false profit

Fakir.  Get it?
I haven’t been writing because it just hasn’t been in me. I sit down with the laptop, write a couple thoughtless sentences and give up. Before, I may have pushed myself to get something done, to get something up, but I don’t see the point anymore. As it is, I’m already shamed by my matching-shoe entry last week. The reality is, I write a lot. I write a whole lot. Every night I crank out paragraph after paragraph. One wonders if it’ll ever dry up. It’s like wondering if, with all the music that’s been made in the history of the world, how people still manage to come up with an original tune. I guess when the variables are infinitely arrangeable, there’s always a chance for an original. Not that anything I write is terribly original or even worth reading, but at least there’s no threat of “drying up.” I can keep pumping out sentence after sentence of crap. Here comes some of it now, enjoy.

As sore as I am, I’d trade sitting in my cube today for the sunny and sweaty yardwork of yesterday in a heartbeat. With Blind Faith’s eponymous, and only, LP blaring from the windows while I heaved the breaker bar at the rocky “dirt.” Instead, I’m sitting here on my already-tired-of-being-sat-on ass, listening to the Arcade Fire live on Morning Becomes Eclectic. A decent performance, but it’s not like I was in need of convincing when it comes to the awesomeness of this band. The problem is, when you release an album that is so stunningly good, so noticeably standout from everything else released that year, following it up is rough. I remember reading about Radiohead’s follow-up phobia after releasing the universally praised OK Computer. As if to silence the murmurs of “can they do it”, Radiohead released Kid A as the follow up and blew everyone’s mind again. I’m hoping the Arcade Fire can have their own mind-blowing follow up, and their sophomore effort is probably the one future album I’m currently most looking forward to.

Begin random unrelated paragraph.

I don’t think I’m the only one, but maybe I am, who feels like he really only knows a fraction of what people may think he does. I’m talking specifically to the work environment. I’m not an expert, in honesty I retain very little. I’m a fake, a practiced charlatan, and a cunning opportunist. Over my short time on this planet, the only real skill I’ve mastered is knowing how to influence peoples’ perceptions. An expert at getting by, proficient at faking it, and revered in the field of hype – I’ll come to you with nothing in my head and anything you’d like on my tongue. You’d think after a while, I’d get called out, cold-busted. Nope, I know enough to lay down safety nets… just like always, I know just enough to get by and nothing more. I come to school to do the bare minimum for the As and honors. Even with all your persuasiveness, you’ll not impress upon me your get-ahead attitude, I’m too satisfied with simply getting-along. Relying on my pseudo-skills to advance me… I will let your perception carry me. Thanks.

End random unrelated paragraph.

My week-long AIM screename mixup has been an exciting and interesting thing. As you may remember, it all stared last Saturday when I got a bunch of IMs from people I’d never heard of, all of them thinking I was someone named Zak or Charlie. Throughout the week, the IMs continued. Despite my frequent ignoring them, and, when responding, my adamancy that they had the wrong person – I learned a lot about the people IMing me, the person(s) I was supposed to be, and IMing and today’s youth in general. For instance, I learned that the job of a child predator really isn’t that tough. In just the first day of mistaken identity, these girls’ freely offered their names, ages, and location. I didn’t ask, and I even told them I was an old man who they didn’t know. It mattered not. Unasked, they sent pictures and even phone numbers; I learned what schools they go to, what dance studio they attend. It didn’t matter to them that I was a stranger – they could care less. That, to me, was a little disturbing.

I addition to a somewhat shocking lack of information-guarding, I learned that instant messaging is extremely important to these kids. The girls who were IMing me ranged from 12-14 years old, and they were relentless. They also have their own language. I like to think of myself as still being fairly-in touch with the youth culture of today, but some of the abbreviations and idioms they were using had me rushing to Google for a whippersnapper-to-geezer translator. Seeing how important IMing was to these kids made me realize that this is a entirely new communication medium. Something my generation and the ones preceding it simply didn’t have. It’s real-time note-passing, but with the added bonus of distance to reduce inhibition. As a behind-the-curtain method of communicating, it’s extremely efficient for the hormone-charged youth to conduct faceless flirting – which everyone knows is much easier than mustering up in-person game. Like the long flirty phone calls of my generation, IMs flying through cyberspace are today’s kids’ way of developing those oh-so-important teen infatuations. I guess it was just interesting to me that they probably don’t even consider that they are the first generation afforded this indirect and immediate type of communication.

And, to round it out – I finally got back to my long-running project of digitizing all my music. When I stopped, I was at about 80% ripping my entire CD library. Then, when I upgraded my PC my ASPI layer got all screwed up and my ripper wouldn’t work at all. My intense hatred of working with computers on my own time kept me from properly debugging the problem until tonight, when I forced a reinstall of the ASPI layer and got things back up and running. When I stopped before, it was at the daunting task of getting all my Beatles and Beatles related materials ripped… and now I’m happy to report I’m almost through with George Harrison and on my way to Lennon. Soon it will be Macca and finally the Fab Four themselves. When that’s done, all that’s left to do is walk through the collection and make sure every CD has digital representation. Then, reap the second-hand rewards via Ebay, local record shops, and secondspin.

Goodnight all. Good. Night.


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