How did we all miss this for two years??

Because I shouldn't just post ranting, snark, and self-serving drivel, I bring you a little bit o' awesome.

This was recorded live in Dallas in July of 2011 by Josh Weathers of the Josh Weathers Band. I had never heard of them until today, when this came across the old Facebook feed.

I mean... wut? Me and pretty much every woman I know saw this and considered packing our bags and heading off to Texas. Then I remembered that this and Austin is all that Texas has going for it right now, and my chances of snagging this are zero to nill. Such is life.

Anyway, we can all go home now.

The Wasp

Is not a wasp.

Well, technically it is. This is a mud dauber, I think. It lives in the left-hand arm of a chair on my porch. The chair I got from my neighbor who got it from his mom and it lived in his house for a while before it moved next door with me. I don't know where his mom got it but its history is most likely filled with facinating stories. Who cares about the fly on the wall or the wall itself? The fly dies in 24 hours and the walls are on the outskirts looking in. The furniture is right there in it, immersed amongst every and all life within a space. Furniture is intimate. Our furniture has seen us naked and absorbed our tears. We've farted and drooled and spilled coffee on it. We've laughed at movies, that, when with friends, we deny enjoying lest we be judged. We've found love and then later shattered their hearts on our furniture.

Think of what we'd hear if furniture could talk.

The chair is dirty. I've never taken the time to vacuum it and take it inside, away from the brilliance of day and the wetness of every other time. The porch is covered but it's no armory. The chair is sun-bleached. There's a hint of what might be mold growing in the creases. There is no odor. It's welcoming, the perfect size and cushiness for curling up with a book. That is, if you're a fairly compact human like I am. Would it be awkward for someone else? Is cushiness a word? The chair can't answer that but I know my opinion.

Besides the grime that's collected over the past year (2 years, maybe? I've lost track of so many things...) the chair has the scars unique to those who cohabitate with cats. Cats do what cats do and are skilled in the use of their equipment. In The Chair's case, the cats opened up the edges of each arm so they could someday be a portal to safe haven for a winged insect with only one real purpose in life.

The dauber lives in the left arm. In years past, left-handedness was considered evil and an affliction. This is where the word sinister has its origins. Not in darkness but in leftness. Leftness meant darkness. Darkness meant evil. Evil means the end of life. The dauber, it doesn't fit her.

She should have picked the right side. It's closer to the house and more protected. The TV tray-turned-side table is not on the right, though it should be since I'm right-handed and therefore not sinister. But does it work that way in wasps? If so I imagine that perhaps maybe she's left-winged, since after all that's the side she picked. And maybe if she were human she'd have voted for Obama and supported gay marriage.

I can't see into her nest; the frayed upholstery acts as drapes. I know she's solitary like me. She buzzes in, buzzes out, she sometimes stops to sip at a bead of water- or beer- that's collected on the TV tray-turned-side table. She's a loner, but also like me I imagine she craves just a bit of company. Company that doesn't ask for too much and doesn't tire her out or make her feel smaller than she actually is.

the dauber doesn't ask for much either. She's never shown any real concern with my presence. I sit in the chair, she leaves. I sit in the chair, she returns. Each time she returns, she does a quick buzz around my head. I think she's making sure it's just me there; someone she knows, the familiar face. And then she says a quick hello before disappearing into the armchair cavern she's settled for.

I watch her fly off and wonder if she's happy. It's a simple life, the insect life. Hatch, mature, mate, see the hatchlings off, and die. Still, I wonder how far she traveled that day, and how many more days she has left to travel. I wonder if she'll venture too close to a stranger; and if she does, will that be her end or will she evade the hastily grabbed magazine? Does she like the beer beads I've offered her? I only offer the best. When she comes home, is she relieved that it's me curled in the chair and not the transient neighborhood cat? Or is she simply tolerating me as a good neighbor with a good fence?

The wasp buzzes by for the last time this evening. She retreats into her comfortable place, where though her worries are many she can tend to only herself. Somehow this helps. Tomorrow she'll go out again. It won't be different from today.

The book I'm reading stopped holding my interest long ago. I know this because I've read the same page maybe three times, maybe five, and with each pass it's all new to me. So I mark the page and go inside. I'll watch television and then go to bed, most likely after a brief accidental sleep on the couch.

