Monday, March 31, 2014
Last One to Finish Out the Month
Finishing out March with a pic (I only missed one day out of 34 and that one was not within my monthly obligation which makes me glad since I thought I wouldn’t last the month). I think I have one or two more pictures of me, but I’ll keep those for later when I am feeling particularly sadistic and want to inflict them upon you.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Post A-Picture-A-Day, Finishing Up March
I didn’t post a picture yesterday (because I forgot) which means it’s a good thing that my monthly obligation is over. But I still have a couple left. Therefore, I will post for the next few days until the last batch is done. And then I will see how I feel about the camera. I mean, I still hate it, but it’s not quite as repellent to me now.
This is still with the eyeliner.
Friday, March 28, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 31
I have done a picture-a-day for 31 days now and my obligation for doing it for a month is officially over. Because today is ALMOST the end of March, I’ll see if I can scrounge up a few more until March 31st and then I will have gone above and beyond my obligation.
I will debrief about the experience soon and why it won’t be a selfie-a-day-for-a-year (I am certain you are just as glad as I am, you sweet people who follow me). Until then…. officially done!
I will debrief about the experience soon and why it won’t be a selfie-a-day-for-a-year (I am certain you are just as glad as I am, you sweet people who follow me). Until then…. officially done!
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 29
Last batch. I’m sorry I don’t have anything particularly thrilling or interesting to say about these. More eyeliner. And my nose looks rather pointy here.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 28
I have been scrambling to find some more pictures. The few Orson has of me from recent times aren’t electronic (we are kind of like luddites in this household) and the old ones aren’t candidates for this, even by my own loose criteria and rule breaking tendencies.
In an effort to keep things slightly interesting for the last few pictures though, I let Phoebe but some eyeliner on me, although I think she put it on way too thick… but what do I know?
In an effort to keep things slightly interesting for the last few pictures though, I let Phoebe but some eyeliner on me, although I think she put it on way too thick… but what do I know?
Monday, March 24, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 27
This was right after Phoebe dyed my hair. And, I have a confession. This isn’t a selfie. Pheebs took it. I know. I’m cheating. But I’ve run out of pics and I need to take more or find more or something because I am not getting this close to doing it for a month only to fail. Besides, you can tell I’m pretty delighted here to finally have black hair, so I think I should be forgiven for making up the rules (or breaking them as the case may be) as I go along.
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Trouble with Eating
One of my coworkers, Sandy if you’ve been following, and I were tasked with coming up with a couple new routines for work. In order to get time to sit down together and brainstorm, the other day she suggested that we should discuss possibilities over some dinner at the local 24/7 diner after our shift ended since it was appallingly late and neither of us had the opportunity to eat prior.
I went, against the inner little nagging voice of my fears, because I have a life to live and I can’t just… not live it. I felt like having the company and, in the interest of not trying to make my life sound more glam than it ever is, I am powerfully lonely, all the time, every day, so if she had suggested going to the grocery store, running naked through a frat quad, or driving to the west coast on a whim, I probably would have done it without a moment of hesitation (although, I am quite relieved that she did not suggest running through a frat quad naked). We also had things to talk about and for a few dollars I could get a large satisfying meal that I didn’t have to cook myself. There were very few cons about accepting the invite.
Sandy knows me, knows what I look like, my peeves, my hidden snarky side. We have worked together for the past two years and occasionally I tutor her with whatever classes are the hurdle of the day (although she is incredibly intelligent, has far surpassed me in Calculus, and I’m just completely useless with her engineering courses). But the thing is, we don’t spend a lot of time together outside of work. Even the tutoring usually happens in the employee area when our shifts match up. So we haven’t actually gone anywhere or done anything in the general population like normal people. Fortunately, we both embrace the word “freak.” She is a delightful body-modification “punk-junkie” with hair more colors than a mantis shrimp can see, and a bit of an activist deeply into alternative fashion in the context of fat-positivity and love-your-body-at-any-size movements. So when I spend time with her, I feel pretty comfortable.
It was late, so I didn’t have to worry about there being a lot of people (I may live my life, but I’m still extremely self-conscious. That doesn’t go away.), but in the past-midnight hours, there are frequently belligerent inebriates and I have narrowly avoided incidents with such people a handful of times. That was all I could think of that might have been detrimental, but nothing else. And Sandy was extremely considerate about me, requesting a booth tucked away in a corner behind the cashier’s area, so that we were in a nice secluded little alcove. And even the waitress who came over was perfectly cordial to both of us.
It was when the food was brought out that I had the first germination of real anxiety.
One thing many people don’t think about when it comes to my scarring (and why would they?) is that it affects much more than mere aesthetic. The thing about my scars is someone cut my face open. And although they are mostly faded now, the suture scars along the edges of the "smile" seem to suggest that merely cutting wasn’t enough, that it was done surgically. Someone restructured my face. I don’t think there was any resulting nerve damage since my face is completely usable and sensory, but the way my face healed, the skin puckers along the incision lines. This causes constant pulling at my cheeks and lips and impedes the mobility of my face. I frequently say that I wear a "permanent smile" but not because my mouth is drawn back from my teeth in a frozen maniacal grimace to resemble an actual smile. I am clearly just scarred. But the pulling, the limited range of movement, means that trying to do anything like frowning is a painful effort. The scarring keeps my mouth fairly taut and to countermand the reconstruction of it is nearly impossible. This difficulty translates over into anything else I do with my mouth, like eating and drinking.
I hadn't considered this prior to being confronted with our meals since I had a straw in my glass of water. And when I looked at my first forkful, I had the extremely eloquent thought, "oh shit." I try to be downright dainty with my eating etiquette, tiny bites of food on the fork, nothing too messy, nothing that can leak. Around my family, I am not so conscious of my habits, but I always try to be aware of myself. And, left unchecked, watching me eat has to be fairly disgusting.
Sandy said nothing about it... not that she would. Hopefully, I was not an embarrassment although I caught myself a couple times spilling. The whole time, I just wanted to slink under the table.
If I ever mention going out to eat again, please talk me out of it. It's a really bad idea.
I went, against the inner little nagging voice of my fears, because I have a life to live and I can’t just… not live it. I felt like having the company and, in the interest of not trying to make my life sound more glam than it ever is, I am powerfully lonely, all the time, every day, so if she had suggested going to the grocery store, running naked through a frat quad, or driving to the west coast on a whim, I probably would have done it without a moment of hesitation (although, I am quite relieved that she did not suggest running through a frat quad naked). We also had things to talk about and for a few dollars I could get a large satisfying meal that I didn’t have to cook myself. There were very few cons about accepting the invite.
Sandy knows me, knows what I look like, my peeves, my hidden snarky side. We have worked together for the past two years and occasionally I tutor her with whatever classes are the hurdle of the day (although she is incredibly intelligent, has far surpassed me in Calculus, and I’m just completely useless with her engineering courses). But the thing is, we don’t spend a lot of time together outside of work. Even the tutoring usually happens in the employee area when our shifts match up. So we haven’t actually gone anywhere or done anything in the general population like normal people. Fortunately, we both embrace the word “freak.” She is a delightful body-modification “punk-junkie” with hair more colors than a mantis shrimp can see, and a bit of an activist deeply into alternative fashion in the context of fat-positivity and love-your-body-at-any-size movements. So when I spend time with her, I feel pretty comfortable.
