinion?
And why do I care still? It's been 22 years since the plot the lie wrote came to its painful climax, 24 since the lie was conceived and its course set in motion. Isn't that enough time to get over someone? Isn't it time I let this whole thing go?
Freud said that we are never more profoundly unhappy (depressed) than when we lose love. The lie had many participants, friends and family, friends that I held closer to my bosom than family. And not one person I knew then has ever acknowledged the truth. That means that I cannot employ any of my digits when counting the people I could trust then or do trust now. How do you recover from that? How do you get over that?
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!
I do not blog for kudos. I do not post comments on other people's sites for validation. But today, I was cruising back through some comments at the last post I commented on. Wil did not respond to anything I wrote. The "rookie Wesley mistake" comment regarding the Rock Band Incident(forever known now as an RBI which will stand in for "anything that you would normally do without dire consequences which produces, for reasons known only to Fates and Muses, unexpected dire consequences and instills paranoia surrounding future attempts at repeating same said action without dire consequences) might have been in rather bad taste. I had a few qualms about posting it but... in the name of Humor I command thee speak. I spoke.
Meanwhile back in the hall of justice:
Matt Beck photo shopped a pic from a Public Appearance. I commented on said photo in an attempt to redeem myself. Today, nearly a week later, I return to the site, read the follow up posts and find that I was snipped!
Someone took a part of my post and made a comment of their own. And agreed with me!
We now have two votes for Matt Beck's photo shopped poster as the next Wheaton tee. It was too much to expect that the GMGoHO himself would respond. But... another of his minions agrees with me. And I was snipped which is the same as quoted. My elation is rising to the same heights as having Somerset Studio publish my work. That is something to WOOOOOT about.
Yes, I just squeed
Meanwhile back in the hall of justice:
Matt Beck photo shopped a pic from a Public Appearance. I commented on said photo in an attempt to redeem myself. Today, nearly a week later, I return to the site, read the follow up posts and find that I was snipped!
Someone took a part of my post and made a comment of their own. And agreed with me!
We now have two votes for Matt Beck's photo shopped poster as the next Wheaton tee. It was too much to expect that the GMGoHO himself would respond. But... another of his minions agrees with me. And I was snipped which is the same as quoted. My elation is rising to the same heights as having Somerset Studio publish my work. That is something to WOOOOOT about.
Yes, I just squeed
And then there was one...
[redacted], could have sworn he said he wrote.
I don't know what I want for sure from these guys. But this one I do want for a friend at the very least. He has a great sense of humor. And he can change his mind or clarify something that was murky without waiting for an invitation. I haven't decided to give up on the idea of dating sites. But I think I should at least temper my expectations with a modicum of realism. Notice that I didn't say "reality"? There is a reason.
We aren't dealing with reality. We are dealing with perception. And that is everything (with apologies to Einstein who thinks imagination is everything) in this instance. Much like a painting, it is what the artist intends for you to know that is revealed in the oeuvre. And artists want the viewer to see only what they see or perceive. It was one of the reasons that Impressionism was so startling and difficult to accept. Monet had vision problems late in his life. He couldn't see everything. And he didn't want you to see what he saw. Then you would have known he was almost blind. Lack of vision is the artist's bane. It would have killed his career.
So what does a person put in their profile? What do they leave out? What are you supposed to perceive? And what is in the other hand? A profile writer is an illusionist and often not a good one. Rather than craft an astonishing magnum opus that leaves us breathless as an audience, the author of that profile is frantically trying to get you to look at something other than the fluttering bird feathers littering the stage (see the Prestige). What perception have I created with my profile? What do I see when I view someone else's?
I dunno.
I don't know what I want for sure from these guys. But this one I do want for a friend at the very least. He has a great sense of humor. And he can change his mind or clarify something that was murky without waiting for an invitation. I haven't decided to give up on the idea of dating sites. But I think I should at least temper my expectations with a modicum of realism. Notice that I didn't say "reality"? There is a reason.
We aren't dealing with reality. We are dealing with perception. And that is everything (with apologies to Einstein who thinks imagination is everything) in this instance. Much like a painting, it is what the artist intends for you to know that is revealed in the oeuvre. And artists want the viewer to see only what they see or perceive. It was one of the reasons that Impressionism was so startling and difficult to accept. Monet had vision problems late in his life. He couldn't see everything. And he didn't want you to see what he saw. Then you would have known he was almost blind. Lack of vision is the artist's bane. It would have killed his career.
So what does a person put in their profile? What do they leave out? What are you supposed to perceive? And what is in the other hand? A profile writer is an illusionist and often not a good one. Rather than craft an astonishing magnum opus that leaves us breathless as an audience, the author of that profile is frantically trying to get you to look at something other than the fluttering bird feathers littering the stage (see the Prestige). What perception have I created with my profile? What do I see when I view someone else's?
I dunno.
Wow WTF?!
I knew it could happen. I have taken a huge risk in going on line. Okay. Not huge. Not really a risk. Rejection in the real world often equates with rejection in cyberspace. It's just that in cyber space no one can hear you scream... another drawback to technology.
So I have been trying to chat with some interesting people on a singles site. Not for any real reason... liar. Okay, for all my bluster, I am tired of being alone. And I am not afraid of people, I am afraid of one person who mucks things up for me with astonishing regularity. But, I was amazed at the sound lashing that I got today.
