"My So-Called Existential Dilemma," Starring Clear Feigns

(Like "My So-Called Life," starring Claire Danes.)

My existential dilemma has come to an end, or at least has gone on the longest hiatus I've ever been through (at least, like, a week now). I've come to accept the non-transcendent world. Sartre helped me. He says you commit to shaping your essence, which is preceded by existence. (So, you exist before you have an essence, as opposed to the other way around, which is posited by most philosophies and religions Except Buddhism, which says you have no essence at all. There are many articles online comparing Existentialism with Buddhism. They are not very impressive articles.) Well, you don't have to commit; you can also just let it happen, but what you can't do is avoid is it happening. So if you don't commit, then you're stuck alienated from yourself and might end up with a shitty essence.

The downside is that accepting the non-transcendent world has made me start looking at clothing magazines and drifting through stores (clothing and non-clothing) and wanting pretty much fucking everything. I'll have to do better than that. I think ridding myself of wanting to buy everything in sight and not eating dead things anymore will be a start. Maybe just not eating dead things... It's a big task to create an essence. I dig it. I mean, I get that this is not a forehead-slapping idea, but he adds such a lovely philosophical glaze of intellect that I feel much better about it.

You know what I forgot I love? The little dessert cubby in TV Dinners. (I'm sad they're called "frozen meals" and shit like that instead of "TV Dinner" now. Can you think of anything they changed terms on like that? Do you approve of the change?) It's always something-cobbler. Some excuse for fruit drenched in sticky, fruity syrup. YUM. I just had peaches in cherry glue. It was delish.

The Eye and the Brow Furrow

My parents were not into public displays. My dad would have simply given me the dead eye and brow furrow and as soon as I knew it, I would have shut up and sat down. There would be no intervention from a nice lady, I would have been dead. I hate bubble gum ice cream. The bubble gum is all hard and not nice and chewy and it is just....ewww... Definitely one of those things that doesn't slow me down at Baskin Robbins. I wish I was as sure of my life choices, as I am of my ice cream choices. I mean take me to the BR counter, and I will quickly get through the choices. Hmmm...show me the brown ice creams, ok, show me the browner ice creams that have fudge in them, ok, now if that didn't narrow it down all the way show me the one with nuts, and voila, my ice cream choice is made.

Last night my nieces were acting the fool. It is interesting watching Kelie go through the older awkward stage. I wonder if it will foster depth or simply resentment. Hopefully depth...I don't want shallow relatives. I had a weird dream about Gayle last night, and it was combined with Lions and Tigers and Cheetahs all wandering around, like they were in a nature preserve...YIKES

Circle-Chase

"I'm whitening my teeth as I write this," she tittered gleefully. I picked up my personalized, tooth-shaped trays this morning at the dentist. They fit perfectly, as if they were made for my very teeth! I'm bleaching them right now. I felt proud when they compared my current tooth-color (for purposes of before-and-after) to a set of yellow-to-really-really-yellow sample teeth. I was at the way low-end of yellow. Does that mean they would have refused me the service if my teeth were just a bit less yellow?

We're getting free Italian lunch today from Filomena's. I hope we are getting raviolis personally made by that old slave lady they keep there... Ugh. Back from lunch. So full-up on sausage lasagna.

HAHA! Jeff came by talking about root beer floats and other junk food. He mentioned how awesome bubble gum ice cream is because it has the real bubble gum pieces in it. It reminded me of one of my favorite stories of my brother that I'd totally forgotten. So he's like 5-years-old, and gets his usual bubble gum ice cream at Baskin Robbins. Well, after examining it closely, he yells, "That motherfucker only gave me three gumballs!" Well my dad gets so awesomely pissed off that he yells, too. "I'm gonna kill you!" And the circle-chase in Baskins Robbins begins, weaving in and out of pink chairs. Some lady, scared that the delightful little boy is about to be pulverized (a distinct possibility), calls the police. I don't know what happens from there, but I bet the policeman then circle-chased my dad around the B&R.

I wish I did cool things like that as a kid.

Oh, Bit, you hairy? (said with Cockney English accent)

That was a nice obituary! I want mine to say:

AFW passed away on ____, __ 20__. She doesn't care how you remember her because... she's dead! Her husband, General/Chaplain M.S.W., states she was a happy little elf and she never grew taller than 5'0". Her best friend in the world, AK, recounts how she took naps everywhere. [See pictures below.] Her daughter Lilly, who is pale with long, dark hair, grew up happier and stronger than AFW. Her son, Leo Israel, who has lots of curly, light brown hair, is sweet and pure and looks after people. She says to tell you all that she finally figured out the meaning of her life, but can't share that with you at the moment. Her world champion yo-yo skills and far-from-best-selling novel were her proudest accomplishments. That, and suing the GOP for... one billion dollars!

I think it would make me happy if you chewed a finger off! Then I can think, as I pick my nose, "Not everyone is so lucky." And I'll sigh with happiness.

by the way...

The whole time I've known you, I have wanted fairy tale land for you too, but the problem has been, I don't know what your fairy tale is....so often I want to ask you if you are happy, b/c I don't know...I don't know what it is that makes you happy, and what it is that makes you unhappy...I get the most scared when I can't tell. B/c I would chew off one of my fingers, to make you happy...only I'm afraid after I did, you would say...the only thing that made me happy was that I had nicer fingers than Alex did, and now Alex doesn't have any fingers, so I can't be happy. But if you ever have an idea, and you want a push in some direction...just tell me the direction and I will do all that I can.

I feel a little sick

Well first off, let me apologize for being six blogs or so behind...it's a tough life mine...making playdough, getting up at 10...you know. But anyway...i have been thinking alot about you this week. I don't think its wrong to take the middle, especially if you don't see tons of net value...in fact it would be counterproductive to live in a fashion that didn't promise any better results, particularly if you reached the best possible outcome and still didn't like the results. As for me, I have the mentality that says there is something, something big that you have to achieve, or you aren't worth much of anything. And you have to do that while juggling all your thoughts and your family and everything else. But I don't know what the hell it is (google or no google) -- and today I saw that associate had died, riding motorcycles for the first time. And I read her obit and I thought that is so very sad to me. Her obit was just a few words, and I wonder if she thought about herself that she would like what they said, or if she would think, I am so much more, or I am not that at all...so what would I want my blog to say.

Alex King

Died on __, __, 20XX. Ms. King is survived by two children, and her loving husband, five grandchildren, her siblings, and her best friend annie. Ms. King was known for her work with children and was instrumental in changing laws effecting most of our nations children. In her earlier years, Ms. King worked tirelessly, while raising two well-behaved, mentally fulfilled, happy children, and she loved her husband in the best way she could -- as he needed to be loved.


