she who has ears, let her listen

i think that television is actually rotting my brain. i aspire toward earning a ph.d. someday, and yet i spend hours a day sitting in front of a technological machine that actually encourages my brainwaves to settle into sleep mode. of course, that is precisely why i watch television. and yet my daily activities, work, and conversation don't tax my mental capacities to any degree that really requires my brain to rest. it is almost like a sugar addiction. the less sugar you have, the less you want. and the longer you go without it, the better you feel. i have not had a coca-cola or any other soda for over a week (and i can easily imbibe a 12 pack in a given week). and i don't feel the urge to have one any time soon, even though it has been the hottest weekend of the summer. yet after watching how-many? movies yesterday, my first instinct when i got up this morning was to turn on the television. i know it makes us feel less lonely, distracts us, gives us company, lets us escape, etc. but really, how can something so unsatisfying and so unmotivating be so addictive? damn perpetual motion. damn it.
i guess this is what makes us human... flexing our muscles of will to change our direction in behavior.
i am human.

er, i will be human.

i will chose to change my behavior,
even though the habitual creature within strains against it.

the light at the end of the summer

The best part about working as a temp, is sitting in the back of some window-less, musty room, sorting through hundreds of random files for hours at a time, and then realizing that although the other employees get paid vacation and medical benefits, this is not actually my life.

Surf's up

I moved inland and became a surfer. Maybe once a day, maybe twice I catch a wave… a radiowave of free wireless Internet. They are small waves, and they follow no weather pattern. But once I am riding it, I feel... At One with the ocean of friends and folks on email, MySpace, and classifieds. Ah, surfing without getting wet or exposing my cellulite. Does it get better?

The surf is best when I sit in front of the open kitchen window. This is the only place in my apartment where I will occasionally get enough tow for a stable ride. On the other side of my window, five or six neighbors less than three feet tall are trouping around on plastic tractors, tricycles, three-wheelers, wagons. It is a veritable swarm of cute-Asian-babies. Mothers sit in the courtyard, one slung with an infant. The air is cooling. My Internet chores are finished. I like Pasadena.