I wrote a well crafted and eloquently gentle humorous response to someone who will not communicate with me without photos. Not even a hello. And another who won't email but wants to talk by phone after only fleeting glances at one another. I wouldn't give Adonis my phone number in a bar after two furtive glances... why would I give someone my number after two emails and no personal stuff revealed? I learn way more about posters to Wil's blog than I learn from these guys!
Angry? A little. I mean c'mon... don't all relationships start with a Q&A? How else do you know about people? Astonished? Yes, little bit more than I am angry. I would think someone of his age would know better. That's what I get for thinkin'. If I examine what I feel in any depth beyond the shallow end of a chlorinated pool, I will see that I knew this would happen.
You see, from one profile I could tell that the "no pics no prize guy" is deeply afraid of people, it doesn't help that he is on the shy side. And the "Brit" is not really different from the person he likened himself to in his profile. It is amazing the huge amounts of clues that a person gives in their profiles no matter how cleverly they believe that they have disguised themselves. And it is more astounding to me that I could have missed so many clues as to feel rejected as though Matt had just walked out on me again.
Fraser Crane I am not. But I do like to think that I have some faculty for deduction. I learned from the best though that education was (gulp) 25 years ago. After a decade of near isolation, I can see that I am a bit rusty. That did not prevent the voice of Nieve's reason from telling me that neither person was going to like what I wrote. And she was right. So now I can send another site some cash and see if that gets me anything or I can live my life skulking around Wil's blog, blogging on my own and being very much the geek I was born to be and being alone.
Nieve would like to add her voice to the chorus that just called me a cowardly chump.
Those rejections went right to my heart chakra. It was just a thump, like space debris bouncing off the hull of a great ship. The chakra is intact, unbruised, no hemorrhaging insulation, and as I knew that I was making them run I also knew that I could not have had either. "No pics" needs too many reassurances. "Brit" is too set in his ways; he's Greg not looking for Dharma. I stood no chance. And that's fine. But I do want to run from this and not try again. That is the coward's part. The chump part...
Somewhere in the part of my being that has overdosed on Hollywood sentimentality, I wanted this to be "You've got Mail." For as angry as I was that Matt would dump me because I didn't participate in the John Cusak romance movie script he wanted to act out... I wanted a Tom Hanks happy ending to my first attempt.
Chump. But still... I have only the resounding exclamation of WTF? in my head. How could this have gone so wrong so fast with so few attempts when my other profile has 187 guys waiting for me to respond? WTF!
So I have been trying to chat with some interesting people on a singles site. Not for any real reason... liar. Okay, for all my bluster, I am tired of being alone. And I am not afraid of people, I am afraid of one person who mucks things up for me with astonishing regularity. But, I was amazed at the sound lashing that I got today.
I wrote a well crafted and eloquently gentle humorous response to someone who will not communicate with me without photos. Not even a hello. And another who won't email but wants to talk by phone after only fleeting glances at one another. I wouldn't give Adonis my phone number in a bar after two furtive glances... why would I give someone my number after two emails and no personal stuff revealed? I learn way more about posters to Wil's blog than I learn from these guys!
Angry? A little. I mean c'mon... don't all relationships start with a Q&A? How else do you know about people? Astonished? Yes, little bit more than I am angry. I would think someone of his age would know better. That's what I get for thinkin'. If I examine what I feel in any depth beyond the shallow end of a chlorinated pool, I will see that I knew this would happen.
You see, from one profile I could tell that the "no pics no prize guy" is deeply afraid of people, it doesn't help that he is on the shy side. And the "Brit" is not really different from the person he likened himself to in his profile. It is amazing the huge amounts of clues that a person gives in their profiles no matter how cleverly they believe that they have disguised themselves. And it is more astounding to me that I could have missed so many clues as to feel rejected as though Matt had just walked out on me again.
Fraser Crane I am not. But I do like to think that I have some faculty for deduction. I learned from the best though that education was (gulp) 25 years ago. After a decade of near isolation, I can see that I am a bit rusty. That did not prevent the voice of Nieve's reason from telling me that neither person was going to like what I wrote. And she was right. So now I can send another site some cash and see if that gets me anything or I can live my life skulking around Wil's blog, blogging on my own and being very much the geek I was born to be and being alone.
Nieve would like to add her voice to the chorus that just called me a cowardly chump.
Those rejections went right to my heart chakra. It was just a thump, like space debris bouncing off the hull of a great ship. The chakra is intact, unbruised, no hemorrhaging insulation, and as I knew that I was making them run I also knew that I could not have had either. "No pics" needs too many reassurances. "Brit" is too set in his ways; he's Greg not looking for Dharma. I stood no chance. And that's fine. But I do want to run from this and not try again. That is the coward's part. The chump part...
Somewhere in the part of my being that has overdosed on Hollywood sentimentality, I wanted this to be "You've got Mail." For as angry as I was that Matt would dump me because I didn't participate in the John Cusak romance movie script he wanted to act out... I wanted a Tom Hanks happy ending to my first attempt.
Chump. But still... I have only the resounding exclamation of WTF? in my head. How could this have gone so wrong so fast with so few attempts when my other profile has 187 guys waiting for me to respond? WTF!
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