Ms. King changed jobs six times in the past sixty years, and each time, she was noted for her excellent work, and contribution to mankind. Despite working so much, she made sure to visit her parents, who after much therapy and schooling, became happier, individuals. Her nieces and nephews, often spent summers with Alex and Andrew and later said that this was some of the happiest time of their lives.

All in all, Ms. King left no stones unturned, she loved well, and she was loved well. She will be missed.

magic-happy-fairy-rainbows

I keep thinking about how you said my risk-taking involves selling out potentially high payoffs (or really low payoffs) for middle payoffs. (I stick by claim that this is the exact opposite of taking risks, BTW.) So I'm left in the middle, not too unhappy and not too happy. I think that's exactly right.

I don't know how to feel about it, though. I told The Rapist about it, and she was basically like, "And what's wrong with that? What's wrong with giving up heroine for food and exercise?" And I was like, "No, it's more like giving up an internet start-up dream for a government job." I don't remember that the conversation went anywhere productive from there.

The thing is, I don't know if I respect people who take big risks. Most big risks fail and they're usually not for a good purpose -- for huge money, or fame, or for some other undefinable thing that will make it all right. I don't think they ever find what they're looking for. They will likely fail, but even if they wildly succeed, they still will wonder why it isn't enough. On the other hand, I respect that their brave enough to give failing a shot and I condemn myself for being a fetal-positioned wuss.

So, yeah, I feel empty, and maybe it's because I'm always taking the safe ground. But who doesn't feel empty in at least some respects? I think people who don't feel that way are rare and it has very little to do with what they have, what they've achieved, etc. I think they just have the ability to be satisfied. But I guess I don't really respect that, either. Why should they be satisfied? It seems sort of docile and stupid, since the truth is that, well, life is not that satisfying. But, then, of course, I think at myself, "You whiny little shit, you have just about the best life a human could have in history -- constant food, money, safety, and leisure. What the fuck do you want?" And what answer do I have? There's nothing I can name that I want. Which makes me feel like a child on summer vacation who whines about being bored. Kids spend all year looking forward to summer, so of course they're bummed out when it's not magic-happy-fairy-rainbows the whole summer. And we spend our whole lives looking forward to food, money, safety, and leisure, so of course we're bummed out when it's not magic-happy-fairy-rainbows.

SQrL, I'm bummed it's not magic-happy-fairy-rainbows. Really, really bummed.

E-motions, Schmee-motions

Do you think you can change your emotional makeup after your formative years? I picture that you form your emotional makeup in adolescence, and, after that, you can change it, but only through intense therapy, hard work, and delusion. But The Rapist thinks I've shut off access to all my emotions. And I think that can't be right because when I was an adolescent I was always yelling with anger at my family, crying and gnashing teeth alone, chasing some boy with the emotional fervor of a rabid bunny. Basically, an emotional wreck.

So the only time I can imagine this happening was between John and Mason. I went pretty train wreck after that A-Rab, and went slightly train wreck after breaking up with the Tennis Boy Wonder. But both of those were about a million miles from the intensity of the John-Hiroshima. But all that was already when I was incapable of being angry, which has been at least since law school began. So maybe Mason was my out from the drama of boys, and anger was already gone, so that leaves anxiety. I'm still pretty good at anxiety, but, you know, if I handled my finances and work better, I could get rid of that, too. And then I would be like Mr. Spock... And all this way after adolescense! An adult victory!

So her point is that progress is not to be had unless I feel and deal with all these underground emotions. I'm just not sure I like this. How many times has almost every person wished they could just offload their emotions and be free of them. And The Rapist is saying I'm a high-achiever on that front. Is it smart to give up a talent? And lack of emotion is probably highly adaptive in our current world. The Rapist claims the opposite; that emotions are needed in order to function effectively. I dunno about that.

You and Internet Will Conquer All

Who's job is it to show you the proper path? It's the internet's job, silly. Your job is simply to use the right search terms and all will unfold. Ta-da! Thank you, Al Gore!!

Well, my spiffy new book says that we suck at predicting what will make us happy, and, in fact, falsely remember what made us happy in the past. So really I guess you gotta just try shit out. And I realize there's the problem of "mortality," and that trying careers out takes time, but, well... yeah. Since we can't seem to predict anything that will make us happy, I guess we're free of the false-prediction burden. Shew, that's a lifted weight.

You know what I love lately? Diet root beer and butter. I mean, not together. But lately I'm obsessed with butter, and find diet root beer an uplifting change from Diet Coke. I'm totally barfed-out on Diet Coke. The thought of it makes me feel all acidy. As for butter, I want it on everything... mmmm.... chocolate-covered butter stick... oh wait, that's cake.

Tertl Head made me try putting salt water through one nostril and out the other in order to get rid of allergies. I don't know abou it actually working, but I think it's funny that you can put liquid in one nostril and have it come out the other. Weird.

What the hell Trtl???

You know there are so many famous historical quotes by people that ask deep questions, and we give the writers credit for being soooo smart...but what if they weren't smart at all...what if they just had tons of questions and no answers...

I signed my middle niece up with an email address today and it is fascinating unfolding a world for someone that they had no idea existed. Where is my world unfolder? Who is the person who is supposed to be showing me the way? Is it God? Because if it is, I better be a lot nicer than I have been. Is it me? Cause I don't know where to look and let's face it, I am incredibly lazy. Is it my parents? Cause I don't think they have a whole lot more to offer in the way of insight on this particular subject, other than instilling a fear in me of what will happen if I don't find something I like to do, namely...I'll be doing what I don't like to do for the next sixty years. Andrew has been great at showing me what I want to aspire to, but I think it came naturally to him and I don't have that situation either...so where does that leave me? Well I can tell you, it leaves me neither happy here nor where I will be happy...

Have ordered book. Soon will be happy.

This alleged book that I ordered is from this Harvard professor who says that our ability to make ourselves happy is sucky because we aren't good at predicting what will make us happy. But it does make us happy to predict what will make us happy because we like to feel in control and to daydream. I'm sitting here thinking about when that book arrives and how happy it will make me.

Beauty Leads to Lead in Your Leg

Hitler was a moron. Ever read Mein Kampf? (Me neither, but a hear it's a rambling piece of crap.) I'm surprised it said anti-social in the definition, though, because lots of sociopaths are very social. They may be anti-social deep down, since they only act very friendly for their own purposes. In fact, I was talking to The Rapist today and I said a certain someone in my family is a sociopath, but has lots of friends, which seems weird to me, and The Rapist said that sociopaths often draw lots of people in.

