a little more than sort of happy
It’s late(ish) and even though I don’t have anything in particular to say right now, I want to blog just because I’m so happy that my DSL is up and running again. It conked out Saturday morning, and the old unplug-and-reboot strategies didn’t seem to work. I’m not very tech savvy, and I can also be a bit of a defeatist. I thought about how B used to spend hours—days—on the phone with Yahoo’s tech support staff. I thought about how SBC/AT&T has yet to get my bill right in the seven months that I’ve been a customer.
All of this added up to me thinking, DSL sure was great while it lasted. I will miss it.
I am this close to being the urban equivalent of someone with three rusted-out cars parked on her lawn.
Except sometimes, magically, the car starts when you cross your fingers and turn the key in the ignition one more time. DSL, I will never take you for granted again.
Some things that have been on my mind the past couple of days:
1) I am considering officially declaring picnicking a hobby. After going to three outdoor events to which food was brought, I am thoroughly smitten with this activity that is so much easier than knitting or learning German. I love the beautiful simplicity of eating out and eating in at the same time, of the cheese/cracker combo, of bartering food with friends, of drinking wine out of plastic cups. Also, I’m not a good cook, so food-to-go could be my specialty. No one expects anything fancy when you’re eating out of Tupperware.
Seriously, this one’s going on the MySpace page as an Interest.
2) I am really fond of using the phrases “kind of” and “sort of.” In writing, I think I’m practicing (imitating?) a school of contemporary writing that is cynical and gentle at the same time. I feel like I’ve seen this type of writing a few different places, but the practitioner that comes to mind immediately is Andrea Seigel.
Try it out: “I hate blah blah blah” vs. “I kind of hate blah blah blah.” The former conjures a voice that is judgmental and possibly dislikeable. The latter seems more like a helpless victim of her own subjectivity—someone honest and humble who has the misfortune of seeing the world in the unforgiving glow of a dressing-room light.
In speech, I am not such a fan of the kinda/sorta school, even though I obviously am because I use it all the time. But it’s wishy-washy. It’s a way of not fully owning your own emotions, something the therapist I just said a tearful goodbye to would not encourage.
Try it out: I’m kind of devastated. I’m sort of pissed. I’m in just a little bit of anguish. The understatement appeals to the Brit in me, and I like the idea of being a narrator in one of Andrea Seigel’s novels, although, you know, maybe a little bit less suicidal.
Ooh, I just did that completely unknowingly—in reality, I’d like to be (and am, so don’t you worry about me, Señor Freud) a lot less suicidal than that suicidal character. I am tempted to try giving up “kind of” and “sort of” in speech—like booze for Lent—but because I’m so into it in writing, well, I’m only kind of tempted.
All of this added up to me thinking, DSL sure was great while it lasted. I will miss it.
I am this close to being the urban equivalent of someone with three rusted-out cars parked on her lawn.
Except sometimes, magically, the car starts when you cross your fingers and turn the key in the ignition one more time. DSL, I will never take you for granted again.
Some things that have been on my mind the past couple of days:
1) I am considering officially declaring picnicking a hobby. After going to three outdoor events to which food was brought, I am thoroughly smitten with this activity that is so much easier than knitting or learning German. I love the beautiful simplicity of eating out and eating in at the same time, of the cheese/cracker combo, of bartering food with friends, of drinking wine out of plastic cups. Also, I’m not a good cook, so food-to-go could be my specialty. No one expects anything fancy when you’re eating out of Tupperware.
Seriously, this one’s going on the MySpace page as an Interest.
2) I am really fond of using the phrases “kind of” and “sort of.” In writing, I think I’m practicing (imitating?) a school of contemporary writing that is cynical and gentle at the same time. I feel like I’ve seen this type of writing a few different places, but the practitioner that comes to mind immediately is Andrea Seigel.
Try it out: “I hate blah blah blah” vs. “I kind of hate blah blah blah.” The former conjures a voice that is judgmental and possibly dislikeable. The latter seems more like a helpless victim of her own subjectivity—someone honest and humble who has the misfortune of seeing the world in the unforgiving glow of a dressing-room light.
In speech, I am not such a fan of the kinda/sorta school, even though I obviously am because I use it all the time. But it’s wishy-washy. It’s a way of not fully owning your own emotions, something the therapist I just said a tearful goodbye to would not encourage.
Try it out: I’m kind of devastated. I’m sort of pissed. I’m in just a little bit of anguish. The understatement appeals to the Brit in me, and I like the idea of being a narrator in one of Andrea Seigel’s novels, although, you know, maybe a little bit less suicidal.
Ooh, I just did that completely unknowingly—in reality, I’d like to be (and am, so don’t you worry about me, Señor Freud) a lot less suicidal than that suicidal character. I am tempted to try giving up “kind of” and “sort of” in speech—like booze for Lent—but because I’m so into it in writing, well, I’m only kind of tempted.
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