My employer's logo is a castle. It's not as glorious as having my own castle ruins to live in would be, but it suggests that things are moving in the right direction on that front.
I relish the 25 minute walk between the building where I work and where the bus drops me off/picks me up near the security gate entrance. In the mornings, the cool, grey, early dawn breeze is so enlivening. The overall chilly temp clashes with my hoodie and windbreaker layers, yielding a hybrid sensation of cool warmth that's addictive. Walking is often nearly meditative, and I wouldn't be surprised if it were in some ways therapeutic. Occasionally, a vehicle slows and the driver offers me a ride. When I respectfully turn them down, they roll away perplexed, unable to understand why anyone would choose to walk when wheels are available.
If a bed is your only furniture, it becomes a quicksand trap for sleep. The other evening around 8:00 I was lying on it fully clothed and wearing my jacket, looking up at the ceiling, and then I woke up after midnight.
I've since moved into my new apartment, the duplex in a residential neighborhood instead of the high-rise studio room with a faceless, corporate landlord. The numbered portion of my street address can be read as a 4-bit binary number and, if so read, its decimal equivalent is both equal to:
1. the first (or second) half of how the number is likely to be audibly described to someone seeking directions, where the other half is the other half repeated and
2. the number of the base which, by definition, corresponds to decimal numbers.
1010, "ten ten", base 10
Monday, August 31, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Looking At Ourselves Standing Inside The Mirror
The characteristics of a person's body, the fairness of the face they wear, the sound of their voice; while some variance is possible through diet, surgery, and smoking, these physical attributes are largely outside the realm of modification, and they at least partially inform the personality of the person to whom they belong.
People run round, scrambling, trapped in a body that they wish was not theirs. They shout through a megaphone to all who will listen "Fully half of my stress stems from my outer appearance not jiving with how I feel on the inside!" It is ironic to take care of oneself (eating when hungry, sleeping when tired, etc.) if one's greatest personal enemy is one's own body. The logical, if twisted, resolve to this conundrum of competing interests is to declare war on the enemy, to engage in regular bouts of self-harming; a hopeless fight against DNA, launched with an arsenal of razors, eating disorders, and a myriad of potent pills.
Who we are is reflected in each interaction we have with another person. This is why someone who has had few social interactions in their life will have a personality that is comparatively less stable and more malleable than someone whose identity is regularly reaffirmed by the same group of friends. This sets the foundation for two potentially dangerous situations:
1. Isolated individuals who are ceaselessly drifting, unable to "find themselves"
2. People who, while intricately woven into a strong and frequently maintained social web, are perceived in a very different way than how they perceive themselves, so that the identity reflected back onto them is not the identity they wish to project onto others.
People run round, scrambling, trapped in a body that they wish was not theirs. They shout through a megaphone to all who will listen "Fully half of my stress stems from my outer appearance not jiving with how I feel on the inside!" It is ironic to take care of oneself (eating when hungry, sleeping when tired, etc.) if one's greatest personal enemy is one's own body. The logical, if twisted, resolve to this conundrum of competing interests is to declare war on the enemy, to engage in regular bouts of self-harming; a hopeless fight against DNA, launched with an arsenal of razors, eating disorders, and a myriad of potent pills.
Who we are is reflected in each interaction we have with another person. This is why someone who has had few social interactions in their life will have a personality that is comparatively less stable and more malleable than someone whose identity is regularly reaffirmed by the same group of friends. This sets the foundation for two potentially dangerous situations:
1. Isolated individuals who are ceaselessly drifting, unable to "find themselves"
2. People who, while intricately woven into a strong and frequently maintained social web, are perceived in a very different way than how they perceive themselves, so that the identity reflected back onto them is not the identity they wish to project onto others.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
drink this drink
five pence and a pint of porter
that is what you're owed
when the bees have rolled their wings in the sand
when their honey is wet, not sticky
I've lost my mind in this move
it's worse than lost, it's damned
shove a lit tapered candle into a wall outlet
the room lights flicker in ecstasy
that's called an incestuous personification of visible spectrum radiation
I wish the girl illustrated above walked past me on a daily basis as a purely coincident consequence of the intersection of our commute to work schedules. A relationship built on the cumulative effect of seeing each other from a distance, approaching one another, and walking past each other day after day. A relationship developed entirely by non-verbal means. It would be even better if she were sleeping next to me. Alternately, I might wake up and she's not breathing. I put my arm around her and draw her against me, whispering "Are you alive, or am I suddenly a necrophiliac?"
that is what you're owed
when the bees have rolled their wings in the sand
when their honey is wet, not sticky
I've lost my mind in this move
it's worse than lost, it's damned
shove a lit tapered candle into a wall outlet
the room lights flicker in ecstasy
that's called an incestuous personification of visible spectrum radiation
I wish the girl illustrated above walked past me on a daily basis as a purely coincident consequence of the intersection of our commute to work schedules. A relationship built on the cumulative effect of seeing each other from a distance, approaching one another, and walking past each other day after day. A relationship developed entirely by non-verbal means. It would be even better if she were sleeping next to me. Alternately, I might wake up and she's not breathing. I put my arm around her and draw her against me, whispering "Are you alive, or am I suddenly a necrophiliac?"