I haven't watched a beauty pageant in a long time. The last one I watched led to lead in my leg, when my brother stabbed me with a pencil. I still have the graphite spot on my leg. But, from the few glimpses I catch of those pageants and their winners, I gather that they are never very appealing in the Hollywood way. What I mean is that they are very statuesque and classical looking, with defined features and such, but are not, well, cute in any way. Kind of like Elizabeth Hurley -- beatiful but unappealing. And I realize that Hurley is very much Hollywood, but I think she's unique to Hollywood in that way. Most actresses are not only beautiful, but have a cute I'm-likeable look, even if they're not really (e.g., Lohan). Angelina Jolie might be like Hurley and the beauty pageant girls if it weren't for those outrageous cutifying lips. I definitely would rather be cute-beautiful than statuesque-beatiful. Like, it would be way cooler to be Reese Witherspoon than Elizabeth Hurley.

Eek! How long will you be in New Mexico? What if there are SQrL predators? OMG! This is terrible! I saw you called last night, but it was at 10:45 and I was way asleep and miserable -- I banished myself to the guest bedroom, knowing I would cough all night. I'm not just coughing now, but actually, seriously ill. Stuffed nose, phlegm cough, sore throat, achy, cold and hot spells. Terrible stuff. I blame it on the boy who wailed all the way from Wales to Washington. He was in the row in front of me. I hated him and his mother. It was unfair to hate them, but it was fairer than suffering without someone to blame.

I apparently suffer from a lack of action. I discovered this through my story-writing and it was confirmed by The Rapist. Must take action... after nappy-time...

whew...I thought you were talking about me...

I read the title of your last blog and thought you were talking about me....well I am not sure I know the word sociopath means...let me pause and look it up...
a person, as a psychopathic personality, whose behavior is antisocial and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience.
ok, then...yes, I think there have been tons of sociopaths who have been very intelligent. Of course, I probably won't have tons of examples, but lets start with Hitler, and kings of course...while not all of them were brilliant there surely were some, right? One problem with the question, is that definitionally, the term "antisocial" and "moral responsibility" are both very subjective. It seems that you have to judge people by the moral standard of their times, that rules out kings as sociopath, but totally includes hitler....

Ok, I watched the Miss America 2007 (cause I wanted to feel better about my physique) -- also I never got to watch it as a kid. Word to the wise...forget those girlie pics you have on the wall and jump on the Miss America bandwagon. Once you see those ridiculously tall girls, you'll never eat piggly wiggly ice cream again. But anyway, I was disappointed, they were like Ming vases...pretty on the outside, but basically empty on the inside. (Ok, I don't actually like Ming Vases, but you get my point.) Once they had to talk about anything...their presentation skills were straight out of the sixth grade. I mean just not good...I wondered if all the people they had cut were really as vapid as the winners. (Caveat...two of the top five were ok..but these girls make their living through presentation...) Anyway, I did like the person who won, but I think it might have been the dimples, I need to think on it.

Ok, last subject...Diet Coke Plus...my diet is now perfectly formed. I get vitamins and minerals from cereal and ... ta da!! vitamins and minerals from diet coke. I scoff at those of you who eat non-prepared foods and put all that work into it. This is far more efficient and lovely to tell the truth.

Ok, little jet setter...I am off to New Mexico tonight. I will call you manana before we get there, but mis padres don't have a phone, so conversation will be sketchy after that point.

Angry Retard or Brilliant Sociopath?

I read this totally awesome book "We Need to Talk About Kevin" that I picked up during my jet-setting trip to London. It's about a kid who commits a high school massacre. It's told from the perspective of his mom, who's recalling his life from birth forward to the massacre. She always thinks he's evil, pretty much right from birth, but the father keeps believing that she's imagining it. It's awesome because you wonder the whole time if she is, in fact, imagining most of it. It was way enthralling until probably the last few pages. I won't say what was wrong with those last few pages, because I'm hoping the little SQrL will read it.

What was most unbelievable (and there was a lot that was not really believable) in the book was that he was, like, this total genius. I haven't studied high school massacre-ers much, but from the little I read about those Columbine dudes, they were stupid as buckets of shit. Obsessed with stupid video games and violence like most idiot boys, but with some added-in self-pity and sociopathology. And that Virginia Tech guy, good lord, a serious moron. Those plays he wrote and that video he made... completely idiotic. Do you think murderers are ever all that smart? I mean, if they were, I think it's really likely they would use their cruelty in more creative, less culpable ways. Like, you know, go run Enron or some shit, and laugh at people losing pensions.

I think that violent people are almost always morons. What do you think? I can't think of one example of a brilliant sociopath, except in movies. Movies love that shit -- Hannibal Lecter, etc. In real life, they're just angry retards. What do you think?

NEVER LEAVE AGAIN!!

My turtle lies over the ocean my turtle lies over the sea....my turtle flew over the ocean, so bring back my turtle to me. Hello turtle....I'm up at the university watching Gross Point Blank...there are a lot of movies about people going back to high school and people being awful, in the reunion. I wonder why it was awful? I wonder if it is kind of what we were talking about before...maybe they had ideas of what their life would be, or else ideas of coming up with an idea of what they could be? Hmmm...it is interesting...well on a happy note, I'm off to visit my odd parents -- odd in the most loveable way possible this week. I am glad that my turtle is back, I missed her a lot!!!!!!!!!

I see'd it and saw'd It. It wasn't that good-looking.

It's true! I won't ever jump off the see-saw. Your tailbone is safe. BTW, don't think it slipped by me that you just, even if momentarily, condemned me to SIX kids! Not cool, SqRl, not cool.

