I wanted this post to be really long and involved, but I think I'm going to cut it short for tonight and get to the real meat of my mind happenings tomorrow.
I'm on Long Island for Christmas. What usually ends in some sort of heartache and/or disappointment is instead coming along rather nicely. My recent experiences with Long Island have been a little less than savory. My family life is to be discussed pending the depth of tomorrow's post. But... I will tell you this. Spending a few hours in a car with very good friends; blasting The Get Up Kids (singing along, of course) and driving from 7-11 to 7-11 filling our bodies with various flavored coffees is nothing short of amazing. This evening with Melinda awakened a long since dead part of me. I forgot what it was to sing like that, and just not care.
I always care now. No matter what. It's not even lost youth, it's my own neuroses stifling my self expression. I wonder why i choose to channel my being into these little facets of a personality, bits and pieces of a whole self. I feel like everyone I know only offers up 25%. There is always something more. And more often than not it's something more special or spectacular that they shelved in order to be this concentric circle wave in a sea of individuals. Sometimes metaphors don't do me or my thoughts justice. But it's okay. I'm on the road to self discovery and it's certainly something I'm looking forward to.
So... I'll post again tomorrow. I swear to you blog. I'm sorry I don't take as much care of us as I should. You'll see, though; and you won't be able to get rid of me.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
new screen name/post
I've got a pretty delicious post brewing. It will see the light of day tomorrow. I also changed my screen name. The new one is enter seraphim. If you can figure out what that is in reference to you control the fate of my immortal soul.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
wayne
I have this giant pimple growing on my forehead, right above my right eyebrow. I've named the pimple Wayne. It was a toss-up between Wayne and Barbara, but he didn't seem plucky enough to be named Barbara so Wayne stuck.
It's been a while since I've posted something of significance, though I am beginning to think everything I think about posting is significant enough for me to play out through my keyboard instead of just in my head. I've been working like a madman this past week. Overnights, 5am shifts. Floormoves and important (retail) decisions. While my manager is away in Germany learning how to oppress people, I'm enjoying my free visual range over my little store in SoHo. Being a merchant, merchandiser, visual, whatever you want to call it... it's definitely a strange avenue to pursue. Taking control of how merchandise looks visually means taking ownership of ideals that appeal to other people while still owning it and making it look like you. I think if you walked into my store and looked at the floorset we've done while in my manager's absence you'd know I had more than just a hand in the mix. And I think running things like this are seeming less and less like tasks and more like things I was built to do. My ability to make merchandise appeal to the masses is topped only by my almost instantaneous ability to come up with solutions for any number of obstacles that get thrown in my path. I think that's my stream of consciousness manifesting itself physically. That said, I don't think I will ever understand Sudoku. Stop getting me to try.
Ryan couldn't resist (or maybe he saw how excited/anxious I was) and he gave my my first Christmas gift early. A glistening Xbox 360. I am currently siding with Microsoft during this console war, so this gift was more than appreciated. I have had it in my grasp for almost a week and I am still beyond excited every time I turn it on. You can hook your ipod up to the USB port and the game background music disappears while the tracks you pick on your ipod start up to take their place. Fantastic. The gamer in me has awoken from his near-death coma and he wants to play Puzzle fighter. Expect me to post about games here and there as I assure you I will be playing my thumbs down to their bones.
For some reason I seem to be hyper aware of people judging me this month. I make playlists on my ipod that change every month. Last month my running theme was irony; the month before it was pestilence. This month I'm trying to listen to stuff that's upbeat and morose, because everything has to be poignant and I am nothing without my agendas! Nothing! That said, I find that when I play music out loud someone near me is always being critical. It's too upbeat or it's too sad. It's too instrumental or it's lyrics are overbearing. If I were the kind of person to fake giving everyone who opposes him the finger in his blog but never really addresses it in real life I'm certain I would do that right about now. But since that's not my style I will continue to keep my feelings of hatred for my uncultured peers silent and let my glass-like stares and inaudible disappointment speak the volumes they are capable of speaking. In situations like this I try not to judge people because if I hate anything it's when people judge me.
Which leads me into my next paragraph. If I were the kind of person to label each one of his paragraphs with someone trite, contrived, AND inane I'm certain I would do that right now. But since I haven't labeled my paragraphs since I had angst spilling out of a spigot in my spine 8 or 9 years ago, I'll leave you to name it on your own. People are always brushing off their soap boxes and speaking out against the hipster movement. I wish I had a megaphone for every box I come across, because holding your ground against any growing or dwindling subculture of young people is idiotic. People throw around the term hipster to refer to alternative gay guys and lesbians, or people who like to craft. Those of us who appreciate music and film, and those of us who create music and film. The "sensitive" straight man and his counterpart, the "driven" straight women. If you are caught in possession of skinny jeans and ANY BOOK IN THE UNIVERSE surprise! You're a hipster. Try and control and part of your destiny and you sir/ma'am are a hipster. It seems that veering to the left or right from classical culture, societal, and gender norms means you're this new breed of young person who counters every aspect of culture that anyone has ever seen. It's not as if this sort of thing has been happening since the beginning of cultural identities. Wait, it has. It happens everywhere, to everyone who, before, during, and after every generation sees it's power come into fruition. What is youth without trying to outgrow old ways; or adapt them in the ways we see fit, at least. It's weird to me that this is some phenomenon sweeping the nation, and people feel free to openly make fun of me as though I am some pillar of cultural change, when a few years ago it was razor haircuts and mascara (make no mention of fallout boy, afi, or panic at the disco, please), and before that you'd be hard pressed to walk 4 blocks in any direction without finding someone wearing a red plaid shirt with food bits stuck in their hair and complacency oozing from their pores. I know I am obviously gliding over this subject, barely skimming the surface of an issue that needn't be an issue, but I wish people would understand what it is to be a person and how/why young people are always changing for better or for worse; and how this "movement" isn't any more special than movements in the past.