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Pictures Of My Pad
Apartment hunting took little more than two days. Before I left Fairbanks I thought I'd get a place in the Government Hill neighborhood since it would just be a walk from work, but three things converged to result in my never even visiting the complex: I never heard from them after faxing in my application, I learned from a few people that Government Hill is like Mountain View minus the guns, and it’s on the opposite side of base from where I’ll be working, so not really a walk afterall.
I saw all manner of places, from elegant mansions to total dives. A tour of the 5 bedroom house in the doctor/lawyer neighborhood was given by the oriental equivalent of Smithers. He had an unnerving way of saying some of the same things 5 minutes later, smiled too often, came across as someone who doesn’t know how to deal with bad news, is a clean freak. The place gave me a bad vibe, something out of the twighlight zone. Even though it would’ve been the cheapest option, it was immediately removed from consideration when I learned that none of the roommates were girls.
The poor condition of the shit-hole residences was never suggested by the exorbitant monthly payments the landlords were seeking. In one decrepit dump sporting broken floor tiles a humorous exchange took place, beginning with my father’s inquiry loaded with faked interest “When will this place be ready to be moved into?” and ending with the landlord’s reply, “Well, it’s pretty much ready right now.”
Also looked at some properties managed by Weidner Apartment Homes, a huge company that has something of a monopoly on the major apartment complexes in town. The nice, if sad, thing about dealing with a monopoly is that the application process is the same everywhere and the $25 background/credit check fee need only be paid once, since every property uses the same results. One of these Weidner apartments turned out to be my temporary 1st choice.
The last place I looked at was the best; a 1 bedroom in a triplex owned by a person, not a massive apartment housing company. 725 sq ft, all utils included, huge back yard, quiet neighborhood, and about $300 cheaper than the 420 sq ft studio apartment that had been my prior first choice (I don’t even smoke pot). To top it off, the landlord was a very reasonable, easy-going guy. If I’d gotten the place I’d have questioned life more than I already am. What happened is, even though I was approved to lease (as was my father, in case my lack of credit history required that he co-sign), the girl whose tour of the place was ending just as we arrived was approved as well. In the interest of objectivity, the landlord gave her the lease option first, and she signed it that night. Apparently, she’d been apt. hunting for 2 weeks! She probably deserves it more than I do; I’ve been having more than my share of good luck this spring/summer.
That night we stayed with Katie and Doug. It was great to visit with them after so long. I’m glad they’re here.
I’ve neglected something worth mentioning. The easy-going triplex landlord felt bad that I’d just narrowly missed out on the apt., and wanted to make sure I had something else lined up. We told him about the studio apt., but stressed that we liked the 1 bedroom more. I need to give my dad credit, it was probably through his communication ability that the landlord, after several minutes of conversation with my father, offered this juicy morsel: his Yugoslavian parents have a duplex not far away that they’re looking to rent out beginning Sept. 1st. Minutes later we’re following him down the road as he leads the way towards his parent’s place. We pull into the driveway and check the place out. He says the only downside is that it’s fully furnished. His parents occupy the other half of the duplex and are both home now. He asks them if it’s alright if we come in, they say yes, we talk for awhile, interspersing words with smiles, a joke that “we’re Yugoslavian, we’ll give you the shirt off our back, but if you’re trouble we’ll take you out into the street and shoot you.” My father and I agree it’s better than the studio: larger, cheaper, quieter. So, basically, I’m only staying here in the studio for August (I signed a month-to-month lease).
Even given the advantages of the 1 bedroom with Yugoslavian neighbors, my dad can see that this studio will be a hard place to leave. It’s in a building very recently built, radiant in-floor heating, rooftop patio, in-suite washer and dryer, granite countertop, a pretty luxurious place. It also has a bed that pulls down from the wall, I sleep on the mattress in my sleeping bag. This should suffice for your daily dose of irony: my non-driver status had no bearing on my being assigned a parking space in the indoor garage. I’ll be parking the vehicle I don’t have in space #13, a number of superstition. I’d like to have Fridays off, working a compressed schedule of 10hr days Mon-Thurs.
I already like the big city more than Fairbanks. There are so many great places to eat, entire grocery stores that put Fred Meyer’s natural foods section to shame, at least two theaters that show movies for $3, clean ocean air (clean being a relative term, used here relative to the quality of what is often breathed in Fairbanks…smoke or ice fog, take your pick), an actual downtown, a more liberal populace, a more happenin’ scene. I think people here are generally happier than people in Fairbanks. Evidence of this was hidden in my father’s comment that he finds Anchorage drivers less aggressive.