See-Saws

I'm reading this book, and it was talking about see-saws and it made me remember how much it hurts when someone gets off the other end. As long as it is the two of you just going up and down, each controlling the descent and ascent with your legs, then you can handle it. But if one person pushes up to hard, and you come smacking into the ground, there's that laughing pain, which penetrates from the core of you up to your teeth which are likely clamped together and the ringing in your ears soon follows. And it makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. Not because there's anything funny...just because that's what you do.
Relationships are like that...just this finely balanced see-saw. Sometimes you can go fast, and sometimes you can go slow, but if you have ever hit bottom, it makes you definitely want to slow down a little and brace yourself even more.
It made me happy TrTl--I saw your last blog and your areas of everyday improvement & I finished reading the book best friends, and I was tooling around my apartment and it hit me...it doesn't matter you know? it doesn't matter what happens in our lives..so TrtlHead (that's what I call Rabbi to be) becomes a rabbi and you have six kids....and maybe i become a statistic of a failed business or whatever, I kill someone, it doesn't matter...we've passed some hurdle..we have forever, in a way that only our kids will have from us. I just had this realization...men and relationships, they can fail you..who knows...the truth is no one does. The fact of whether a relationship will last that can't be determined with any accuracy...but us, we will be friends no matter what...It seems we've passed the point that we were trying to reach the bottom. You know when you are little, you just want to get to the bottom of the pool, so you struggle against gravity and buoyancy and reach for the bottom, and your lungs hurt, and your ears hurt, and then when you get there, you push up to escape it as fast as possible, to reach the air above the water, and you don't have the energy you had on the way down, but you have triumph and your legs to propel you where you want to go. And you will reach the top of the water...or at least you always have....that's where we are...we aren't trying to reach the bottom...in our friendship we've started rising...you know? The fear of what would be, or whether something would break it...its gone. I mean some of the intensity is gone too...and it's ok. Its a little more relaxing that way. I think I would take solidity for excitement.

Trophy Cup Full of Nirvana for Sale: $12.99 or Best Offer

You should know I get very jealous of your brave adventures, such as making tikka masalah. (BTW, I laughed out loud at you not making your own Cinnamon Toast Crunch. It made me think, "I bet she will try it some day.") I make fun of it because I'm too lazy-scared to do stuff like that myself. And I'm definitely too lazy-scared to confront the "extraordinary" dilemma head-on, as you've done. Actions are a lot more impressive than blog-words.

I feel it, too. All. The. Time. I want my life to be extraordinary, and I don't know what to do about it. I mean, I don't even believe in extraordinary lives. I think that, yeah, it's amazing to lead the free world or star in blockbuster movies and have photographers track your every move. (I say this as though I could just choose those things, given the inclination. Like I'm sitting here chewing on my nails and contemplating whether I should become a rock star, but decide to take a nap instead.) Yeah, it's amazing, but it's still not meaningful in that transcendent, I-found-the-truth kind of way. That's what I want. I want transcendent meaning, unassailable truth, and I want it to be mine, mine, mine. What kind of arrogant piece of shit comes up with that as what they want in life? A self-defeating arrogant piece of shit, I suppose, cuz it ain't gonna happen. Smarter, better, more educated people, with more time on their hands, have tried to find transcendent truths, and so far I haven't seen their pictures in the paper holding up a trophy cup full of money and nirvana.

So... I'm with ya. Too bad I ain't gots no solutions. I find I can barely do anything new or even contemplate it for the knowledge that I will never reach this goal. How's that for middle-class, adolescent angst? I hate being pathetic and maladjusted. Adjusted people set reasonable goals and attain them. We did that once, right? I mean, you and I attained a goal that most people don't even consider a realistic thought. And what does it mean to us at this point? Slim to nuttin. That's the real rub, knowing that it won't satisfy once you have it. SqRL Nut (that's my blog name for Balloon Head; you can call him whatever you like) can make you into a movie star some day, but will your life feel different? Maybe... keep me updated. My bet's on: at first, yes, then... not so much.

Do we fight the fight anyway? You wanna make up a barely-attainable goal and then get it? They say the satisfaction is not in the result but in the journey to get there. Sometimes I believe them. (Usually only until I remember staying up all night to write papers I didn't care about, and the awesome feeling of the grade/result.) But maybe we gotta make one up anyway to get through this life with more happiness and resolute?

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "If I knew what goal to set, 90% of my problems would be solved, putz." (Yeah, I know you wouldn't think "putz.") The loss of youth, eh? It was so obvious to me that achievement would be high school, college, law school, lawyer job. Here I is, lawyer job. Make me happy! (Lawyer Job says, "Heh? Um sleepin! Lemme alone!") Alright, so, what's the obvious next step? Well, options:

1. Congeal Meaning: Write out what it's all meant so far. Script form might help SqRL Nut out some day.
2. Move on to a Totally New Front: Start a new career, business, outrageous hobby. Ignore your mind and become a fitness model. You, my Brave New SqRL, have thrown yourself into this. You can always go back ("Hello, Lawyer Job! Did you miss me?" "Umm sleepin!"), but you shouldn't.
3. Start a Family: Define yourself through children, and make them happier, more adjusted people than us. Or make your life about backing up your spouse. It's worked for some, or so I've heard, and tend to believe it. So you could try this route for Brave New SqRL.
4. Fix Other People: Forget it. No, really... stop. That's Same Old SqRL, not Brave New SqRL. Unless you want to fix me, which is a fab idea, and which on many fronts you've achieved over our glorious 5.5 years. I still think that THIS could be your glorious new career. Life Fixer-Upper.

What other options do we have? I want more items on the list.

As for fixing people... I think you should go with the sad-euphoric feeling just for a while. See what it's like. I bet your family will keep doing what it would do with or without your suggestions. And when you come back into action, they might be surprised enough to do the shit you tell them to do. Control-vacation. :)

Chicken Tikka Masala ... it ain't

Ok, so we tried. Andrew's naan was awesome...good news Trtl, there's only yeast, flour pretty much in naan...so you can eat tonssss of it. Bad news Trtl...the tikka masala not so fabulous, and the box of rice we bought for 3.75....double not. Smelled like wet dog in fact, so the question you asked earlier...why does someone try to make something the store can make better...let's just say for dinner tonight I'm not trying to make Cinnamon Toast Crunch...I'm just eating it. Sorry it took so long to blog. Frankly I'm a bit intimidated, your blog was right on, and I read it, and thought, yes, this is right and damnit I want legs, but only if I can be a mermaid.

This book I am reading, its about this guy who is always "taking care" of everyone in his family, yet meanwhile, he is resenting it. All of the time, he feels as though he doesn't really have a place. I wonder if that is me. I mean yes...I resent that I feel like some people I deal with don't take care of their life the way I think it should be taken care of, and once or twice, I had this sad-euphoria feeling of realizing that I could just walk away that they weren't my problems, but I never felt that was really the case. I never actually honestly for one minute thought I could let go of this if I wanted to.

I want to be a mermaid and then grow legs

I think you're waiting for something important to happen. It feels like you're (universal you) supposed to do something extraordinary. Extraordinarily meaningful, society-changing, artistic, or whatever. Maybe something extraordinary is just supposed to happen to you, as an alternative. But the extraordinary is definitely supposed to take place, whether you are the subject or the object.

