Sunday, June 15, 2008

You sound like a twelve-year-old hearthrob physicist

I don't really know how I feel about Cory Doctorow, as a writer at least. I tried starting two of his books, but didn't really find interest. Both of them started with the trope where the narrator discusses that they is telling a story, a metafictional trope that I find seriously off-putting. It put me off Midnight's Children and The Left Hand of Darkness as well.

That said, Doctorow's stuff on copyright is really interesting, Boing Boing is a fun browse, and he seems to be quite the ideasmith, so this interview for the Onion A.V. Club, courtesy the badass Tasha Robinson, is quite good. And it's long too, longer than they usually go over there, and well worth the added length.

Spring Cleaning

I have been cleaning my place on and off today, doing this bit and then that bit and stopping to take a break. The floor is mostly swept, the empty bottles and cans and cardboard cases are in the recycling bins and the car, I have wiped off the counter, and moved the table to the center of the "kitchen" to minimize the future buildup of crud on the floor. All the dirty clothes are off the floor and in the hamper and pair of plastic bags stacked on top of it. Dust mites prowl the floor, the last remnants of my sweeping. The sink of full of dishes I need to get around to washing. The bathroom floor still needs to be swept. The floor could probably use a washing, but I can't find the mop, if I even have one (I have a bucket). The shelves still need dusting, and my books are disorganized. The mail and papers on the dresser need to be gone through. The fridge should probably be cleaned, the laundry done somehow, the bottles and cans in my car taken to be redeemed, if Hy-Vee isn't underwater. I should make dinner.

I have decided to stay on here for another year. I could rarely care less about my job, and really wish I had something that paid more. But this apartment is starting to feel like home; it's my place, and I am loathe to leave it. I feel like whatever I came out here to accomplish I still haven't done, am just starting to do in fact, and I need another year to do whatever that is. I just can't imagine up and moving somewhere else in the next two months, Christ, at the end of next month. I feel a little bad about this. I would like to be closer to family and friends, I would like to feel rooted. Probably less than a mile from my house, right now, there are people laying down sandbags together, and I am not joining them. But I feel rooted here, to this room, and so I will stay, I suppose. If I up and left, I feel like I would lose my train of thought. Besides, I am not really hurting for money, living as close to minimum wage as I am. I make rent, and still manage to save some money, sometimes. I bank account is actually going up. I don't really mind all that much not having any toys, really, as long as I have my computer (I might have to buy a new one at some point, but not that soon).

A while back, I had the idea of making a post stating the intention of making at least one post a day. I decided against it. I had come to the realization that, as I have a nature that is spitefully contrary to all voiced intentions, any declaration I made I would immediately go about subverting, so best not to say anything actually. However, I am not even safe from my own mind, so this idea was immediately followed by a long dearth of posting, and a long dearth of writing in general. So, so much for playing it safe.

So now I just gotta say "fuck it." Before, I would try to hold things in, pace myself. make a post, and not make another one until the next day (when I would invariably forget to post). Now I say, I shall start just posting about any goddamn thing that comes into my head. It doesn't matter. I have been holding writing, of one form or another, as some kind of scary task, as a dragon that I fear facing. Some sacrosanct activity that must be entered like some meditative state. Well, I used to approach drumming the same way, and I now I just pick up my sticks and start fucking around. And my playing is better than it ever was then. So I just got to stop worrying about anything and just do it.

It is spring cleaning, and I need to get the old ideas out.