Tomorrow I'll go out again.

Macias is the new Black

Remember this absolute nightmare of musical nightmares?

"We we we so excited"

Now imagine that Ms. Black here were to come across Zoltar Speaks and wish to be big. And a man.

That's Rebecca right there, in the Dukes jacket.

Know what'd you get? This. 

"Say farewell to the hate"

We not so excited. 

You're welcome, by the way.

Despite All Our Rage...

Oops. It's been since July since I posted something. Crazy how I keep thinking I want to write, but then I never actually do it...

A while ago, I found this book in the used bookstore. Every now and then, I pop into Jackson Street Books and just sort of rifle around. I don't usually have any one thing I'm looking for, and I don't worry myself with checking reviews and whatnot for books I buy there. I go in, pick up something which I've solely judged by its cover (or title), read the inside jacket for subject matter and maybe a page or two to be sure the writing style doesn't make me want to stick sharp things in my eyes, and boogie on out of there. After checking my bank balance... so anyway, that book came home with me.

I haven't finished it yet, but as the title suggests it's about the acceleration of just about everything. No lie. I just got through a chapter where it talked about how the work environment of the average American has changed over time- more hours, less compensation, more overtime or off-books work, less leisure time, more uninterrupted access to employees/coworkers through electronic means, less quiet time, more time spent commuting, less time to cook healthy meals, less time to socialize, less vacation time... less living. This book was released in 1999, too, so what's crazy is to look at the hurry-up-edness the author had witnessed at that time, and realize that with all the innovations for productivity and corporate claims of upholding a work/life balance, the tools available for easing the average worker's workloads haven't done squat to actually free up some time or actually make the worker more productive. Which I kinda can't wrap my head around in some ways.

Why, in 2012, are we stuck in cages? We are... most of us get up in the morning at a specific time, to a specific and terrible sound. We move ourselves from home to some other location with arrival at a specific time. We sit in a specific area of a specific building. We meet with specific people about specific topics at another specific (and generally inconvenient for at least one person) time. We do our tasks for a specific number of hours. And we leave at a specific time, to return home, where other types of specific duties wait, but often go ignored. We're boxed in, for sure. And it makes no sense any more. It's not relevant to today's technologies.

This is the age of lightning-fast electronic transmission. Of having the ability to communicate with someone down the street or on the other side of the world with the same level of effort. Of being able to manage most tasks online wherever there is a connection available. We answer our cell phones and check our work emails during "non-work" hours. Most folks have resorted to mostly email-based communications anyway. We have 24-hour grocery stores, 24-hour banking, 24-hour restaurants, 24-hour gyms, 24-hour communication and news and bombardment of information. For all intents and purposes, we've become a 24-hour society with a 24-hour workday.

So why are we all having to drag ourselves out of bed with the help of an alarm clock, relocate to a place a couple miles (or many miles, if you aren't as lucky as I am) away, and cram a bunch of tasks that aren't really required to be done in that context within the confines of 9 am and 5 pm? I of course agree with the argument of company continuity and wanting coworkers to know each other. I agree that every now and then we all need to sit down together and talk about shit in person and brainstorm and all that. But a lot of these things can be accomplished in a day or two. Or at least in smaller 'office hours' sessions. The rest? No strict deadline, outside of "in a timely manner". What difference does it make if I write a press release (which I email for second opinions, FYI... hurry up and wait) at 9 am in my freezing "office" (which is not an office, but a cubby where I can't get one freaking second to think without interruption) or at 4 pm in the quiet, comfortable environment of my house or wherever I think I'll work best?

I do like the social aspect of the office. I just don't see the true value in forcing it on everyone in today's age. And the social part of the office is actually pretty detrimental to true productivity. Anyway, going back to my press release question... which one's better? Well, for me, the one at 4 pm will be a better written, more creative piece. I'm not at all a morning person, and I think a big part of the population is with me. I can go to bed at 8 pm, and I still will have the damnedest time getting up and moving if the sun's not up yet. It's just not natural for me. I'd be best suited to wake up sans alarm clock around 9:30-10 am and start working around 11. That's when I become a fully-functional, productive human being rather than a fuzzy-headed, overly-caffeinated, brain-blocked zombie. Though ideally I wouldn't work until 7 pm. The thing is, though, that I most likely wouldn't need to. Because I'd be that much more productive. It's not the amount of time you put into something that matters, it's the amount of care and the desire to do a good job. It's having ownership over what you do and being happy to do what you do.