We grow up reading stories and watching movies where extraordinary things happen, and how the hell are we supposed to adjust to waking up every day and doing the same un-extraordinary things... for the rest of our lives. Some people actually do extraordinary things, and it must have seemed invetitable to them once they get there (even though most probably still feel very lucky) because they grew up reading and watching the same stuff, and, really, how could it have really, truly turned out different? There's just no way they could have stayed obscure and average. Everyone's the star of their own story, and stories aren't supposed to be made up of a bunch of days that all are essentially the same.

The Rapist claims that some people are really satisfied, have no problem with, being mediocre. I don't believe her. If they are satisfied with that, well, then, they really are extraordinary. And they probably know that, and that's what really gets them through it. Or people who had extraordinariness thrust upon them when they didn't want it; they might actually appreciate mediocrity therafter.

Do you think people felt this way before star-culture? I bet they still did. I bet they still thought they'd be tribal leader or have a vision or catch a sea-monster. Or at least get the most unique, most incurable bacterias. Maybe it was less pervasive in their thoughts because they weren't surrounded by billboards and commercials and magazines and pop-up ads, but I bet they still felt it, that feeling of, "This can't be the whole thing. Life has to be more than this." And that angst that you have to make it more, but how the fuck do you go about that?

Speaking of which, how the fuck DO people go about it? I read on a Starbucks cup over the weekend that, if you seek goodness, you'll find greatness, but if you seek greatness, you'll find ruin. It's the kind of crock of shit you want to believe, but who really does? I mean, Bill Clinton was seeking greatness from the day he was freaking born. And, sure, he fucked it all up at times, but he achieved it. Not exactly my preferred form of greatness, but his anyway, so even better. Who are good examples of people who sought goodness and achieved greatness? Anybody out there (hey, SqRL, that's only you -- tee-hee) who starts naming Mother Theresa or Ghandi or Martin Luther King or someone like that gets a sharp finger to the eye. I want someone who just did their thing good and continuously and is now considered great. Yeah, Mother Theresa and her crew probably count, but they're boring and used up, and, let's face it, we're not going to become nuns or civil rights leaders or... whatever the fuck Ghandi was. What the fuck was he? Some kind of leader. I don't really care, though, so don't tell me. I'd like to remain ignorant on this point.

Another problem is that nothing attainable is really good enough. Becoming a great lawyer or ad exec or artist is nothing like growing legs when you're a mermaid or jumping to 30 years old when you're really 12. I mean, being "great" at something is surely better than being mediocre, but it still won't feel like much once you're there, I bet. I bet you're still waiting for something mystical to happen, like waking up in a different time or as a different person.

People are prolly wired to never be satisfied, to keep seeking out something they can't even define, and to be troubled by it. Very good for survival, I betcha.

Waiting

I don't know what's wrong with me....I was writing about the wedding in my journal, and I was getting tired, just thinking about it. It was the same stress that was there, since quitting my job, this feel of expectation, waiting for something, and it was probably there before leaving the job, I know it was, it's always there. There's something that feels like it's just weighing down on my neck, and each night before I go to sleep in those minutes before my eyes finally stop, is the only respite I get, or after I work out, a really hard workout such that my body has no energy to waste on pointless questions with no answers. This feel that I need to do something, only I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS...I'm lost in my own skin. That's from a Dido song lyric, but it sums it up nicely. I'm just pathetic in my very nonexistence. What am I waiting for, what am I needing to do. Why do I listen to these songs which exacerbate the weight that's there.

The Creek, The Creek, The Creek is on Fire

Helllllllooooo Dawson, I love the Creek, I can't help it. Four people interchanging all their angst. Do I want to be them? No, I don't think so, although the intrigue they face, and the choices they have could be cool. Would I want to be someone else? I don't know....maybe, it seems like a chance to off load all your baggage, but I thnk everyone pretty much has all of the same baggage in different suitcases. But with Dawson for forty five minutes, you get to laugh or shout at these people that you know bc you have been watching them, but unlike traditional friends and family, you don't have to fix any of their problems, and no matter what you think, next weeks episode has already been written. So you get the emotional turmoil without any of the responsibility. And in the end, you may feel a little bit sad that Joey is a jerk, or that Jen is getting the raw end of the deal, but somehow you think it will all work out someway.

I, Too, Say "Fuck You Mr. President"

Cursing is a great topic! (BTW, "cuss" is used by children in California, too, and is nothing like "chonk," which has been used only in Texas, and only in the parts where SqRL grew up, and only by one specific child... named SqRL.)

I always get this sickening joy out of cursing. Like if I say "that's fucked up," I know that I sound ugly and harsh, so I feel sorta judged, standing outside myself and hearing these offensive words that don't serve any real purpose. I picture a 13-year-old white-trash tomboy in dirty jeans with greasy pigtails, chewing gum and spitting. (That's the "sickening" part.) But I also think, 'I'm only getting that feeling/image because I'm female and we're expected to keep constant watch over our images, of the tone we project, of the misunderstandings we might create, etc., and we're supposed to constantly create this safe, soft environment for other people. So I think, "Fuck that, I'm free to spew this shit and I'll judge you by your reaction." (That's the joy part.) And anyway, I kinda like 13-year-old white-trash tomboys in dirty jeans and greasy pigtails, who chew gum and spit; it's who I wasn't strong enough to be at 13.

So I too say, "Fuck you Mr. President." (Did you know that's in an Eminem song?)

Fuck You Mr. President

My 11 year old niece Kelie, told me the other day that when she grew up she wasn't going to cuss or get tattoos, I think this is because she has been surrounded by her parents and mine and both use curse/swear words in anger or derision, or really all conversation. So to her, it is droll and simply offensive, but to me, it is different. Growing up, I used it as a point of distinction that I didn't curse (I started out writing cuss, but I was certain that TRTL would follow up with the vagaries of Texas language to make up words like cuss and chonk :) ), I used it to set myself apart, because I always wanted to be different, to be more refined, less vulgar, different, more thoughtful, and in my family, not cursing was a point of distinction...for good or bad, I don't know. But anyhow, after Aaron left, control became the ability to curse, rather than to withstand from cursing. Somehow the absence of such language previously, lent the words strength which they didn't previously possess. Radio-edited versions of songs which have the curse words removed became this point of softness, kowtowing to the popular masses and their sensibilities. I use cursing to shock my family, only it doesn't on face shock them, when I say Fuck that to my mom, she doesn't seem shocked by my language, only saddened by my tone. Nonetheless, it is a point of verbal vehemence for me, and I like it. So for now while my niece doesn't want to curse or get tattoos, I say good for you, but as for me I think I would like a tattoos that says Fuck You Mr. President. (Of course, it would need to be in the new removable ink, as my anger seems to come and go).