It was late, so I didn’t have to worry about there being a lot of people (I may live my life, but I’m still extremely self-conscious. That doesn’t go away.), but in the past-midnight hours, there are frequently belligerent inebriates and I have narrowly avoided incidents with such people a handful of times. That was all I could think of that might have been detrimental, but nothing else. And Sandy was extremely considerate about me, requesting a booth tucked away in a corner behind the cashier’s area, so that we were in a nice secluded little alcove. And even the waitress who came over was perfectly cordial to both of us.
It was when the food was brought out that I had the first germination of real anxiety.
One thing many people don’t think about when it comes to my scarring (and why would they?) is that it affects much more than mere aesthetic. The thing about my scars is someone cut my face open. And although they are mostly faded now, the suture scars along the edges of the "smile" seem to suggest that merely cutting wasn’t enough, that it was done surgically. Someone restructured my face. I don’t think there was any resulting nerve damage since my face is completely usable and sensory, but the way my face healed, the skin puckers along the incision lines. This causes constant pulling at my cheeks and lips and impedes the mobility of my face. I frequently say that I wear a "permanent smile" but not because my mouth is drawn back from my teeth in a frozen maniacal grimace to resemble an actual smile. I am clearly just scarred. But the pulling, the limited range of movement, means that trying to do anything like frowning is a painful effort. The scarring keeps my mouth fairly taut and to countermand the reconstruction of it is nearly impossible. This difficulty translates over into anything else I do with my mouth, like eating and drinking.
I hadn't considered this prior to being confronted with our meals since I had a straw in my glass of water. And when I looked at my first forkful, I had the extremely eloquent thought, "oh shit." I try to be downright dainty with my eating etiquette, tiny bites of food on the fork, nothing too messy, nothing that can leak. Around my family, I am not so conscious of my habits, but I always try to be aware of myself. And, left unchecked, watching me eat has to be fairly disgusting.
Sandy said nothing about it... not that she would. Hopefully, I was not an embarrassment although I caught myself a couple times spilling. The whole time, I just wanted to slink under the table.
If I ever mention going out to eat again, please talk me out of it. It's a really bad idea.
A Picture a Day: Day 25
I’m sure you can tell just how thrilled I am about these pics. Look at my enthusiasm. It’s contagious.
In actuality, it was early. I was getting ready for work. And the night before I realized that I had only one or two more pictures for the picture-a-day effort. Therefore, I thought taking a picture that morning might not be a bad idea. Although, look at me. I look like I got ahold of a special brownie for breakfast (I didn’t though). I was just very tired. Double shifts four days in a row will do that.
In actuality, it was early. I was getting ready for work. And the night before I realized that I had only one or two more pictures for the picture-a-day effort. Therefore, I thought taking a picture that morning might not be a bad idea. Although, look at me. I look like I got ahold of a special brownie for breakfast (I didn’t though). I was just very tired. Double shifts four days in a row will do that.
Friday, March 21, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 24
This is the last one I have (at the moment) from being painted up like The Crow. I might be able to squeeze one or two more out from that flurry of selfies, but they’ll probably all look exactly the same. So, for the moment, this is the last one. Now, I have no idea where I’m going to find more pics (unless I cheat and use pics by others…. that’s a thought). But, only a week left!
A Picture a Day: Day 23
Oh, the end is so near I can taste it. Pulling up the last one of the first batch of selfies I did (a month ago) when Phoebe painted my nails.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 22
Another Crow pic. Not as happy with this one (I think it’s the lighting that throws it off), but the other ones looked so similar to the ones already posted that I thought, eh, I’m already a sight, let’s run with it, lighting be damned.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 21
Home stretch! Ten more days and then I’m done! I figured, with the end in sight, I should use the last few remaining pics from the very first go I had at this. They are pretty much the dregs of my pics, but that’s all I’ve got. Sorry. But you can do the little dance of joy with me that this will soon be over.
Today at Work
On break now and still have a few more hours of work ahead, but today was the best day of work I can remember in a long time.
Brian, who brought in the burned CD yesterday with “Sexy and I Know It” on it for background, brought in a new CD today specifically for me to use when leading our warm-ups.
The line-up:
Sexy and I Know It (LMFAO)
Moves Like Jagger (Maroon 5)
Strut (Adam Lambert)
You Can Leave Your Hat On (Joe Cocker)
Do Ya Think I’m Sexy? (Rod Stewart)
Turn You On (The Scorpions)
Pour Some Sugar on Me (Def Leppard)
I’m Too Sexy (Right Said Fred)
Closer (Nine Inch Nails)
It is a great thing to work with a bunch of other improvisational dancers and gymnasts because while it started like a traditional warm-up, it ended up more like a crazy musical montage that vaguely resembled a cross between the opening of Miss Saigon and Cirque du Soleil. A couple of us even sneaked in a little ballet (because we’re trained and we don’t get to use it that often).
I don’t want to go back and actually work the rest of the evening. Hopefully nothing will come along to ruin this wonderful day.
Brian, who brought in the burned CD yesterday with “Sexy and I Know It” on it for background, brought in a new CD today specifically for me to use when leading our warm-ups.
The line-up:
Sexy and I Know It (LMFAO)
Moves Like Jagger (Maroon 5)
Strut (Adam Lambert)
You Can Leave Your Hat On (Joe Cocker)
Do Ya Think I’m Sexy? (Rod Stewart)
Turn You On (The Scorpions)
Pour Some Sugar on Me (Def Leppard)
I’m Too Sexy (Right Said Fred)
Closer (Nine Inch Nails)
It is a great thing to work with a bunch of other improvisational dancers and gymnasts because while it started like a traditional warm-up, it ended up more like a crazy musical montage that vaguely resembled a cross between the opening of Miss Saigon and Cirque du Soleil. A couple of us even sneaked in a little ballet (because we’re trained and we don’t get to use it that often).
I don’t want to go back and actually work the rest of the evening. Hopefully nothing will come along to ruin this wonderful day.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Not So Quiet and Reserved
I hate my job but I really like my coworkers. However I realized today that they are under the greatly mistaken impression that I am the epitome of quiet and reserved.
We were in the studio rehearsing with someone’s burned cds on in the background to keep the energy up and “Sexy and I Know It” came on which is not something I listen to, but I broke out into an outrageous improvised dance routine and everyone just gaped. Sandy and Kelly joined me after their moment of stupefaction and we just put on our own little show. I had one person ask me after if I had been replaced by a pod-person.
It was great though. Their faces were hilarious to behold. I felt like I was in a musical, cast as one of the protagonists who take off their glasses (Clark Kent or heroine-going-through-a-makeover) and suddenly no one recognizes them anymore.
We were in the studio rehearsing with someone’s burned cds on in the background to keep the energy up and “Sexy and I Know It” came on which is not something I listen to, but I broke out into an outrageous improvised dance routine and everyone just gaped. Sandy and Kelly joined me after their moment of stupefaction and we just put on our own little show. I had one person ask me after if I had been replaced by a pod-person.
It was great though. Their faces were hilarious to behold. I felt like I was in a musical, cast as one of the protagonists who take off their glasses (Clark Kent or heroine-going-through-a-makeover) and suddenly no one recognizes them anymore.
A Picture a Day: Day 20
Another Crow pic. In truth, I am rather pleased about these. I think they came out very well. And yes, I’m saying that because the scars are well masked by the makeup even if not entirely hidden. But the beauty is that, even with a big smile, I don’t look ridiculous because the rest of it makes me look a little too bad ass to be ridiculous. Like I have said before, I should just paint myself up like Eric Draven every day.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 19
Sorry about the odd glare on the side. This is the new half-ski-mask I mentioned a bit ago. I really like it except the cold weather is leaving and I don’t have much excuse to wear it now.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 18
Orson wanted to take these pics, but they’re not selfies if I don’t take them, right? He took a couple pics though, but I haven’t seen them.
