Monday, May 28, 2012
Friday, May 25, 2012
It's true what they say: familiarity breeds contempt, or at the very least the kind of easy annoyance one might get with finding socks on the floor or a herpes sore on the night before a hot date.
After years of being together and hoping that you can change somebody, you find that in fact, nobody changes and that quirk that your boyfriend has? It's no longer quirky but downright annoying. I mean, a dutch oven may be funny a couple of times, but seriously, I don't think I need a sheet thrown over me and breathe hot fart when I am watching The Vampire Diaries.
The funny thing is that you would think that after years of being in a relationship together one may tend to be more forgiving of your partner because you know them better, it seems like it's just the opposite. You can no longer forgive them for being them.
All the things that I thought were funny about me are no longer funny. I'm just Gallagher with the same tired watermelon and mallet, hacking away, with no laughs from the audience.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Charles' father disappeared many years ago after inventing a time machine. Charles jumps into the time machine in an effort to find out about his own past and look for clues to his father's whereabouts.
In the science of time travel that his father invented, the manifestation of the time machine exists as the novel in my hands, ergo, the book is the time machine and Charles Yu is traveling through time in it. I found this concept of book/time machine quite original and intriguing.
It is possible, in principle, to construct a universal time machine from no other components than (i) a piece of paper that is moved in two directions through a recording element, backward and forward, which (ii) performs only two basic operations, narration and the straightforward application of the past tense.
It's a surprisingly easy to follow despite the jargon in it and has a deep emotional and touching core. The scenes where he interacts with the past versions of his mother and father are quite affecting.
I don't miss him anymore. most of the time, anyway. I want to. I wish I could but unfortunately, it's true: time does heal. It will do so whether you like it or not, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. If you're not careful, time will take away everything that ever hurt you, everything you have ever lost, and replace it with knowledge. Time is a machine: it will convert your pain into experience.I quite enjoyed the book. My only wish that some of the longer science was edited because while it sounded elegant and persuasive, ultimately I was less interested in the "technology" and wanted to just move along to the next scene.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
There are three reasons why I don't enjoy cooking:
1. I hate touching any kind of raw meat. Raw meat reminds me of the animal that it used to be: the soft/firmness, the slight give when you cut into it; the non/smell of the thing you're cutting that I equate with death.
I have to cut meat into tiny pieces because large hunks of meat makes me think of the side of cow/pig/donkey that it came from.
Sometimes this bothers me so much that even after I finish with the cutting or slicing and I am way into the pleasure of the cooking and the delicious smell of roasting or frying is in the room, the memory of the raw meat will waft into my brain and lodge itself in there. It makes me queasy just thinking of it.
2. I have difficulty following recipes which I think are geared more towards someone who is generally less picky than me, with my aversion to dairy, organ meat, most vegetables.
3. I'd rather watch TV.
Saturday, May 12, 2012
This is what I think happens when we die. There is a moment of great fidgeting about and then the people who loved us grieve for a moment and then get on with their lives.
There may be some people who thrash about more than others (in the dying and the grieving), but mostly people just move on.
Even if my friends and family do a scene like the one in the cemetery in Steel Magnolias, it would all be over in about 20 minutes.
I want to try and think about how I shouldn't obsess about death but ultimately I just think that it just sucks. The dying. Worse, that when I die, I will have wrinkles and uncontrollable nose hair.
For a minute, Brian's mom Linda came to my mind. One minute she was watching tv, some mediocre 80s movie probably, like Short Circuit or Halloween 3, and the next she's gasping for air.
I remember the first time I met her. I was some stranger her son brought to a family holiday, July 4th, I think. She probably didn't think I would be still in her life 10 years later. I certainly didn't.
When Linda died, it was the first time I had been so close to death.
The only other time was when I was 10 or so, my great grandmother died and my mom made me go to the casket and look at her. I had bad dreams later that night.
In my mind, I can see Linda puffing away on her cigarette while making thanksgiving dinner, jabbering away with her gravelly Elaine Stritch voice. But that's just a lie my head tells me. She doesn't really exist anymore, anywhere. Just like when I die, I may flit into someone's mind for a minute and then disappear when they start making dinner, spill their coffee or dab ointment on their herpes sore.
Friday, May 11, 2012
My Twitter merges to my Facebook feed. Every photo I take with Instagram flows into Tumblr and Google+.
Here nobody hears my thoughts. I can talk to myself, in my head, here. It comforts me to know I can still think like this.
Is it weird that sometimes I don't think that I exist as myself unless I write my thoughts down?
I feel that the meat of me and the thought of me and the personality of me are three different things. The thought of me is what's here.
When I am gone, only this me will remain.