Tease Me...I don't think so

The sad truth of the matter, is that I am another one of thousands...I can dish it out, but I can't take it...teasing that is. What is wrong with me? Why do I have such a low annoyance threshold? Is it a latent insecurity? A raging insecurity? Do I doubt the true nature of others, or do I think that perhaps the teasing will reveal the truth of my personality? Does it challenge my security? Am I that insecure? Who am I to tease others, but not accept the return?

New Spit Diet! Sure to Make You Drop 20 Pounds in 4 Hours and Gross Your Friends Out!

I hate being moody, too! And the people I've been in long-term relationships were/are like SqRlLuvaaaaah -- even keel all the time -- only moody when I cause it. But I'm pretty tired of fighting my moods all the time. I still think common decency demands that I protect people as best I can from my moodiness, but I'm tired of pretending to myself that I'm not in bad moods. (Note: This is written later. Am happy again because drank Diet Coke. Caffeine = Happy.)

I think dreams are fantastic. Although Freud went out, what, like 30 years ago (?), I still think dreams are meaningful and are going to impart deep insights to me. I like them even when I wake up disconcerted and kinder freaked out. All the more reason to believe deep, disturbing insights are abounding.

I gotta hope that popsicles are only like 10% spit, not 50%. I mean all food is mixed with spit, but I hope that's only like 5%. The dryer items, though, like Saltines, have to be like at least 25% spit to get them to go down. Maybe we should come up with a chart of spit-to-food ratio. Like if popsicles are 10% spit, they get a .1 on the scale. Steak gets a .05, and Saltines get a .25. The higher the number, the grosser. It could aid in dieting. I bet high spit content is good because it's made from calories already in your body but reallocates the mass to your tummy. We could start the Spit Diet! Awesome -- we would gather together "High Spit Content" foods and fill the day with them. Dee. Lish. Us. What do you think is the highest spit content food? Well, gum of course is almost 100% spit. Just flavored spit. And once you've burst out that first couple minutes of good flavor, it's pretty much all spit from there. Perfect diet food. This is almost as fun as listing perforated foods!

An Exlax a Day....Keeps the Constipation Away

Why on earth are people so moody. The very flexibility of moods is confusing to me, I don't like it at all....more importantly I don't like my moodiness. My Sqrllvr is hardly ever moody. In fact, I think the only time he is moody is invariably when I'm moody. Now TRtl is sure to think that I am reflecting on her moodiness, but no really this is self reflection. Although let me reflect for a moment on Trtl's moodiness--I don't know that I ever know that she is moody until she apologizes for it. Normally she is like a little Trtl in that way...she withdraws into her little shell and stays very quiet. The thing is Trtl has these very expressive features, but instead of looking moody she generally looks sad, so I just sit there thinking that she is sad...which normally makes me moody and then at some point, I will say what's wrong? And she will reply with a laugh...I thought there was something wrong with you.

But anyway back to me...
Yesterday I woke up and felt like I could conquer the world, and today I woke up and felt alone in the world. Some of that is probably due to dreaming. I have been dreaming a lot and when I wake up from a dream, I always feel disconcerted and unhappy. All those people swimming in my head, some of them I know, some of them I don't. No sirree, no dreams for me.
People disturbing my sub conscious and the like.

Today I talked to my nieces mom & it was like each time I do, at times I wonder about their parenting, but each time I talk to her as a person, I realize that I like her quite a bit. She's nice, and I mean really nice. Yes there are things about her that bug me...for one she can be moody as hell...but at the basic person level, she is just nice. So anyway she said today she hates when people ask her how old her oldest kid is, and this amazed me. I never stopped to think she might be embarrassed at having had a kid at 15 and its something she can't get over very readily, but she says each time someone asks her, she can see the judgment on their face, and it was shocking to me really and another sample of my selfishness, that I didn't see it before. I never liked telling people my brother had kids when he was so young and like telling them how old their mom was even less, but she has to live with it every day. I never thought about her and her feelings at all, and that makes me think that I should be more sensitive and less self-involved. How do I become less self-involved? Maybe I should shroud the mirrors? Maybe not write in such an autobiographical way? I don't know.

Another thing...Popsicles and fudgsicles, how interesting is it that, if you don't chew them, rather you just suck them, half the enjoyment is your spit? Your spit goes on the popsicle, and then on your next pass through you pick up the flavoring and the spit. Crazy huh?

A Message From the Ambassador of the Nation of Edimame

Do you ever just dig on being in a bad mood? I'm totally down with my bad mood today. I've got my office door closed, and I'm CaseMappin' away, but damned if I'll pretend I'm happy about the sitch. Yup, I'm liking my bad mood. I've read that Americans are ashamed to not be happy 24-7. So I need to buck that trend. "I'm moody! I'm sad! And that's not bad!" (Picture me waving signs in front of Capitol building. I will be marching alone; moody people don't like crowds.) American culture will no longer keep me down. On the other hand... it might just be my decision to go without caffeine today. I feel woozy...

Tonight I learn about the Kabbalah. I'm hoping that lame-o, copycat Madonna shows up with her Angelina-Knockoff family from the nation of Edimame (just south of South Africa). This is a six-week course that will surely lead to englightenment, and, if not, those bitches will pay me back, yes they will.

The only thing more amazingly boring than my job are the jobs of people whose documents I review. "Dear re-insurer, you have totally reneged on our deal that you cover us for 20% excess over 5.1B for April 2014." Pssshhhhhhh. (Sound of my long dramatic sigh.) "Dear insured, eat it."

What do you think could make boring jobs more fun?

Hello...this is Company

dear misery,
you my dear are not doing something you ever wanted to do, don't find personally challenging, you aren't currently aspiring to any new goals that I know of, and wonder whether that is making you unhappy...I feel as though I am talking to myself. Of course being unfulfilled in something you spend more than 80% of your time doing must decrease your self-respect, self-interest, and self-motivation. Your self-respect is something that is constantly going to be reassessing itself, and because your growth is in large part nothing more than what you do, to the extent you aren't achieving anything that you are proud of, very unlikely to be rolling in the self respect. Similarly, self-interest...you have decided to take the monumental task of paying off your student loans...because you aren't developing any additional thinking abilities, or other such skill in which you could be more introspective about, you simply rehash the same question...does this job suck? Yes, but I'm still in it, so maybe the suckiness is really me...all of which is simply ridiculous, but understandable. Finally self-motivation, you are so mired in the shittiness which is your day to day job, (I feel I can say that as I have had the same job), that there is probably only enough energy there to wake up and continue. Without starting new things, or having larger sources of energy, I think it is obvious that self-motivation at this point will be hard come by which leads again to a loss of self respect. So yes...I think it is your job that sucks, but unfortunately, it has the negative counter effect of reflecting such suckiness in the draining out of your life energies.