Ah, look how cute I am.
Mime from Hell, anyone?
Ah, look how cute I am.
Mime from Hell, anyone?
Friday, March 14, 2014
My Excitement of the Other Day + A Picture a Day: Day 17
A couple days ago (three days ago? two? I suppose by technicality three days ago, but I haven’t gone to bed yet, so only two), I got a text message from Phoebe while I was at work asking me to go to her place when I was done for the day. This isn’t unusual. Every so often, she has a tech problem (I am not tech savvy at all, but for some reason she thinks I am) or something she needs put together or something that requires a little heavy lifting. I thought nothing of it. After work, I headed over there, was let in, and, much to my confusion, was summarily presented with a box of black hair dye.
Phoebe, her brows furrowed and mouth twisted, told me that she found my rambling on my It’s Never Been About Being Ugly post on my blogspot. She semi-lamented that there was nothing she could do about the scars but she brightened as she pointed to the dye. If she could do nothing else, about my scars or hands or height, she could at least, she beamed, make my hair the color I wanted it.
A box of dye and one stained bathroom sink later, plus all the hilariously awful middle stages where my hair, stiff with dye, stood straight up like a poor impersonation of Edward Scissorhands, I now have black hair. I am aware that, overall, it doesn’t make a great impact on my general appearance, especially since dark brown to black is the most minimal alteration possible, but anyone who, like I am, is hyper-critical and hyper-aware of their appearance can doubtless understand. It’s a small difference that I not only notice, but that makes a great impact in how I feel about myself. And that makes it a pretty fantastic thing.
Pheebs is a wonderful person, a very laid back and very considerate one. I am touched that she went out of her way to make me happy. She may not have stayed married to Orson or decided that being a mother to Dea and me was her thing, but she’s remained a really good solid friend to all of us.
When I got back home and Dea embraced me, she stuck her nose in my hair and then wrinkled it in disgust. She said I smelled of chemicals and whatever flowery scented shampoo Phoebe had used to try to mask it and demanded to know what I had done to it.
Now, Dea’s not one to talk. She has her own, rather epic if I may be so bold as to say, battles with her hair. I mean, I think her hair is perfect, that she’s perfect, no matter what, but what she thinks, and wants to do about it, is more important than any thought I have on the topic. And Phoebe helps her too with the relaxers and straighteners and whatever else they use. All I know is that, if I wander near the bathroom, it sounds like something out of a torture chamber, and peering in with the tools strewn around does not help that impression. So Dea knows and understands about the hair even if her focus is more on the texture than the color.
I told her about Phoebe, about wanting my hair darker although I didn’t tell her how Pheebs knew since Dea doesn’t know about my internetting, about Pheebs turning the bathroom black for me. Dea, wanting to be completely fair before pronouncing final judgment, stuck her fingers in it and combed them through several times before proclaiming that my hair was softer than usual and that she likes that I’ve kept it long… which kind of throws a monkey wrench into the plan to have it cut soon.
She was braiding it (I let her do whatever she wants to me) when Orson got in (she was telling me about how she “pwned” her professor by correcting some equation that went right over my head, did I mention that she’s not just perfect but brilliant?). Orson didn’t notice right away but after a couple hours he finally stopped in the living room, stared at me, and then asked me what was different. I think he was even more excited about it than I was when I told him because he ran and got some black makeup and insisted on painting me up like The Crow.
In conclusion, I had a great day because of a very thoughtful woman, Dea approved which made my happiness official, and now all you sweet followers of mine are going to get spammed with Crow selfies (no, not really, I only have a couple) because I am (almost) officially out of other pictures for the picture-a-day attempt and I still have almost two weeks to go yet.
Sorry!
But, here’s the first! Picture-a-Day: Day 17
(And the colour problems are still happening.... sigh.... better quality here)
Phoebe, her brows furrowed and mouth twisted, told me that she found my rambling on my It’s Never Been About Being Ugly post on my blogspot. She semi-lamented that there was nothing she could do about the scars but she brightened as she pointed to the dye. If she could do nothing else, about my scars or hands or height, she could at least, she beamed, make my hair the color I wanted it.
A box of dye and one stained bathroom sink later, plus all the hilariously awful middle stages where my hair, stiff with dye, stood straight up like a poor impersonation of Edward Scissorhands, I now have black hair. I am aware that, overall, it doesn’t make a great impact on my general appearance, especially since dark brown to black is the most minimal alteration possible, but anyone who, like I am, is hyper-critical and hyper-aware of their appearance can doubtless understand. It’s a small difference that I not only notice, but that makes a great impact in how I feel about myself. And that makes it a pretty fantastic thing.
Pheebs is a wonderful person, a very laid back and very considerate one. I am touched that she went out of her way to make me happy. She may not have stayed married to Orson or decided that being a mother to Dea and me was her thing, but she’s remained a really good solid friend to all of us.
When I got back home and Dea embraced me, she stuck her nose in my hair and then wrinkled it in disgust. She said I smelled of chemicals and whatever flowery scented shampoo Phoebe had used to try to mask it and demanded to know what I had done to it.
Now, Dea’s not one to talk. She has her own, rather epic if I may be so bold as to say, battles with her hair. I mean, I think her hair is perfect, that she’s perfect, no matter what, but what she thinks, and wants to do about it, is more important than any thought I have on the topic. And Phoebe helps her too with the relaxers and straighteners and whatever else they use. All I know is that, if I wander near the bathroom, it sounds like something out of a torture chamber, and peering in with the tools strewn around does not help that impression. So Dea knows and understands about the hair even if her focus is more on the texture than the color.
I told her about Phoebe, about wanting my hair darker although I didn’t tell her how Pheebs knew since Dea doesn’t know about my internetting, about Pheebs turning the bathroom black for me. Dea, wanting to be completely fair before pronouncing final judgment, stuck her fingers in it and combed them through several times before proclaiming that my hair was softer than usual and that she likes that I’ve kept it long… which kind of throws a monkey wrench into the plan to have it cut soon.
She was braiding it (I let her do whatever she wants to me) when Orson got in (she was telling me about how she “pwned” her professor by correcting some equation that went right over my head, did I mention that she’s not just perfect but brilliant?). Orson didn’t notice right away but after a couple hours he finally stopped in the living room, stared at me, and then asked me what was different. I think he was even more excited about it than I was when I told him because he ran and got some black makeup and insisted on painting me up like The Crow.
In conclusion, I had a great day because of a very thoughtful woman, Dea approved which made my happiness official, and now all you sweet followers of mine are going to get spammed with Crow selfies (no, not really, I only have a couple) because I am (almost) officially out of other pictures for the picture-a-day attempt and I still have almost two weeks to go yet.
Sorry!
But, here’s the first! Picture-a-Day: Day 17
(And the colour problems are still happening.... sigh.... better quality here)
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Thunderstorm Follow-Up
Dea woke me this morning by crawling onto my bed, wrapping my arm around her, and then poking me in the shoulder until I was sufficiently roused enough to sympathize with her when she lamented that, instead of a thunderstorm, it’s snowing again.
I’ll take snow any day if it merits waking to her.
We snuggled for a little bit, until Orson stopped in the doorway and scolded us both (not very seriously) for being bad influences on each other when she has school and I have work
I’ll take snow any day if it merits waking to her.