Only I think young people are looking a lot cuter these days. I'm glad one of the "hipster" focuses is fashion and not something stupid like period Italian statues or trying to be friendly. I'm going to go put on my cowboy boots and walk in circles. My disdain meter is running low and I need a boost.
AH, speaking of boosts. I went to Jamba Juice once and asked for a Crystal Meth boost. I was the only person in line who laughed. I hate this city.
It's been a while since I've posted something of significance, though I am beginning to think everything I think about posting is significant enough for me to play out through my keyboard instead of just in my head. I've been working like a madman this past week. Overnights, 5am shifts. Floormoves and important (retail) decisions. While my manager is away in Germany learning how to oppress people, I'm enjoying my free visual range over my little store in SoHo. Being a merchant, merchandiser, visual, whatever you want to call it... it's definitely a strange avenue to pursue. Taking control of how merchandise looks visually means taking ownership of ideals that appeal to other people while still owning it and making it look like you. I think if you walked into my store and looked at the floorset we've done while in my manager's absence you'd know I had more than just a hand in the mix. And I think running things like this are seeming less and less like tasks and more like things I was built to do. My ability to make merchandise appeal to the masses is topped only by my almost instantaneous ability to come up with solutions for any number of obstacles that get thrown in my path. I think that's my stream of consciousness manifesting itself physically. That said, I don't think I will ever understand Sudoku. Stop getting me to try.
Ryan couldn't resist (or maybe he saw how excited/anxious I was) and he gave my my first Christmas gift early. A glistening Xbox 360. I am currently siding with Microsoft during this console war, so this gift was more than appreciated. I have had it in my grasp for almost a week and I am still beyond excited every time I turn it on. You can hook your ipod up to the USB port and the game background music disappears while the tracks you pick on your ipod start up to take their place. Fantastic. The gamer in me has awoken from his near-death coma and he wants to play Puzzle fighter. Expect me to post about games here and there as I assure you I will be playing my thumbs down to their bones.
For some reason I seem to be hyper aware of people judging me this month. I make playlists on my ipod that change every month. Last month my running theme was irony; the month before it was pestilence. This month I'm trying to listen to stuff that's upbeat and morose, because everything has to be poignant and I am nothing without my agendas! Nothing! That said, I find that when I play music out loud someone near me is always being critical. It's too upbeat or it's too sad. It's too instrumental or it's lyrics are overbearing. If I were the kind of person to fake giving everyone who opposes him the finger in his blog but never really addresses it in real life I'm certain I would do that right about now. But since that's not my style I will continue to keep my feelings of hatred for my uncultured peers silent and let my glass-like stares and inaudible disappointment speak the volumes they are capable of speaking. In situations like this I try not to judge people because if I hate anything it's when people judge me.
Which leads me into my next paragraph. If I were the kind of person to label each one of his paragraphs with someone trite, contrived, AND inane I'm certain I would do that right now. But since I haven't labeled my paragraphs since I had angst spilling out of a spigot in my spine 8 or 9 years ago, I'll leave you to name it on your own. People are always brushing off their soap boxes and speaking out against the hipster movement. I wish I had a megaphone for every box I come across, because holding your ground against any growing or dwindling subculture of young people is idiotic. People throw around the term hipster to refer to alternative gay guys and lesbians, or people who like to craft. Those of us who appreciate music and film, and those of us who create music and film. The "sensitive" straight man and his counterpart, the "driven" straight women. If you are caught in possession of skinny jeans and ANY BOOK IN THE UNIVERSE surprise! You're a hipster. Try and control and part of your destiny and you sir/ma'am are a hipster. It seems that veering to the left or right from classical culture, societal, and gender norms means you're this new breed of young person who counters every aspect of culture that anyone has ever seen. It's not as if this sort of thing has been happening since the beginning of cultural identities. Wait, it has. It happens everywhere, to everyone who, before, during, and after every generation sees it's power come into fruition. What is youth without trying to outgrow old ways; or adapt them in the ways we see fit, at least. It's weird to me that this is some phenomenon sweeping the nation, and people feel free to openly make fun of me as though I am some pillar of cultural change, when a few years ago it was razor haircuts and mascara (make no mention of fallout boy, afi, or panic at the disco, please), and before that you'd be hard pressed to walk 4 blocks in any direction without finding someone wearing a red plaid shirt with food bits stuck in their hair and complacency oozing from their pores. I know I am obviously gliding over this subject, barely skimming the surface of an issue that needn't be an issue, but I wish people would understand what it is to be a person and how/why young people are always changing for better or for worse; and how this "movement" isn't any more special than movements in the past.
Only I think young people are looking a lot cuter these days. I'm glad one of the "hipster" focuses is fashion and not something stupid like period Italian statues or trying to be friendly. I'm going to go put on my cowboy boots and walk in circles. My disdain meter is running low and I need a boost.
AH, speaking of boosts. I went to Jamba Juice once and asked for a Crystal Meth boost. I was the only person in line who laughed. I hate this city.
Monday, December 3, 2007
mini-post
I haven't posted in a very long time. But I have a good one brewing in the back of my head. I'm off to work an overnight, so some time tomorrow afternoon my post will come into fruition. I need an iPhone so I can blog on the go. Who will donate to me bettering myself?
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About Me
- Kyle
- Brooklyn, New York, United States
- I do not approve of clapping or snapping fingers. ever.