Wanted: Professional Hermit for Cave-Dwelling Duty
The best quote is "it had been very fashionable in the 18th century to have a hermit living in a remote corner of an estate." What?
UK bought 'wrong' smallpox vaccine
The UK Government has bought the wrong vaccine to protect the country from the threat of a smallpox attack by terrorists. Which can put a real damper on things. Unless you're living in a computer simulation.
Have some RealAudio fun with Nardwuar the Human Serviette.
Never say that this blog does not serve the public good. Stop pop-up advertising.
Rapid fire time. I'm getting sleepy.
--Movie reviews? Check the Grid
--Christopher Agou has some beautiful photos of New York on his site.
--Play engrossing Flash games at Orsinal
Here's something that we were planning to put on ManiacalFocus.com before that sucker got put to bed by our own innate laziness. It's a bit long, and I was high on Ricola when I wrote it 7 months ago. The premise was a column written by a bitter single guy (me).
The Straight Scoop
Maniacally Focused about being your damn self.
I’ve been sick for the longest time ever in my life, aside from childhood chicken pox and once when I got poked in the eye and had to go to the hospital. I’ve been coughing and sniffling and spreading my disease for 3 weeks like a giant walking virus, which is not as bad as it sounds, because a) I’m not really confined to my bed and b) I get to stay home and watch all the terrible programs brought to me by my DirecTV.
So, my recent sickness has gotten me back in touch with human frailty, and led to deep trances of meditation where I asked important reflective questions like “Should I keep watching this terrible Freddie Prinze Jr movie?,” “Where are my socks?,” and “What is to become of my life?” The last one stuck with me, and since all sorts of mentoring figures ask me a derivative of it every once in awhile. Let’s see. There are the parents, the various friends, married and unmarried, and random people just getting to know you, who feel like this is a surefire topic for conversation that will put off awkward pauses for at least, oh, five minutes.
The inevitable question, if you get caught in one of these conversations, and the asker has any genuine interest at all, is about marital status. And if you’re like me (in that you’re single and twentysomething), you hate this question, because you can see the numbers being crunched as you give your answer “No.” Your progress and value as a productive human being on the Golden Path to Adulthood is judged by many people by how many notches you have on your belt at this point. College degree? Check. In grad school or working? Check. Married? No? And the alarms go off.
Then comes a little bit of good-natured joshing, usually in 2 forms: the “hey, what’s the matter, you gay or something? Hahahahaha” or “oh that’s ok, you’ll find somebody eventually.” Namely, they think you’re a Scrooge-level misanthrope, finding no need for people except for when you take time out from counting your large piles of gold coins, OR you’re a lovesick, desperately heat-seeking smart bomb that will fall for the first thing that looks stable enough to get settled down, have kids and live happily ever suburban. The moment comes, and you’re tempted to rebut the conclusions you see them making in their heads, to say no, I really DO enjoy counting my coins, but still like being around people, or no, I might think “Sleepless in Seattle” is cinematic genius but can still talk about normal things like baseball or food. And you spend the next ten minutes trying to do so, but you can’t quite shake the feeling that the other person is walking away thinking you’re some sort of rationalizing, self-hypnotizing Prozac junkie out of touch with reality. Feelings like this can drive you to drink.
Whatever you want to say about it, post-undergrad life has been a little crazy in terms of social interaction. You feel stuck out in the cold without your cocoon of readily accessible friends, and it takes more work to maintain new friendships. And at the same time, you’re dealing with remaking your identity since you’re no longer a student, and for most of us, what we’re doing now for work is not what we truly feel like we are. Like, I’m not Investment Banker, or Marketing Analyst, or Entertainment Reporter. It’s not something I think I want carved on my gravestone.
And this makes people panic. Not having an identity, not having security in relationships. People I know are taking up interests I thought they’d never get into. Things like swing-dancing, foreign films, going into the clergy, or opera. I was talking to this one girl who said she was going to see the Van Gogh exhibit down at the Art Institute. She knows almost nothing about art, and I recall having conversations with her of how much she disdained the theater majors at our school. Another guy I know is almost positive of his calling to become a missionary down in the South American rainforest. Either that or out in the Russian steppes with the nomadic Mongols, but no, he swears, he’s almost sure of it. He, of course, tells this to the various attractive young women we run into (trans: who we rudely commandeer for our attention) in our weekend forays into the city’s finer establishments.
I’m all for people broadening their horizons. This is a good impulse, and should generally be encouraged. God knows that my own interests and hobbies are disparate enough, from Nerf-sculpting to throwing things at high velocity at my friends’ crotches then running like hell. I never would have discovered any of these joys if I hadn’t branched out. But I don’t do these things to impress other people. I do it because I enjoy doing them, not primarily in the hopes of finding somebody. I do it because it holds my interest and stimulates my mind, not because I’m lonely. But to take up things like this, just to put another bullet point on your personality “resume” seems dishonest. How would you feel if you’re taking pottery at your local community rec center (because pottery actually interests you) and somebody comes up to you with “Hey good-lookin’, you want to come over and make terra cotta bricks sometime? I got a new kiln in my basement you should come check out.” You’d throw that bastard out in a minute. These sorts of people are maniacally focused with being desirable.
It’s more fun to explore your interests or broaden your horizons with some genuine intent to them. I cannot stand people who read everything on Amazon’s bestseller list and think that makes them well-read. Please. Deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before someone who actually is well-read roots you out for the lowdown fraud you are. So take yourself seriously and sit down and read, if that’s what you really want to do. That “someone special” is not going to find your pretend knowledge of books more appealing than your self-honesty. That’s the straight scoop.