We snuggled for a little bit, until Orson stopped in the doorway and scolded us both (not very seriously) for being bad influences on each other when she has school and I have work
Waiting for a Thunderstorm with Dea
We were supposed to get a massive thunderstorm through here, so Dea and I went down to the ground floor of the apartment building and sat outside under the overhang on a bench that has left permanent slat imprints on my backside. She let me hold her though, pressed herself against me. And we talked like we used to, of everything and of nothing, huddled against each other like children.
I miss her so much. She has been occupied with school and her boyfriend and going out with Phoebe to attend to those things that Orson is completely clueless about and I’m useless. But it amazes me how I can see her almost every day, live with her, and still miss her so profoundly. Especially when we don’t talk or make time to talk.
We never did get our thunder. Rain came by and the sound of it was pleasant on the metallic overhang, but nothing beyond that. And she just called it a night and said we would try again some other time.
She may be ready for sleep, but my hands and arms tingle from having held her. My heart rate has gone up, especially at the prospect of repeating this another night. I am energized. Wide-awake.
And I don’t know what to do with all this energy and wakefulness at 2:30am
I miss her so much. She has been occupied with school and her boyfriend and going out with Phoebe to attend to those things that Orson is completely clueless about and I’m useless. But it amazes me how I can see her almost every day, live with her, and still miss her so profoundly. Especially when we don’t talk or make time to talk.
We never did get our thunder. Rain came by and the sound of it was pleasant on the metallic overhang, but nothing beyond that. And she just called it a night and said we would try again some other time.
She may be ready for sleep, but my hands and arms tingle from having held her. My heart rate has gone up, especially at the prospect of repeating this another night. I am energized. Wide-awake.
And I don’t know what to do with all this energy and wakefulness at 2:30am
(Non)Adventure + A Picture a Day: Day 16
About two weeks/ a week and a half ago, feeling restless and in unusually low spirits, I left the apartment to do something, anything, other than stay inside and do work or chores or more job applications. I wanted company but Dea was busy and there was no one else available, and in that situation, to fend off any encroaching loneliness, I went off for some dedicated introspection. It was still cold, still suitable weather for my scarf, and I needed to be outside, to walk and think without being interrupted and beyond the confines of the apartment walls.
I thought about going to the green, but I live in an extremely populated area, and when you're feeling lonely, sometimes it's even worse in the midst of many people. This also ruled out Orson's uni campus. And I did not wish to be disturbed, particularly if the point of escaping the apartment was to have a few moments of clarity in solitude.
Instead, I went to the next best place for quiet, solitude, and nature: one of the older cemeteries in the area. I had to drive there since it is across several non-pedestrian-friendly freeways, but once there, I found a place where I could park partly off the road to allow another vehicle by with ease. At the entrance, there was someone doing maintenance, so I went to the opposite end of this rather extensive cemetery so that I wouldn't cross paths with him.
The beauty about the cemetery is that not only is it quiet and scenic but it's usually fairly empty. Even though I often go around without my face covered, it always stresses me out when others are present. Even if they don't notice me or look at me, I feel exposed and the self-consciousness is all-consuming (which is also another reason why company helps, because I am distracted from the self-destructive internal dialogue I have with myself). So being alone, armed with a camera, on a brisk day, with all the landscape before me and some truly beautiful stones, I pulled down the scarf and headed off towards a huge stump of a newly felled tree. I was already feeling much better than I had been in the apartment.
(It's quite sad that such a large and old tree had to be cut down, so I thought I'd take a picture of the stump. Unfortunately, there was no way to accurately judge the enormity of it, so I put the camera on timer and hopped on to show its size. I look like a little kid on it.)
Not even five minutes later, a huge truck rolls up right behind my car and stops. I thought he had plenty of room to go by (and he did, upon checking), but the maintenance worker got out and came towards me. I pulled my scarf back up and went over and asked if he needed me to pull the car over even more. All he did was stare at me for a moment as if trying to figure out what I was doing and then he told me I had to move my car somewhere else (mind you, there's no place for parking here so one place is much the same as another) and then began asking me all kinds of questions: why was I there, how long was I going to stay, was I a student at one of the universities, etc. etc. and then he started on how my coat looked thin and how it wasn't cold enough for a scarf. Annoying. I told him I was just cold and I got in my car and moved off to another location. I got out, started wandering again.... and he FOLLOWED ME. Not on my tail, but close enough so that the engine disturbed the stillness and he kept an eye on me, and my stress levels just skyrocketed, to the point that, not even twenty minutes into the cemetery, I ended up leaving.
(I snapped this there. Who puts shoes on stones though? I've heard of coins and small rocks... but boots? Really? And they're not bronzed shoes or anything. They are actual, unattached, boots.)
I went to another cemetery, also large and historic, but not nearly as cozy as the other one, lacking trees and rambling paths, and any sort of park-like quality. I walked around for about an hour, looking at some of the beautifully carved stones, happily left in peace while I took pictures, some quite ordinary, some quite silly.
(This would be of the silly variety. And, while I look at this, I think I really need a haircut.)
But as I was going around the backside of the cemetery, a dog ran over to me. I don't mind animals at all. I'm rather more partial to animals than I am to people and I bent down and pet him while he smelled Philandros on me. But as I looked around for his companion, I saw a couple of women walking over. Up with the scarf again. They came over for the dog (I learned that his name was Brûlée) and started talking to me.
Now, I don't know what it is about people but sometimes they are maddening. I do enjoy social interaction, I just stress out about it. And that's okay. I can usually move beyond it. But people just state the obvious and I always have to keep my snark in check because most people don't appreciate it. I can have a sharp tongue at times, sharpened ever more by increasing frustration at having to hold it. And amid the pleasantries (ie, discussing the weather), they told me that it was too warm for a scarf (you know, just in case I wasn't enjoying the same weather that they were. Twice, in one day. What the....). I thanked them for that vital piece of unknown information (no, not really, but I wanted to) and we went in our own directions... or at least I thought we had. Every time I went to pull down my scarf again, the women would be disturbingly nearby.
(I was very much not amused as you can tell by that raised eyebrow of mine and that withering glance. And that handless book-toting figure behind me looks rather irate too.)
Now, this is a huge cemetery. Huge. We were the only ones there. And yet, I went to the newer section, they wandered there too. I went to the earliest part, they followed. I went to the Civil War section, they came over to admire the column statuary. In conclusions, I ended up leaving there earlier than desired too.
Privacy, even outside of personal space, isn't usually that hard to come by if you know the places to go... like the cemetery. And if you think about it more as an outdoor sculpture garden than a place to deposit dead people, it really isn't as morbid as it sounds. The carvings do take a great deal of artistry and many cemeteries were designed by architects as park spaces, meant to be used for people like me seeking a little escape from the rest of the world.
It was a disappointing day, but it did get me out of the apartment and allowed me to return to it with a little more inner peace than prior. And now you get to see just how silly I am at times.
And, this definitely counts as A Picture a Day (Day 16) because you got three pics of me today (lucky devils that you are).
I thought about going to the green, but I live in an extremely populated area, and when you're feeling lonely, sometimes it's even worse in the midst of many people. This also ruled out Orson's uni campus. And I did not wish to be disturbed, particularly if the point of escaping the apartment was to have a few moments of clarity in solitude.
Instead, I went to the next best place for quiet, solitude, and nature: one of the older cemeteries in the area. I had to drive there since it is across several non-pedestrian-friendly freeways, but once there, I found a place where I could park partly off the road to allow another vehicle by with ease. At the entrance, there was someone doing maintenance, so I went to the opposite end of this rather extensive cemetery so that I wouldn't cross paths with him.