Rather than look at total hours worked, people could be reviewed simply on whether or not the job was completed as necessary, and whether or not they actually did a good job. For this to work, though, everyone would have to work on salary. People getting paid hourly will milk that clock for all it's worth if they work too quickly and clear out the ol' To Do list before the whistle blows. High levels of productivity don't really mesh with hourly pay unless someone regularly has to work more than 40 hours a week; then it's a godsend. But for those in jobs like mine, where most of my tasks can be done anywhere and at any time of day? Salary and flexible work hours would be amazing. Just get stuff done. Meet with the folks you need to meet with. Maintain communication. So there's no meetings and I would rather take Sunday/Monday as my weekend? Big deal. So I don't have meetings and I just have to update a bunch of crap on the website and answer community emails? I'll get up when I get up, get on it, and work until I'm done. And it'll be good.

I guess I'm just amazed at how far we've come with our devices and connections and fancy-schmancy things that keep us going 24/7. And I don't see why the general office workplace hasn't modified over time to use these things to its advantage, all while ensuring fitter, happier, more productive employees. It's the current, yet outdated, system that makes a worker feel like a pig in a cage. On antibiotics.

Everything has accelerated. It's accelerated to a point that we might be about to lap ourselves. What happens then? Does the universe unmake itself? Or do we realize that we have ways to stay fast, while using our modern tools to get back to a type of slowness of lifestyle we haven't seen in 50 years? Our devices should be making life easier. They're not. So what now?

More Or Less

Yep, I'm living... more or less. There are things I need less of and things I want more of and vice versa. I go through these phases where everything feels likes it has come to a halt; I'm stagnant right now. Which makes me unhappy. And then I do nothing to recharge right away, and end up sliding into a full-out self-reflective depression. No good, right? The hardest part is getting things moving again. An object at rest seems impossible to budge... but there is no other choice. No other real choice, anyway. Otherwise, all that's left is throwing in the towel, adopting some more cats, and living out the rest of my life becoming one with my couch. Literally. What do you, or in this particular case I, need to really be fulfilled, more or less?

More making, less buying.
More outside, less inside.
More books, less computer/TV.
More sit-and-reflect, less go-Go-GO!
More meaningful relationships, less superficial niceties.
More alone, less lonely.
More lovely company, less alone.
More reaching out to people I feel a connection with, less worrying that they don't care as much about me.
More kitty cuddling on the couch, less searching for something else to do.
More confident honesty, less vague insecurity.
More activity, less sedentary.
More home, less elsewhere.
More hugs, less handshakes.
More accepting, less judging.
More board games, less video games.
More thought, less act.
More traveling, less good-enough-here.
More "I will", less "I wish".
More observing, less obliviousness.
More listening, less talking.
More sleep, less late nights.
More conversation, less frustration.

More love, no hate.

Haters Gonna Hate

And creepers gonna creep. By FSM, are they gonna creep.

There's a fine line between adoration and obsession. That line has been sufficiently obliterated, and this is not only by my own observations, but by the witness of others as well (though much of the publicly visible evidence posted to my Facebook wall was recently deleted... in an effort to not look so obsessed, I guess? Who knows what the thought process involved in all this is. I'm not pretending to have any answers).

My lack of interest should have been apparent from the start as I have avoided doing or saying anything that could be misconstrued as desire for anything more than simple platonic acquaintance (since, like, December). However, it's reached a point where the best thing is probably minimal-to-no response, as the only other option is a (unnecessary from my standpoint) lengthy explanation of sorts.

But you know what? I don't have to, and will not, explain myself to anyone.

And so it goes...

It's funny how big-time sads can happen when there is a definitive end to something. Especially when it was something that never even started, really. I suppose the heartachey pangs more signify the end of the ideal and the sense of loss over the 'could have been's; not the actuality and the 'was'.

Before, I could daydream and it made sense... "Maybe next week, maybe someday"; the 'chance' was there (though it wasn't... that's beside the point... that's why it was a daydream). Now that 'chance' has flown the coop, the someday has sailed, and the daydream has died.

That's what is sad. Dreams evaporate.

But life goes on.