The best quote is "it had been very fashionable in the 18th century to have a hermit living in a remote corner of an estate." What?
UK bought 'wrong' smallpox vaccine
The UK Government has bought the wrong vaccine to protect the country from the threat of a smallpox attack by terrorists. Which can put a real damper on things. Unless you're living in a computer simulation.
Have some RealAudio fun with Nardwuar the Human Serviette.
Never say that this blog does not serve the public good. Stop pop-up advertising.
Rapid fire time. I'm getting sleepy.
--Movie reviews? Check the Grid
--Christopher Agou has some beautiful photos of New York on his site.
--Play engrossing Flash games at Orsinal
Here's something that we were planning to put on ManiacalFocus.com before that sucker got put to bed by our own innate laziness. It's a bit long, and I was high on Ricola when I wrote it 7 months ago. The premise was a column written by a bitter single guy (me).
The Straight Scoop
Maniacally Focused about being your damn self.
I’ve been sick for the longest time ever in my life, aside from childhood chicken pox and once when I got poked in the eye and had to go to the hospital. I’ve been coughing and sniffling and spreading my disease for 3 weeks like a giant walking virus, which is not as bad as it sounds, because a) I’m not really confined to my bed and b) I get to stay home and watch all the terrible programs brought to me by my DirecTV.
So, my recent sickness has gotten me back in touch with human frailty, and led to deep trances of meditation where I asked important reflective questions like “Should I keep watching this terrible Freddie Prinze Jr movie?,” “Where are my socks?,” and “What is to become of my life?” The last one stuck with me, and since all sorts of mentoring figures ask me a derivative of it every once in awhile. Let’s see. There are the parents, the various friends, married and unmarried, and random people just getting to know you, who feel like this is a surefire topic for conversation that will put off awkward pauses for at least, oh, five minutes.
The inevitable question, if you get caught in one of these conversations, and the asker has any genuine interest at all, is about marital status. And if you’re like me (in that you’re single and twentysomething), you hate this question, because you can see the numbers being crunched as you give your answer “No.” Your progress and value as a productive human being on the Golden Path to Adulthood is judged by many people by how many notches you have on your belt at this point. College degree? Check. In grad school or working? Check. Married? No? And the alarms go off.
Then comes a little bit of good-natured joshing, usually in 2 forms: the “hey, what’s the matter, you gay or something? Hahahahaha” or “oh that’s ok, you’ll find somebody eventually.” Namely, they think you’re a Scrooge-level misanthrope, finding no need for people except for when you take time out from counting your large piles of gold coins, OR you’re a lovesick, desperately heat-seeking smart bomb that will fall for the first thing that looks stable enough to get settled down, have kids and live happily ever suburban. The moment comes, and you’re tempted to rebut the conclusions you see them making in their heads, to say no, I really DO enjoy counting my coins, but still like being around people, or no, I might think “Sleepless in Seattle” is cinematic genius but can still talk about normal things like baseball or food. And you spend the next ten minutes trying to do so, but you can’t quite shake the feeling that the other person is walking away thinking you’re some sort of rationalizing, self-hypnotizing Prozac junkie out of touch with reality. Feelings like this can drive you to drink.
Whatever you want to say about it, post-undergrad life has been a little crazy in terms of social interaction. You feel stuck out in the cold without your cocoon of readily accessible friends, and it takes more work to maintain new friendships. And at the same time, you’re dealing with remaking your identity since you’re no longer a student, and for most of us, what we’re doing now for work is not what we truly feel like we are. Like, I’m not Investment Banker, or Marketing Analyst, or Entertainment Reporter. It’s not something I think I want carved on my gravestone.
And this makes people panic. Not having an identity, not having security in relationships. People I know are taking up interests I thought they’d never get into. Things like swing-dancing, foreign films, going into the clergy, or opera. I was talking to this one girl who said she was going to see the Van Gogh exhibit down at the Art Institute. She knows almost nothing about art, and I recall having conversations with her of how much she disdained the theater majors at our school. Another guy I know is almost positive of his calling to become a missionary down in the South American rainforest. Either that or out in the Russian steppes with the nomadic Mongols, but no, he swears, he’s almost sure of it. He, of course, tells this to the various attractive young women we run into (trans: who we rudely commandeer for our attention) in our weekend forays into the city’s finer establishments.
I’m all for people broadening their horizons. This is a good impulse, and should generally be encouraged. God knows that my own interests and hobbies are disparate enough, from Nerf-sculpting to throwing things at high velocity at my friends’ crotches then running like hell. I never would have discovered any of these joys if I hadn’t branched out. But I don’t do these things to impress other people. I do it because I enjoy doing them, not primarily in the hopes of finding somebody. I do it because it holds my interest and stimulates my mind, not because I’m lonely. But to take up things like this, just to put another bullet point on your personality “resume” seems dishonest. How would you feel if you’re taking pottery at your local community rec center (because pottery actually interests you) and somebody comes up to you with “Hey good-lookin’, you want to come over and make terra cotta bricks sometime? I got a new kiln in my basement you should come check out.” You’d throw that bastard out in a minute. These sorts of people are maniacally focused with being desirable.
It’s more fun to explore your interests or broaden your horizons with some genuine intent to them. I cannot stand people who read everything on Amazon’s bestseller list and think that makes them well-read. Please. Deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before someone who actually is well-read roots you out for the lowdown fraud you are. So take yourself seriously and sit down and read, if that’s what you really want to do. That “someone special” is not going to find your pretend knowledge of books more appealing than your self-honesty. That’s the straight scoop.
posted by Mark Ahn at
1:00 AM