The beauty about the cemetery is that not only is it quiet and scenic but it's usually fairly empty. Even though I often go around without my face covered, it always stresses me out when others are present. Even if they don't notice me or look at me, I feel exposed and the self-consciousness is all-consuming (which is also another reason why company helps, because I am distracted from the self-destructive internal dialogue I have with myself). So being alone, armed with a camera, on a brisk day, with all the landscape before me and some truly beautiful stones, I pulled down the scarf and headed off towards a huge stump of a newly felled tree. I was already feeling much better than I had been in the apartment.
I went to another cemetery, also large and historic, but not nearly as cozy as the other one, lacking trees and rambling paths, and any sort of park-like quality. I walked around for about an hour, looking at some of the beautifully carved stones, happily left in peace while I took pictures, some quite ordinary, some quite silly.
(This would be of the silly variety. And, while I look at this, I think I really need a haircut.)
But as I was going around the backside of the cemetery, a dog ran over to me. I don't mind animals at all. I'm rather more partial to animals than I am to people and I bent down and pet him while he smelled Philandros on me. But as I looked around for his companion, I saw a couple of women walking over. Up with the scarf again. They came over for the dog (I learned that his name was Brûlée) and started talking to me.
Now, I don't know what it is about people but sometimes they are maddening. I do enjoy social interaction, I just stress out about it. And that's okay. I can usually move beyond it. But people just state the obvious and I always have to keep my snark in check because most people don't appreciate it. I can have a sharp tongue at times, sharpened ever more by increasing frustration at having to hold it. And amid the pleasantries (ie, discussing the weather), they told me that it was too warm for a scarf (you know, just in case I wasn't enjoying the same weather that they were. Twice, in one day. What the....). I thanked them for that vital piece of unknown information (no, not really, but I wanted to) and we went in our own directions... or at least I thought we had. Every time I went to pull down my scarf again, the women would be disturbingly nearby.
Now, this is a huge cemetery. Huge. We were the only ones there. And yet, I went to the newer section, they wandered there too. I went to the earliest part, they followed. I went to the Civil War section, they came over to admire the column statuary. In conclusions, I ended up leaving there earlier than desired too.
Privacy, even outside of personal space, isn't usually that hard to come by if you know the places to go... like the cemetery. And if you think about it more as an outdoor sculpture garden than a place to deposit dead people, it really isn't as morbid as it sounds. The carvings do take a great deal of artistry and many cemeteries were designed by architects as park spaces, meant to be used for people like me seeking a little escape from the rest of the world.
It was a disappointing day, but it did get me out of the apartment and allowed me to return to it with a little more inner peace than prior. And now you get to see just how silly I am at times.
And, this definitely counts as A Picture a Day (Day 16) because you got three pics of me today (lucky devils that you are).
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Good Day, No Time To Tell Yet
I don’t have much time at the moment but:
Phoebe was awesome today.
Orson ran with it and painted me up.
Dea says I smell like chemicals.
Overall, good day.
Pics coming!
A Picture a Day: Day 15
Yesterday marked two weeks of doing a picture a day. I have not yet perceived any benefit from this exercise, but Orson has suggested that I stick it out for at least a month. So two more weeks to go before I can be done with it.
This was taken on my little (non)adventure the other day. This isn’t one of the moody trees (if only because I know that I will break something if I test the fates by trying to climb one), but it was the best I could do.
This was taken on my little (non)adventure the other day. This isn’t one of the moody trees (if only because I know that I will break something if I test the fates by trying to climb one), but it was the best I could do.
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 14
I took this on my little (non)adventure last week. I don’t really have a particular fondness for cemeteries but, unlike parks or town greens, they’re usually pretty quiet and people don’t tend to bother me there (except for the other day when I had people do nothing BUT harass me and try to get me to lower my scarf — rant coming). The stone actually frames me pretty well, but I went over to it because it was along the periphery, very far away from the others, and I was curious to see if there was anything different about it… but I didn’t see anything that stuck out.
Monday, March 10, 2014
The Need for Company
I am a complete introvert. I grew up alone. I am good with my own company. But I spend so much of my time on my own that I often feel desperate for any kind of social interaction and I don’t often get it. The few people I count as friends don’t live within the vicinity and those acquaintances that do are perfectly amenable to talking online or coming over the apartment or me going to theirs but never wish to go out and do everyday normal-person things with me. Now, maybe there are legit reasons for that, but it feels so personal, like they’re embarrassed to be seen with me.
I usually do not ask for company idly, especially if, as I suspect, it is an uncomfortable request, but company, in addition to being reassuring and emotionally necessary to some degree, has proved to be very useful. Whether it’s doing errands around the city or taking public transit, when I am by myself, I tend to be ignored, dismissed, or harassed. When I am with someone else, people treat me better, like a person who might be worth a modicum of dignity. I don’t know what phenomenon causes this, but I imagine that it’s because other people can see how the people I know interact with me and take cues from them.
I feel terrible saying I’m lonely and feeling isolated, especially with Philandros pressed up against my leg and Dea on the couch petting my hair. I had always hoped that someday, Dea would be the one to be at my side to help ease my anxieties but while I know she loves me, she’s seven years my junior and has her own life and her own crowd, and as much as I would like to present myself to her as a possibility for more than mere domestic stability, she’s already seeing someone and I feel so unworthy, for so many reasons.
Sometimes she is the reason I feel so alone.
I usually do not ask for company idly, especially if, as I suspect, it is an uncomfortable request, but company, in addition to being reassuring and emotionally necessary to some degree, has proved to be very useful. Whether it’s doing errands around the city or taking public transit, when I am by myself, I tend to be ignored, dismissed, or harassed. When I am with someone else, people treat me better, like a person who might be worth a modicum of dignity. I don’t know what phenomenon causes this, but I imagine that it’s because other people can see how the people I know interact with me and take cues from them.
I feel terrible saying I’m lonely and feeling isolated, especially with Philandros pressed up against my leg and Dea on the couch petting my hair. I had always hoped that someday, Dea would be the one to be at my side to help ease my anxieties but while I know she loves me, she’s seven years my junior and has her own life and her own crowd, and as much as I would like to present myself to her as a possibility for more than mere domestic stability, she’s already seeing someone and I feel so unworthy, for so many reasons.
Sometimes she is the reason I feel so alone.
A Picture a Day: Day 13
I have nothing to say about this one. It’s just fulfilling the requirements. A pic a day. And I’m so sorry. It’s not pleasant for any of us.
The Job Interview Script
I’ve been doing a great many job interviews lately. Now, phone interviews, I can ace. They love me. The interviewer gets excited. On a couple of occasions, I’ve been told that I have the job with the last remaining formality before officially hiring me be only to come see the office and sign contracts.
And that’s where the problem always ends up being. It’s practically scripted.
There’s the “I Need a Different Word Than ‘Disfigured:’”
"Oh! I didn’t realize you were….. so young."
The “It’s Our Fault:”
"We’re so sorry for your inconvenience. It turns out, someone was already hired and we just did not get the message."
The “But It Isn’t Our Fault” aka “Sondheim:”
"After we spoke, I reviewed your application materials again and realized that we need someone with different qualifications than yours.”
The “Anything I Want to Say Right Now Is Illegal:”
"You sounded different on the phone."
And the “We Are Going to Make You Feel Like a Fool for Showing Up:”
"Didn’t you get the call? We ended up hiring someone else."
If it’s that big a deal, I don’t know why they won’t just stick me in a damn cubicle with a headset and I will talk to people on the phone all day. I just don’t understand why they have to be awful because they’re not fooling anyone.
