Nibble on this
January 22, 2010
As a prelude to an upcoming post on Seth Godin, chomp on this cheese. Digest. Like the mouse, you can’t regurgitate this stuff.
If our young men miscarry in their first enterprises, they lose all heart. If the young merchant fails, men say he is ruined. If the finest genius studies at one of our colleges, and is not installed in an office within one year afterwards in the cities or suburbs of Boston or New York, it seems to his friends and to himself that he is right in being disheartened, and in complaining the rest of his life. A sturdy lad from New Hampshire or Vermont, who in turn tries all the professions, who teams it, farms it, peddles, keeps a school, preaches, edits a newspaper, goes to Congress, buys a township, and so forth, in successive years, and always, like a cat, falls on his feet, is worth a hundred of these city dolls. He walks abreast with his days, and feels no shame in not “studying a profession,” for he does not postpone his life, but lives already. He has not one chance, but a hundred chances.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
Add water and multiply
January 7, 2010
In ink, I wrote down one resolution for the new year. Water spilled. Like the Gremlin, the list multiplied. I currently have 29 “resolutions” that are rapidly growing into new motives, both evil and pure, for 2010.
As a visual person, I like to gaze at my list here and there. I often stare blankly at my words avoiding the task at hand, and other times I wonder why I wrote down “Take chances, Kira” when I did tryout for Gotham Girls Roller Derby last year without a shot in hell of making the team. It’s okay, I’m taking skating lessons this year. It’s on my list.
I appreciate the fact that I’m trying to be a responsible adult, and I listed, “schedule regular dentist appointments” as a resolution. Is that a resolution? Shouldn’t that just be life? The idealist inside of me wrote down, “Write a book of fiction. And publish.” Aim high, right?
My 29th, and currently final item on my list is to “join a bowling league” which I added today … after I signed up online. Fooled ya, ’10.
Naysayers may suggest that resolutions are cliché. But I think it is a valuable way to express the multiple voices speaking in our own heads: The wise-ass, The inspired, The sneaky, The immature, The immature pretending to be mature, etc.
Go ahead and get friendly with the personalities you’re dealing with in the year ahead.
And add your resolutions below.
A telegram
December 31, 2009
The stories of my five friends and myself: These are telegram style.
Bob B. went to war and didn’t come back. Bob S. got hooked on weed and is now a junky. The other Bob S. hasn’t come around for a while. Bob H. stole my girl and I still want to punch him. And Bob V. isn’t named Bob at all. His name is Joel. My story is art is dead. I killed it. This is my self-portrait and the self portraits of my friends if I say so.
-Patrick Waldron
Wild woman rule: #1
December 14, 2009
I’m bored with rules from self-proclaimed experts. I’d rather hear refreshing stories from wild women that chuck instructions in the recycling bin: the type of women who read two paragraphs of “How To …” magazine articles and decide they’d rather head to the rock climbing gym than finish the article. I admire that crowd.
Writing her own rules: Caitlin Kelley
In response to an excerpt from The Rules by Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider, Caitlin Kelley wrote her own rule for meeting new friends and finding romance:
“Play social sports. Play to the best of your ability, and don’t be afraid to get sweaty & dirty. Don’t bother changing back into regular clothes when going to the bar afterwards. Dominate the flip cup or beer pong table, and you can show your feminine side by dancing when Rhianna or Lady Gaga plays from the jukebox.”
Next time you read or hear a rule you abhor, write your own. Send it to me (TheMathematicsofGlamour@hotmail.com), and I’ll post.
Acrylic anger
December 3, 2009
“I have been drawing and painting since as far back as I can remember. In almost every childhood picture of me I have a pacifier in my mouth and a crayon in my hand. Art class was my refuge in high school.
I drew or painted almost every day until my first year of college. I don’t know how it happened, but I got it into my head that I was a big fraud. I had a sinking feeling that I somehow wasn’t a real artist, and it was only a matter of time before everyone else figured it out. I didn’t make art for years.
Then one day not too long ago, something happened that made me angry. And not just regular angry – burning with the fire of a thousand suns angry. I stormed into my apartment and had the thought that I was either going to light the place on fire or find a way to channel my energy elsewhere. After briefly considering what prison would be like, I chose the latter. Without thinking I grabbed my paint brushes and this picture just fell out of me onto the canvas. Talk about therapy!
Making this painting reignited my inspiration. Lately I can’t seem to stop, and my tiny little apartment is losing walking space every week as I get canvas after canvas. These days I am much less angry.”
-Story and art by Rachel Rolseth in Minneapolis, Minnesota.
Lessons from a blood-thirsty bat
October 27, 2009
Heed the lead of the vampire bat, and play nice with your neighbor. Tit for tat.
In bat world, if one guy doesn’t snack on a bloody meal every two nights, he will need a kiss from a friend or face death.
Bats are probably more altruistic than some of us. A donor bat will help his hungry buddy and share some dinner (blood) through a succulent smooch. When a group of vampire bats keep each other alive, the whole colony is more likely to survive. No need for greed.
Selfish souls will not stumble upon success.
Lesson: Share your toys & snacks with friends and foes (if they are in your Facebook network). Give lots of kisses. Help the needy.
Want to be a baby’s mama? … for a bat? Sponsor one.
Be anonymous this Friday
October 9, 2009
A digital self-portrait created by Anonymous in Pennsylvania. A happy holiday weekend to everyone.
Sharing secrets with Google
September 23, 2009
Are people more likely to share their secret thoughts and questions with Ms. Google rather than their own friends and family? The reliable search engine could be the world’s new confidante.
Personally, I don’t want to share a best friend. Jealousy ensues. Things get messy.
There must be some virtual vault in Google’s zainy mansion that captures our world’s most intimate questions. The treasure chest is free from judgment. It contains truth in the form of misspelled thoughts and mysteries. Vulnerability hides in the bottom left-hand corner.
As a multifaceted guru, Ms. Google has a variety of relationships with millions of people. Is your own exchange emotional or factual or perhaps something else? It takes time to fully develop.
I have a few favorite search phrases that have led people to my website:
“babies with really long necks” Yikes.
“toe wrestling” I’m glad I am not the only one interested in this sport.
“is there beer at medieval times?” Yes, lots of it. Enjoy the booze.
“why are balloons sexual?” I wonder how Ms. Google answered this one.
“i made him wear heels” Congratulations. I’m impressed.
“gchat etiquette” I don’t believe it exists, hence I signed off for good.
If you feel confident in your relationship with your search engine, send me a few of your best or most intriguing “exchanges”.
A tribute to all the awkward people
September 15, 2009
I suppose writing exercises improve one’s technique, but it usually makes me question certain aspects of my life. Let’s take the first free-writing topic in my creative class this evening:
Write about the last time you got into trouble.
Failure. Blank canvas. I don’t get into trouble. I haven’t. Why haven’t I? Total nerd. New weekend goal: Get into trouble.
And the second free-writing subject:
Write about the first awkward moment that pops into your head.
My head swells with clumsy conversations, inelegant exchanges, and floundering fumbles. And this is only from the past week. Names, faces, and a wave of anxiety collectively hit me and quickly fade into comic relief.
I like awkward. I live by it. It’s the only thing that really makes sense to me. I’d much rather live my days in a sticky dish over a polished one. By definition, awkward means difficult to deal with. Sounds like a challenge!
Linger outside of your comfort zone. Get out there, squirm, and learn.
If you’re reading this and you’re a bit clumsy at times, send me your best story. If you’re a troublemaker, I can learn a thing or two. Teach me your ways.
Playing with idioms
September 4, 2009