Did I mention my brother today asked me how you were, and said at the wedding, he thought you seemed really sad and tired and energy-less? We need to fix this little trtl...I can't have you being a sad energy less trtl, you need something. Go see a doctor and tell them to fix you....

Blind Misery Better?

As you know, Fure-Kitten recently pointed out that I only talk about work in order to amp myself up for something I hate. This was sadly (at least partly) true. My therapist has pointed out before that the reason I'm not well-focused at work may be because my job sucks and not anything mysterious about me. (Can't she allow me some mystery, really?) I'm always thinking, "My job doesn't suck. I suck." But more and more I'm thinking my job sucks. (Don't get me wrong. I still suck on many fronts. My job is apparently just sucking back.)

Whether this is a good or bad turn of events, in my mind, is a matter of how it helps me -- can I slog through better if I admit I'm miserable or better if I pretend I'm not? It seems like the obvious answer is to pretend I'm not, but then I'm left wondering all the time, "Why can't I pull myself away from celebrity gossip and work? What's wrong with me?" With my new-found hate, I'd be like, "Because this job is ass. Now get back to work." Or I'd work the same amount and be extra-miserable. Not sure which.

I will admit misery and see how that goes... will report on improvements or disprovements...

Acetaminophen? You'll see the medicine!

I was definitely never told I could be anything I wanted. My dad, believing there was no way I'd graduate high school, told me at about 10 years old that he'd buy me any car I wanted when I graduated. I reminded him at about 17. He denied the conversation ever happened. I was bitter, and became an astronaut-ballerina-medieval-warrior to show him I could achieve anything. Turns out I don't like space, dancing, or sword-fighting, so who showed who after all? (Currently coding documents related to space, dancing, and sword-fighting. Unhappy with life. Dad was right; should have become plumber.)

Other people's parenting is atrocious. And I'm pretty sure we're always right when we realize that. The only bad parenting we'll be blind to is our own. But we'll be right that the neighbors spoil, beat, neglect, and overall doom their children. So what I mean is, it's fair to judge because they actually DO suck. As for your own kids, well, that's a lost hope really.

I ate Chinese food for lunch with Chris. It tasted delicious, and I only ate like 4/5 of it, which is pretty amazing for me/Piggy-Tertl. I had a scrambled-egg-and-cheese on muffin for breakfast, and I ate it all, and it was pretty awesome. I had Wheat Chubs and cheese cubes for snack; they would have been delicious, but I wasn't really hungry. For snack later I will have apple. Its deliciousness remains to be seen.

I am going to begin a Kabbalah class tomorrow. It goes for six weeks. Look at me, becoming more ascetic. Acidic. Astringent. Strident. Stridex. Zanax. Zephir. More fear. Torpor.

Parenting-Shmarenting I want to be a rock star

It seems to me that everytime I see a parent parenting,...I always thinks...hmmm...I would do X or Y differently. I wonder if they think the same thing or if I am simply overly judgmental??? I wonder if when I have kids, Trtl will think...oh man that Sqrl should invest in some kind of procreation-stoppers, b/c her parenting is just rotten!

Ugh......my computer is full of cosmo girl and Hannah Montana pop-ups. SqrlLvr is doing a paper on the tween market, and it is really interesting. The idea is that back in the day of the Spice Girls, strong girls was the media message--i.e. girl power--if you work hard you can achieve your dreams. Now though, its not just strong girls, it's famous girls...e.g. girls who are powerful are those that become so through fame, like being an actress or a singer. So now the marketing suggests...you too could become a famous american idol. he of course says it much better, but it is really interesting to me. Dreams are now being based on reaching a goal where talent or "who you know" becomes the line of demarcation and not hardwork.
My nieces can obviously become whatever they want, in the realm of doctor lawyer, teacher, mechanic (which would be nice), but are parents now telling their kids that they can be rock stars, or famous actresses, b/c if that is the case, it seems to me that there is much less likelihood of that, and what does that do to a child's dreams, when she realizes that her dreams aren't really reasonable. This seems different than the astronaut career of my childhood which while unlikely was possible provided genetic mutations in my eyes didn't occur, I mean monkeys had gone to space, and if I was willing to put in lots of time, I could be the first Sqrl there. I of course was not willing to put in the time, and thus ended that dream. An actress or rockstar, or basketball player on the other hand, seems much less in reach and much much more likely to escape the grasp of even the hardest working person if they lack the talent--AND I DO DAMN THEM!!

Planes Trains and Video Games

Dear ML--I agree with the hidden feelings TRTL elsewhere expresses about those chain letters, why does someone who allegedly thought of you as a friend think it is appropriate to bury you under the obligation of forwarding a chain letter so you aren't cursed with some awful malady such as bad luck which is essentially square one before you got the damn thing in the first place. I certainly don't believe in it, nevertheless, I looked again at my answers and thought about sending them on...I just don't want to encourage that behavior. After SqrlLvr left this morning, I went to the cabinet to get some cereal. We have three bowl type options, and I pulled my favorite down from the shelf -- inside that bowl was a note that said, "I love you cereal - head", now this certainly spells out my predictability, but nevertheless, I plucked out the post-it note, and then decided to eat SqrlLvr's favorite cereal rather than mine. :) Also in the spirit of being not quite so predictable I quickly snacked on a chocolate chip cookie remaining from my weekend travel. I love gift giving -- trying to think of something that someone wants and plucking it up from the grasps of another e-bayer--but only when I am choosing to do so. I.e. only when it isn't forced upon me by Hallmark. B/c really things like assistant-day are not enjoyable holidays.

Ok, well this word was bugging me all weekend, but now I know what it means....I'm off to do some yoga and become more ascetic.

as·cet·ic /əˈsɛtɪk/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[uh-set-ik] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –noun

1.	a person who dedicates his or her life to a pursuit of contemplative ideals and practices extreme self-denial or self-mortification for religious reasons.

2.	a person who leads an austerely simple life, esp. one who abstains from the normal pleasures of life or denies himself or herself material satisfaction.

3.	(in the early Christian church) a monk; hermit.

–adjective Also, as·cet·i·cal.

4.	pertaining to asceticism.

5.	rigorously abstinent; austere: an ascetic existence.