And that’s where the problem always ends up being. It’s practically scripted.
There’s the “I Need a Different Word Than ‘Disfigured:’”
"Oh! I didn’t realize you were….. so young."
The “It’s Our Fault:”
"We’re so sorry for your inconvenience. It turns out, someone was already hired and we just did not get the message."
The “But It Isn’t Our Fault” aka “Sondheim:”
"After we spoke, I reviewed your application materials again and realized that we need someone with different qualifications than yours.”
The “Anything I Want to Say Right Now Is Illegal:”
"You sounded different on the phone."
And the “We Are Going to Make You Feel Like a Fool for Showing Up:”
"Didn’t you get the call? We ended up hiring someone else."
If it’s that big a deal, I don’t know why they won’t just stick me in a damn cubicle with a headset and I will talk to people on the phone all day. I just don’t understand why they have to be awful because they’re not fooling anyone.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 12
A Picture a Day: Day 12
Trying to change things up a bit. Being silly and channeling my inner Bela Lugosi.
And you can actually see it in this pic a little bit better. I broke my nose when I was eighteen. I found a tree of hydrangeas and although they were beautiful, they smelled amazing.
(It was sort of like this, only during summer, not winter)
I thought Dea would love some, so I climbed the tree and began plucking merrily away and the last one I grabbed happened to be particularly stubborn. But I didn’t want to leave it since I had already snapped the stem. So I pulled and the branch snapped back and cracked me right across the bridge of my nose. It bled for hours. How hardcore is that, I spilled blood for my dear one’s pleasure.
I didn’t tell her about my mishap (she fusses excessively over me and she was only eleven), but when I gave her the bouquet, her entire face just lit up. And when she smiles…! And her dimples are adorable. Always have been. But yeah, a broken nose was definitely worth it. .
Trying to change things up a bit. Being silly and channeling my inner Bela Lugosi.
And you can actually see it in this pic a little bit better. I broke my nose when I was eighteen. I found a tree of hydrangeas and although they were beautiful, they smelled amazing.
(It was sort of like this, only during summer, not winter)
I thought Dea would love some, so I climbed the tree and began plucking merrily away and the last one I grabbed happened to be particularly stubborn. But I didn’t want to leave it since I had already snapped the stem. So I pulled and the branch snapped back and cracked me right across the bridge of my nose. It bled for hours. How hardcore is that, I spilled blood for my dear one’s pleasure.
I didn’t tell her about my mishap (she fusses excessively over me and she was only eleven), but when I gave her the bouquet, her entire face just lit up. And when she smiles…! And her dimples are adorable. Always have been. But yeah, a broken nose was definitely worth it. .
Saturday, March 8, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 11
I looked at it a bit closer. Orson always gives me The Look and tells me I'm seeing things (and maybe I am because there's been some significant fading over the years). Now, I don't know how resolution is showing up on this pic, but I swear I can still see the small white suture scars at the edges.
Friday, March 7, 2014
Moody Trees + Picture a Day: Day 10
When I was out the other day (taking advantage of the weather while it’s still cold enough that I can keep my scarf up without attracting too much attention), trying to get a little alone time (which wasn’t so alone, unfortunately), I came across a couple of really moody trees:
They seemed like very lonely and sad looking trees, so I gave them a hug to do us both some good.
Yes, that officially makes me a tree-hugger, but believe it or not, I do exceptionally silly things all the time. I just don’t always have documentation of it. This is also going to be Picture a Day: Day 10.
Yes, that officially makes me a tree-hugger, but believe it or not, I do exceptionally silly things all the time. I just don’t always have documentation of it. This is also going to be Picture a Day: Day 10.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 9
A Picture a Day: Day 9
Today, it’s a pic with my nose buried in a book… although it’s without its dust jacket and therefore open to speculation on its degree of scandalous matter!
And look, my hair is long enough to pull back now! Wow, it grew fast. Probably time for a cut again.
Today, it’s a pic with my nose buried in a book… although it’s without its dust jacket and therefore open to speculation on its degree of scandalous matter!
And look, my hair is long enough to pull back now! Wow, it grew fast. Probably time for a cut again.
(And the pics are still messing up with the colors and resolution -- sorry! I don't know how to fix it)
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
It's Never Been About Being Ugly
It's no secret that I'm really self-conscious about how I look, at least not to people who know me. And to those who don't know me, I don't try to hide my insecurities although the internet makes it easier to pretend that I am much more comfortable in my skin than I actually am. But the thing is, my self-consciousness has never been a matter of ugliness.
There has always been a great degree of honesty in my family and we speak frankly with each other. We have a policy of Brutal Honesty, because if the ones you love tell you the hardest things to hear, no one else can ever hurt you with the truth. That, paired with the fact that I have had my whole life to think about it and to understand my situation, means that I have a rather intimate understanding about where my self-consciousness and insecurities come from and why I have them. And I am also quite certain that it is not because I am ugly. I know for a fact that I am not.
I hate looking at myself, it's true, but for far more subtle reasons than just what can be summed up under the word "ugly." "Ugly" is used commonly as a catch-all term for something that aesthetically makes us uncomfortable, but in truth, it's merely a word to describe something unpleasant, not something uncomfortable. Sure, I am not the least bit photogenic and despite being closer to thirty than I would like to admit to, I still look like a boy of sixteen (and with the same amount of pathetic patchy facial hair as a twelve-year-old).
But overall, I don't think the general package is too bad. I am aware of being incredibly blessed. I am healthy, have the use of all my limbs, and possess all of my senses. I am reminded of this every day since I live with someone who is blind. And for as vibrant and independent as Dea is, I am certain that I have the much lesser burden. Like anyone, I wish I could make changes to myself. I dislike my hands. They're squat and square and calloused all over the palms from work. I wish my hair was thicker and fully black rather than its natural brownish-blackish-can't-decide-on-a-color. I wish I were taller. I wish my face were a little less round. I cannot change any of these things though, and for what I have, I think it's pretty good.
Sometimes when I see pictures of myself, a thing which I have done extensively over the past week out of some hope to cure me of some of my insecurity, I have the fleeting thought that (I suppose going hand-in-hand with thinking that I look like a teenager) I could be a pretty guy without the scarring, like... genuinely pretty (side note: I don't understand why people think "pretty boy" is an insult. Hell, if someone wanted to tell me I was a pretty guy, I'd be very happy). The scarring however.... that's a nuanced and loaded subject.
When I think about the scars, my immediate reaction is frustration and anger. I have so much of it, but I know it's reactionary to the way they hurt me. Physically, they are not painful and any recollection of the initial pain has completely faded from my memory. At the most, they are uncomfortable on occasion when they pull. They only hurt in the small pernicious ways.
I hold the belief that scars should only ever be considered as documentation at having lived, having experienced life, having it written on your body. But most scars are the results of accidents or of medical necessity. In my case, mine are neither of these kinds. They were deliberately inflicted and done with no apparent intention other than to deface me. I don't remember a time in my life when I didn't have a permanent smile. And knowing that someone did this to me, with full knowledge of what they were doing and doing to a child... that is the most difficult piece to live with.
And it makes me wonder, who could have hated me so much to do this?
And the tragedy, the cruelty, of it is not that is has made me ugly, but that it has rendered me ridiculous. My face feels like someone's bad joke, something people cannot take seriously, something worthy of derision. And for this, I have become so deeply ashamed of my appearance. It's not the ugliness but the shame that hurts so badly.
I think perhaps having just been ugly might have been better.
