Tagged thoughts

Christmas Gifts are Stupid

The whole rush to have a gift ready precisely on December 25th is dumb.  A gift given before or after that date should have just as much meaning.  What is this social embarrassment of not having a gift prepared on December 25th? The romanticism of rushing through department stores (or more likely, feverishly selecting express shipping from the dropdown menu) on December 24th is a complete waste of resources.   Think of all the harried post office workers rushing around instead of spending time with THEIR family because you couldn’t make the time to make a decision in time –frankly I think that means you don’t care enough (hell, good intentions, etc.) so why don’t you just show up empty-handed because those are your true feelings anyway.

What is this odd ceremony? This systematic dance that we engage in year after year? Only to return the crap on December 26th. Otherwise the stuff settles at the bottom of  clear plastic storage containers bought from The Container Store.  What a waste of labor, of energy, of material.

What’s the Point

There is a certain sort of melancholy that comes from knowing the truth.  There isn’t anything wrong with depressed people, it’s just that they see the futility of most human endeavors.  And can’t ignore the fact that hello we are all going to die someday and so is the universe so there will be nothing to remember that you ever existed, not your descendants or if you become famous.  Sometimes I feel like depression is like taking the red pill, and you feel all the illusions blur and zip around and before your eyes.

We scurry throughout the city like ants in an ant nest. Everyday we go from the same building through the tube (where we ignore other people) to that other same building doing Very Important Things.  We talk about Very Important Things.

Have you ever looked at someone while they were talking and then you realize you’re not looking at someone but rather at their face, their face made of skin and hair and squishy slimy eyeballs.  Have you ever looked someone in the eye and then all of a sudden you don’t feel like you’re looking them in the eye but rather at their eye and the black dot in the middle of it.   And it’s like their body is just a suit.  And then all this self esteem beauty talk seems so stupid, both the good and the bad.  It’s all just about more flesh or less flesh or this flesh or that flesh.

Who cares.

I was listening to this WTF with Marc Maron episode and in the intro he was talking about being aware of his corporeal body, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger.  This body is yours but it’s not you. Your body is a machine given to you to operate.

It’s so weird being human, where we have the capacity to be conscious of our finiteness, and yet our contemplation of our finiteness is defined and limited by the same material that enables our self-awareness. This jiggling gray pudding with jolts of electricity that run through it.

Humans are capable of such varied and profound emotional journeys, but does it take away from the breadth knowing from a bird’s eye view that you are limited by your medium, that jiggling gray thing?

Your therapist can’t help you with this, she only helps you rationalize so you can best enjoy your time here.  Therapists have their own shit to deal with.

But what is the limit? Maybe there is no limit? What is the edge of humanity, the good edge? Look how far we have come, although from the beginning to now I suppose it is debatable whether it is far forward or far away from our true essence, our highest self.   Nevermind the hills and valleys in between–no one can disagree that women and minority races gradually becoming recognized as equals to the white man is a bad thing, but suppose in the very beginning they were never seen as anything less.

What is Beauty anyway? What of our appreciation for it.

Life is a relay.  we all stop and start, but in different places, passing off our knowledge and memory to the next, and the next and the next….

*Existential Crisis brought to you by: The Universe Dying, Going to a former mentor’s memorial, that Sense of Self episode of Fresh Air where people think they’re dead and think certain limbs are extraneous

*Previous Existential Crisis brought to you by: Reading The Stranger by Albert Camus, learning about ancient Egyptian Burial Rituals, applying to college

DJ is a God

gotta love that EDM.


I feel like out of all music, house music is where you have to most suspend disbelief.  Otherwise you feel plain stupid.

If you want to be near the DJ, your hand is in the air, as if trying to touch the ONE TRUE BEING, meanwhile colorful light beams shoot from the ceiling heavens further creating the holy ground ambience. You bob ever so slightly side to side pretending this is how you always dance, you totally have a full range of motion (even though your cheek keeps knocking against someone’s sweaty back and the smell of BO is like a warm pashmina that wraps around you), this bobbing is totally a dance move.

Except it’s not.  You’re just one giant, vibing pulsating mass. Chanting believe, believe, believe.

That’s why I like the second floor better.



Commercial Production is Soul-Sucking

I fell into PAing a couple jobs.  I thought production was this opaque world but just like anything once you get a view from the inside it’s your decision to be jaded or not.


Commercial Production is soul-sucking.  It’s like hotel art.  I guess all the technical concepts are there, but just because it has the same form doesn’t mean it has the same soul.   It’s like mass anything–jewelry, makeup, TVs, food.


I guess you have to believe in what you sell, that determines what you think is art.


There’s a silver lining of course, some directors and dps still find the subtle nuances that inflect utilitarianism with aesthetics.  Which is what I should like, right? With all my obsession in the aesthetic of the functional, the stuff you’re not supposed to notice.  Office buildings, water fountains, road signs, text books, machine art.



Hierarchies are necessary for efficiency but I can’t help roll my eyes at the “some people are more equal than others” feeling.  Position in hierarchy  generally corresponds with amount of responsibility, but it’s funny/sad (so funny how those two are often connected) that production has to work the longest blandest hours but are paid the least. And since it’s freelance, you may be a producer on one job and a production manager on another.  Just a step down the ladder and you’re shut out of the inner circle of client dinners, ability to make convoluted requests and general fawning.  In fact, you’re arranging the client dinners and answering the convoluted requests and you’re the one fawning.



Why I Don’t Mind the Cold

Why I Don’t Mind the Cold

I was thinking about this the past few weeks… all small-talk and social media posts have revolved around this curmudgeonly weather and being ready for spring, which puzzled me because it’s been at least 30F out–meaning, it’s about 20-30 degrees warmer than the worst of it! But even when it was 3F outside, I didn’t mind.
I was very grumpy about cold weather going into the transition to winter, but being dressed appropriately–wearing fleece-lined pants, having a hat, wearing enough sweaters– I still acknowledge the cold (after all my face is bare) but then it becomes numb, and then it’s invigorating, and then I feel like I can conquer anything.

So I, for one, wouldn’t mind a few more weeks of this.

Private vs. Public

Facebook.  Instagram.

What is the worst thing about having a publicly private life? The worst thing is to have something embarrassing and shameful happen–words that by their definition require an audience.  Divorce, puberty, vomiting, general falling outs.  Privacy is to protect against the bad.  We do not worry about privacy when everything is going just dandy.  Barring famous people who have to deal with psycho-stalkers,  would we really be so protective of our privacy if we knew our collective human experiences are one and the same?

Repainting your house

You know what’s interesting about choosing a new paint color? And home makeovers? Or makeovers in general?

At one point someone may have painstakingly chosen that color, poring over paint chips and catalogs just like you are right now. But today that color is putrid, drab, in need of elimination right away, for a fresh clean start, like white wine on a paper cut.