6.	exceedingly strict or severe in religious exercises or self-mortification.

Rub the Genie Lamp

So I took this chain email "personality test." You know, like, describe the following animals and colors, and then it turns out that's how you feel about yourself and premarital sex. So of course the results are ridiculous, but I start to believe them. Well... maybe my life is "salty," and maybe my "twin soul" is... me. That's pretty deep, y'know? And then I'm stuck passing it along to 26 people so that I don't lose the wish I made at the beginning. (I'm pretty savvy. I wished for something lame, knowing that to get my wish I'd have to extend the email chain. Wishes never come free. You gotta rub the genie lamp.) Why do we tend to believe shit like that? If someone just up and told me, "You're life is rather salty, and I believe you are your twin soul," I'd be like, "You're a nice homeless man. Here's a dollar." So why do I believe it because it came in the form of a ridiculous Q-and-A session supposedly endorsed by the Dalai Lama?

Dear God, Please Abolish Gift-Giving Holidays, Kay Thanks.

I ate my Billy-approved breakfast of layers of yogurt, fiber-rich cereal, banana, and berries. It sounded good, but only tasted OK.

Now I'm off to get my secretary a gift certificate to the movies, in honor of "Staff Appreciation Week." Sweet Lord, I'm the worst gift-giver. Not only is it a gift-certificate, which is humiliating enough, but it's not even, like, for a store I know she adores. I just figure everyone likes movies and doesn't like to waste money on them. To top off all this lameness, I didn't even think of it! I stole the idea from another associate! Pathetic, truly. Oh well, it's the thought that counts... unfortunately, I didn't think.

As to gift-giving, I forgot my niece's birthday... after just last December forgetting my other niece's birthday. My nephew's birthday is only days away. I'm thinking I will buy back love with a joint Nintendo Wii gift to them. A game-lovin' office neighbor informs me that Wii is all about games where you use your own body in motion to play the game. That will be great for my nephew, who spends all day indoors with a TV. At least he'll have to swing his own fist at his virtual-enemy. The violence will that bit more real. Good thinking on the part of the responsible aunt. Oh man, I hate gifts.

I wish there were no gift-giving holidays. We could all just give surprise gifts when we felt like it, and we'd all be happier, because surprise gifts are, y'know, surprises, instead of disappointments because you were hoping for something better. I always stress that I failed expectations.

And I got up early...damn

Today my challenge is to get to the airport in one piece with luggage and identification....as I am running late my blogging will have to remain for Monday.

Tomorrow Is the First Day of the Rest of Your Etc. Etc.

Dear Squrl,

Tomorrow we begin upon our very important trek. We will surely conquer and become as Nietzsche's ubermensch. I will begin by following all of "Billy's" directions. (I am loathe to admit which Billy this is in case anyone ever stumbles upon this blog, but I will give a clue: I think he shaves his armpits.)

What will YOU do?


Challange! (said "chal-on-j"!)

Are Placebos Out of Style?

I'm with you. My mom believes she has every side effect of every medication. If she's fat, it's a medication's fault. If she's dizzy, ditto. If she's panicky, same. If she's got a backache, headache, gas, a general feeling of malaise, or the flowers in the front yard are wilting, same. She love, love, loves to read those package inserts that come with your meds. The woman has glaucoma, she's legally blind, and she can't read a single magazine article without falling asleep, but when that 20-page package insert with the tiny print comes into her hot little hands she starts scanning the lines like a kid watching a ping-pong match. And then she has all the symptoms, except death, which is surely around the corner.

All this makes me wonder why the doctor doesn't give her a placebo stating that the side effects are joy for life, energy, thicker hair, more youthful skin, and a flatter tummy. But can you do that anymore? Do disclosure laws allow that? Or would the doctor have to list the ingredients (sugar) and warn, "This pill will do absolutely nothing for you, but may be used as a beverage sweetener."

As to this idea that life passes you by when you sleep, I'm thinking, Wow, I think that's right. That's why I like it so damn much. While the world is swirling in a super-fast blue-and-green frenzy, I'm snug in my beddy, safe and happy. You know when I told you today that nothing makes me happy consistently? I knew I was lying. Sleep is always wonderful.

The Purple Pill

So one must ask the question...particularly when one works with product liability...whether symptoms are accurately diagnosed, or simply overly diagnosed due to the widespread dissemination of symptoms which could in fact be anything or nothing. Case in point...today I settled down for a cat nap around 4:00, (despite waking up at 9:30, yes) but I couldn't sleep...why you may ask? Because I wondered whether I needed to sleep because I was depressed, or whether I was just tired. When I was a kid I would not like taking naps and growing up, this never changed. I didn't like taking naps, b/c I was afraid the world was going to revolve without me, and I never wanted such a thing as that to happen, so in the event tiredness would overcome me, at the first opportunity, my eyes would fly open and there I would be with a slightly sickened-panicky feel wondering if life had passed me by and whether or not I could get it back. Fast forward to now...I still get the panicky feeling that life might pass me by, but unfortunately due to TV, which I have been forced to watch or listen to, now I think an afternoon catnap is a sign of depression. What's more, this thought makes me depressed...not knowing whether I am depressed or not. Which means that my nap is a complete waste of time, and alas....in fact probably counter-productive as it leads me to worrying.

Kids Just Like Ugly

I've read articles claiming that studies reveal that even little, wee, tiny, teeny, smally baby infants understand who's attractive and who's not, and it doesn't matter what culture you take the kid from or what culture's people you show him/her. Infants consistently stare longer at pictures of attractive people. Therefore, children must realize that Barney and Dora are ugly, and just think that's funny. The beginning of cruelty?

Well, on the other hand, those articles said that the main determinant of beauty is symmetry, i.e. that you don't have one eye dopier than the other or one ear lower than the other. Meaning you could fold the face in half lengthwise and get a great matchup. So... considering Barney and Dora are created through very careful costume design and drawing, I bet they have great symmetry. When Dora grows up, even if she is still sorta chubby and giganto-headed, her boobies will match. No way will when one point up and one down or one give in to gravity before the other. And isn't that what beauty is all about?

Teenage Mutant Ninja

How is it that children are so attracted to really ugly cartoons--the TMNT and Barney -- really really ugly, yet children of all ages like them. What is it that makes kids get their idea of aesthetics when they are young yet which change so much in early teenage years. Most cartoon characters are freakish in fact, yet kids love them. It's surprising that new actresses don't look like Dora the Explorer. Instead of having overly-skinny models, we would have encephalitic models. There would have to be head size regulations.