A Colin in His Natural Habitat + Pic-a-Day: Day 8
So I went on a little adventure the other day and as I was getting ready to go out, I thought, hey, maybe I should put together a little post on the day (which I’m not going to do as my adventure was thwarted every step of the way, rant later). But, I took a couple pics as I was getting ready to leave (a couple only because they looked exceedingly dark on the camera). And when I looked at them later, I look like a deer caught in the headlights.
In my best David Attenborough voice:
"And here, observe The Colin Gwynplaine as he leaves the safety of the compound for the treacherous and unpredictable world of people. Outside that door, there is a hallway where other apartment dwellers traverse, and if he manages to get that far, he has to navigate through dangerously populated sidewalks until he reaches the safety of his vehicle.
"And look, he appears to have noticed the camera.
"And here we observe a Colin’s instinctive behavioral response when confronted with a threatening entity.
"Having determined that there is no immediate danger, but only a potential threat, he decides his safest course of action is to slowly back away."
…
Incidentally, that middle pic is pretty much how I react when a camera gets pulled on me anywhere.
And this totally counts as a Pic-of-the-Day: Day 8 because, aren’t you lucky, you got three!
(also, I have no idea what's going on with the pics. They're crap, I admit, but this site is warping their resolution and coloring. Working on fixing it, but....)
In my best David Attenborough voice:
"And here, observe The Colin Gwynplaine as he leaves the safety of the compound for the treacherous and unpredictable world of people. Outside that door, there is a hallway where other apartment dwellers traverse, and if he manages to get that far, he has to navigate through dangerously populated sidewalks until he reaches the safety of his vehicle.
"And look, he appears to have noticed the camera.
"And here we observe a Colin’s instinctive behavioral response when confronted with a threatening entity.
"Having determined that there is no immediate danger, but only a potential threat, he decides his safest course of action is to slowly back away."
…
Incidentally, that middle pic is pretty much how I react when a camera gets pulled on me anywhere.
And this totally counts as a Pic-of-the-Day: Day 8 because, aren’t you lucky, you got three!
(also, I have no idea what's going on with the pics. They're crap, I admit, but this site is warping their resolution and coloring. Working on fixing it, but....)
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 7
Day 7 of A Pic A Day, look at that, a whole week, and I survived!
On that note, I really hate this. And I'm sorry to all of you who are getting selfie spammed, and not even with eyecandy (what's the opposite of eyecandy?). See, I don't even look at myself if I can help it. When I wash my hands in the bathroom, my hands are the most incredibly interesting things in the world, I can't keep my eyes off them. So, this is even more painful for me.
And taking the pics? I feel like such an idiot. This one, it's a crap photo, but you have no idea how hard it was to take because I just wanted to be a smart ass and do duck-face or stick my tongue out or, better yet, not be in it at all, so I was tres dramatique and called it good because it wasn't going to get much better.
And I'm not sure this process of a pic-a-day is really helping me. It's certainly made me look more at myself, but each time I do, I just feel more depressed.
On that note, I really hate this. And I'm sorry to all of you who are getting selfie spammed, and not even with eyecandy (what's the opposite of eyecandy?). See, I don't even look at myself if I can help it. When I wash my hands in the bathroom, my hands are the most incredibly interesting things in the world, I can't keep my eyes off them. So, this is even more painful for me.
And taking the pics? I feel like such an idiot. This one, it's a crap photo, but you have no idea how hard it was to take because I just wanted to be a smart ass and do duck-face or stick my tongue out or, better yet, not be in it at all, so I was tres dramatique and called it good because it wasn't going to get much better.
And I'm not sure this process of a pic-a-day is really helping me. It's certainly made me look more at myself, but each time I do, I just feel more depressed.
Monday, March 3, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 6
Crap photo, but hell, all of mine are pretty much crap photos.
I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here until I get a couple more that will be passable.
…I really hate this mission of, as Orson put it, “self-acceptance through desensitization.” He should try it. Whether he dislikes his appearance or not is immaterial, it's just a pain in the ass.
I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here until I get a couple more that will be passable.
…I really hate this mission of, as Orson put it, “self-acceptance through desensitization.” He should try it. Whether he dislikes his appearance or not is immaterial, it's just a pain in the ass.
Higher Education, Problematic but Not Pointless
Warning: a bit of a rant
While I was at work the other day, I heard a couple of my coworkers talking. Now, I don't say too much. I'm an observer and a listener, but they saw me in the break area, so I didn't feel like I was eavesdropping. Their topic of conversation was "the nuclear family" and how "godless Marxists" are responsible for the destruction of it. Somehow, this led to my coworkers condemning all media and then going on to blame higher education as a source for all the current social woes since it is the, and I paraphrase, the production center for these "godless Marxists."
I am not going to address the media comment. I'm not a huge fan of what's being marketed nowadays and I've seen a great deal of hateful, ignorant garbage out there, but in the midst of that, there are some good things, enriching, educational, interesting things. But sure, condemn all media because we're all ignorant sheep who believe everything put in front of us. Sure. If that's what you think.
But higher education. Okay, they got my attention... and my ire. I held my tongue there. I do, after all, try to get along with my coworkers. But do NOT say that college is a "useless hotbed of brainwashing." I should also note that these two coworkers did not go to college and told me one day that they did not even get accepted although they tried. So I am of course curious how they would claim to know such things.
I did the four year college bit. I did two years after for my MBA. At times in my life when I was unemployed, I would get the instructor's permission and sit in on classes, even if I wasn't in school. I was one of those people who busted my ass for scholarships to pay for my education, who busted my ass for good grades to keep those scholarships, and who tried to absorb as much as I could from the courses I took. I did it. I was there.
And believe me, I know the system is faulty. I know that, at the end of the day, something has to change drastically with schooling from the first day we walk into a classroom. From day one, we're taught that tests are more important than our physical, mental, or emotional well-being. We're taught that we're failures if we don't get into a certain percentile of our class, and that we will never amount to anything if we don't get into a good college. We don't learn about things we need to live and we're trained for jobs that don't exist. College has become the new high school diploma, a business' broken old marketing scheme rebranded as The Way To Go, and we all buy into it, even if we know better.
But, knowing that college whispers sweet promises in our ears, wrapping us in its spell of Anything Is Possible, and still knowing that it's lying through its sharp little teeth, college is not pointless or worthless or anything that my coworkers condemned it as. True, it isn't for everyone, and that's perfectly fair and valid, but that doesn't make it pointless. If you go to college for the lies, then you are going to be disappointed. But I didn't go to college for the lies. I went to college because I wanted to be educated. I wanted to learn things I had never had the chance to learn about. I wanted to have new opportunities, meet a wider variety of people, and be exposed to concepts that had never entered my mind.
Higher education quickly became less about getting a job and more about becoming a more curious individual. Granted, I didn't and don't have the financial luxury to dip my toes into schooling just because I felt and feel like it. There was an aim to get a better job with the experience, but if I had made it all about that, then I would have been wasting my time. I had this discussion with a friend of mine quite recently and he said "college doesn't educate you, it just makes you educable." That's not to say that I wasn't receptive to new things before, but college is a catalyst, facilitating in four years to that which may have taken the rest of my life to become exposed (to any of the students I tutor in chemistry who might be reading, look at that - I used a catalyst in daily life!).
Credit where credit is due: Orson, being a college prof himself and teaching philosophy and other assorted gems in the classics department (he's asked me not to disclose his institution), was extremely instrumental in trying to change my views on college, from job-making to life-building. Without his support, both emotional and financial (which was amazing of him considering that I am not, either legally or biologically, his child), I would never have been able to graduate.