I bought a bus pass for the month. I’ll be deciding on a work schedule on my first day, I’m guessing. The earliest bus could have me at work by 9:00, but they want me to arrive at 8:00 on Monday, so I planned to bike in. Then, someone who works for the USACE called and said he’d heard I was looking for a way to get to work and offered to pick me up on his way. WTF?
I saw all manner of places, from elegant mansions to total dives. A tour of the 5 bedroom house in the doctor/lawyer neighborhood was given by the oriental equivalent of Smithers. He had an unnerving way of saying some of the same things 5 minutes later, smiled too often, came across as someone who doesn’t know how to deal with bad news, is a clean freak. The place gave me a bad vibe, something out of the twighlight zone. Even though it would’ve been the cheapest option, it was immediately removed from consideration when I learned that none of the roommates were girls.
The poor condition of the shit-hole residences was never suggested by the exorbitant monthly payments the landlords were seeking. In one decrepit dump sporting broken floor tiles a humorous exchange took place, beginning with my father’s inquiry loaded with faked interest “When will this place be ready to be moved into?” and ending with the landlord’s reply, “Well, it’s pretty much ready right now.”
Also looked at some properties managed by Weidner Apartment Homes, a huge company that has something of a monopoly on the major apartment complexes in town. The nice, if sad, thing about dealing with a monopoly is that the application process is the same everywhere and the $25 background/credit check fee need only be paid once, since every property uses the same results. One of these Weidner apartments turned out to be my temporary 1st choice.
The last place I looked at was the best; a 1 bedroom in a triplex owned by a person, not a massive apartment housing company. 725 sq ft, all utils included, huge back yard, quiet neighborhood, and about $300 cheaper than the 420 sq ft studio apartment that had been my prior first choice (I don’t even smoke pot). To top it off, the landlord was a very reasonable, easy-going guy. If I’d gotten the place I’d have questioned life more than I already am. What happened is, even though I was approved to lease (as was my father, in case my lack of credit history required that he co-sign), the girl whose tour of the place was ending just as we arrived was approved as well. In the interest of objectivity, the landlord gave her the lease option first, and she signed it that night. Apparently, she’d been apt. hunting for 2 weeks! She probably deserves it more than I do; I’ve been having more than my share of good luck this spring/summer.
That night we stayed with Katie and Doug. It was great to visit with them after so long. I’m glad they’re here.
I’ve neglected something worth mentioning. The easy-going triplex landlord felt bad that I’d just narrowly missed out on the apt., and wanted to make sure I had something else lined up. We told him about the studio apt., but stressed that we liked the 1 bedroom more. I need to give my dad credit, it was probably through his communication ability that the landlord, after several minutes of conversation with my father, offered this juicy morsel: his Yugoslavian parents have a duplex not far away that they’re looking to rent out beginning Sept. 1st. Minutes later we’re following him down the road as he leads the way towards his parent’s place. We pull into the driveway and check the place out. He says the only downside is that it’s fully furnished. His parents occupy the other half of the duplex and are both home now. He asks them if it’s alright if we come in, they say yes, we talk for awhile, interspersing words with smiles, a joke that “we’re Yugoslavian, we’ll give you the shirt off our back, but if you’re trouble we’ll take you out into the street and shoot you.” My father and I agree it’s better than the studio: larger, cheaper, quieter. So, basically, I’m only staying here in the studio for August (I signed a month-to-month lease).
Even given the advantages of the 1 bedroom with Yugoslavian neighbors, my dad can see that this studio will be a hard place to leave. It’s in a building very recently built, radiant in-floor heating, rooftop patio, in-suite washer and dryer, granite countertop, a pretty luxurious place. It also has a bed that pulls down from the wall, I sleep on the mattress in my sleeping bag. This should suffice for your daily dose of irony: my non-driver status had no bearing on my being assigned a parking space in the indoor garage. I’ll be parking the vehicle I don’t have in space #13, a number of superstition. I’d like to have Fridays off, working a compressed schedule of 10hr days Mon-Thurs.
I already like the big city more than Fairbanks. There are so many great places to eat, entire grocery stores that put Fred Meyer’s natural foods section to shame, at least two theaters that show movies for $3, clean ocean air (clean being a relative term, used here relative to the quality of what is often breathed in Fairbanks…smoke or ice fog, take your pick), an actual downtown, a more liberal populace, a more happenin’ scene. I think people here are generally happier than people in Fairbanks. Evidence of this was hidden in my father’s comment that he finds Anchorage drivers less aggressive.
I bought a bus pass for the month. I’ll be deciding on a work schedule on my first day, I’m guessing. The earliest bus could have me at work by 9:00, but they want me to arrive at 8:00 on Monday, so I planned to bike in. Then, someone who works for the USACE called and said he’d heard I was looking for a way to get to work and offered to pick me up on his way. WTF?
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