College didn't hand me an education as an entree. It handed me a sampling platter. It said, here are ideas that are new to you, here are concepts you never explored, here are cultures you have never heard about. And while it said all these things, it also said, this is the most basic of things we can condense into four months of a semester, now go forth and learn on your own. College wasn't about stuffing things into my head. It was about opening up my mind so that I could go stuff new things into it. And when education gets it right, that's what education will do; your world will expand and not teach you what to think, but how to think for yourself.
So for people who, like my coworkers, think that college is a place to be brain-washed, it could be because when we come out of college, we think for ourselves, and those thoughts are no longer as conventional, comfortable, and narrow as those people would like them to be. And then maybe we wouldn't have to condemn all media if they were able to think for themselves too.
If that comes off as abrasive (what's the new phrase? Sorry, not sorry?), just remember that I think education is a good thing, and I want everyone to have it. I want everyone to know about the wondrous things around us, about the beautiful places and beautiful people that populate our world, and I want people to think about them, not in the ways they always have, but in new and creative ways, for without that, we are but insects who toil away for no purpose.
~Colin
While I was at work the other day, I heard a couple of my coworkers talking. Now, I don't say too much. I'm an observer and a listener, but they saw me in the break area, so I didn't feel like I was eavesdropping. Their topic of conversation was "the nuclear family" and how "godless Marxists" are responsible for the destruction of it. Somehow, this led to my coworkers condemning all media and then going on to blame higher education as a source for all the current social woes since it is the, and I paraphrase, the production center for these "godless Marxists."
I am not going to address the media comment. I'm not a huge fan of what's being marketed nowadays and I've seen a great deal of hateful, ignorant garbage out there, but in the midst of that, there are some good things, enriching, educational, interesting things. But sure, condemn all media because we're all ignorant sheep who believe everything put in front of us. Sure. If that's what you think.
But higher education. Okay, they got my attention... and my ire. I held my tongue there. I do, after all, try to get along with my coworkers. But do NOT say that college is a "useless hotbed of brainwashing." I should also note that these two coworkers did not go to college and told me one day that they did not even get accepted although they tried. So I am of course curious how they would claim to know such things.
I did the four year college bit. I did two years after for my MBA. At times in my life when I was unemployed, I would get the instructor's permission and sit in on classes, even if I wasn't in school. I was one of those people who busted my ass for scholarships to pay for my education, who busted my ass for good grades to keep those scholarships, and who tried to absorb as much as I could from the courses I took. I did it. I was there.
And believe me, I know the system is faulty. I know that, at the end of the day, something has to change drastically with schooling from the first day we walk into a classroom. From day one, we're taught that tests are more important than our physical, mental, or emotional well-being. We're taught that we're failures if we don't get into a certain percentile of our class, and that we will never amount to anything if we don't get into a good college. We don't learn about things we need to live and we're trained for jobs that don't exist. College has become the new high school diploma, a business' broken old marketing scheme rebranded as The Way To Go, and we all buy into it, even if we know better.
But, knowing that college whispers sweet promises in our ears, wrapping us in its spell of Anything Is Possible, and still knowing that it's lying through its sharp little teeth, college is not pointless or worthless or anything that my coworkers condemned it as. True, it isn't for everyone, and that's perfectly fair and valid, but that doesn't make it pointless. If you go to college for the lies, then you are going to be disappointed. But I didn't go to college for the lies. I went to college because I wanted to be educated. I wanted to learn things I had never had the chance to learn about. I wanted to have new opportunities, meet a wider variety of people, and be exposed to concepts that had never entered my mind.
Higher education quickly became less about getting a job and more about becoming a more curious individual. Granted, I didn't and don't have the financial luxury to dip my toes into schooling just because I felt and feel like it. There was an aim to get a better job with the experience, but if I had made it all about that, then I would have been wasting my time. I had this discussion with a friend of mine quite recently and he said "college doesn't educate you, it just makes you educable." That's not to say that I wasn't receptive to new things before, but college is a catalyst, facilitating in four years to that which may have taken the rest of my life to become exposed (to any of the students I tutor in chemistry who might be reading, look at that - I used a catalyst in daily life!).
Credit where credit is due: Orson, being a college prof himself and teaching philosophy and other assorted gems in the classics department (he's asked me not to disclose his institution), was extremely instrumental in trying to change my views on college, from job-making to life-building. Without his support, both emotional and financial (which was amazing of him considering that I am not, either legally or biologically, his child), I would never have been able to graduate.
College didn't hand me an education as an entree. It handed me a sampling platter. It said, here are ideas that are new to you, here are concepts you never explored, here are cultures you have never heard about. And while it said all these things, it also said, this is the most basic of things we can condense into four months of a semester, now go forth and learn on your own. College wasn't about stuffing things into my head. It was about opening up my mind so that I could go stuff new things into it. And when education gets it right, that's what education will do; your world will expand and not teach you what to think, but how to think for yourself.
So for people who, like my coworkers, think that college is a place to be brain-washed, it could be because when we come out of college, we think for ourselves, and those thoughts are no longer as conventional, comfortable, and narrow as those people would like them to be. And then maybe we wouldn't have to condemn all media if they were able to think for themselves too.
If that comes off as abrasive (what's the new phrase? Sorry, not sorry?), just remember that I think education is a good thing, and I want everyone to have it. I want everyone to know about the wondrous things around us, about the beautiful places and beautiful people that populate our world, and I want people to think about them, not in the ways they always have, but in new and creative ways, for without that, we are but insects who toil away for no purpose.
~Colin
Sunday, March 2, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 5
Ah, the companion piece to the one with my eye through my fingers! Maybe I should organise these by how much of my face I obscure, like phases of the moon….. Just don’t look too long. We don’t want melted eyes.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
A Picture a Day: Day 4 + Another Handmade Scarf
About a week ago, I received a beautiful red and black handmade scarf from a friend because I was in need of a long scarf to cover both my face and neck. I love it. I've been wearing it around everywhere and telling anyone who will listen about the sweet friends I have.
And just to prove it, today I received another beautiful handmade scarf!
I appear to have been very vocal about how annoying the two-scarf method is and apparently, I've been a very good boy to merit all these beautiful things! Friend, author, and knitter -extraordinare, Dina James, made this one for me, which is not only just as long as the other but twice as wide. I am ecstatic... and now I sort of want to go back to the two scarf method so that I can wear both of them at the same time.
The pic on the bottom is the actual colour — the lighting in the top unfortunately washes it out, but it’s really vibrant blue.
I am so overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness. The scarf is hiding the blush I'll have for the next few days.
Also, this is going to count as day four for my Pic-a-Day. Yeah, it’s cheating, but I get to make up the rules as I go along. Besides, it's not going to last that long. I'm already thinking that I'll call it at the end of a week.
And just to prove it, today I received another beautiful handmade scarf!
I appear to have been very vocal about how annoying the two-scarf method is and apparently, I've been a very good boy to merit all these beautiful things! Friend, author, and knitter -extraordinare, Dina James, made this one for me, which is not only just as long as the other but twice as wide. I am ecstatic... and now I sort of want to go back to the two scarf method so that I can wear both of them at the same time.
The pic on the bottom is the actual colour — the lighting in the top unfortunately washes it out, but it’s really vibrant blue.
I am so overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness. The scarf is hiding the blush I'll have for the next few days.
Also, this is going to count as day four for my Pic-a-Day. Yeah, it’s cheating, but I get to make up the rules as I go along. Besides, it's not going to last that long. I'm already thinking that I'll call it at the end of a week.
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