It happens rarely, that something truly sweeps my legs away under me; my jabs about how I feel jaded may even have some truth to them. Usually, if it happens, it's something life-changing, an entirely new outlook on life or similar, but apparantly, less can suffice.
A few days ago, I was introduced to a series. TV-series of all things, something I've never had any realy interest in. I considered tv-series the pacifier for the dimwitted, which I admit is a rather unwarranted attitude.
The series was called Heroes. 15 episodes of each 45 minutes, give or take. I've chomped through all 15 now. Record speed at that, but then again I never was good at limiting myself once I found a new indulgence.
The series revolves around something that instantly reminded me of the game settings Aberrant; normal people who discover they are developing supernatural powers, and struggling to come to terms with it. From the empathic cop, to the super-regenerating cheerleader outcast, pretty much all aspects and walks of life. It could so easily, ever so easily have become shallow and trite, but instead something developed in this series. I admit I was both tired and marginally drunk when I saw the first three episodes, but even so I honestly felt it touched me, somehow. I came to care for the characters, care for the plot, appreciate the story I was being told.
It made me think of old role playing sessions, things I miss doing. Everyone should have the chance to be a hero at some point, if just for a few hours, or even minutes.
By comparison, I don't think my life qualifies as heroic. Today as an example; top achievement today was to buy an expensive electric shaver, and a mildly excessive amount of energy drinks I've recently fallen for. Hey, they're cheap, taste alright, and apart from that, they alledgedly contain both Guarana and caffeine. Score.
Not epic, though. I very much doubt I could pass the snot in my head off as epic, unless it started glowing - in which case I'd label it radioactive and try to sell it to terrorists or somesuch.
Returning to the matter at hand;
The title of this blog, the latter part is a quote from the series.
I rarely say this, and those who know me know it to be true, it's very rare that I find something that moves me enough to start trying to peddle it to others. Fundamentally, I think everyone should make their own choice to find things...but this is going to be the exception.
You have a chance to stumble upon Heroes, seize the chance. Stock up your fridge, lock the door, and immerse yourself into a world that's as fascinating and promising as it is grim and bleak at times.
It's a form of relief; I doubt anyone has not at several times wished they had special powers, and the ability to do right the things wronged...Doing the right thing, and dreaming of it seems to be an awfully reoccurring theme for me. Yay for reality escaping, I guess.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Minor modifications
Nothing big or world-changing this time around, just a little update;
I've added the possibility of anonymous comments, after a bit of whining from Alex.
I've added a links section. Nothing massive, just a few things I usually go through.
Also, added a picture. Just...because I felt the place needed a little bit of that as well.
I'll probably fiddle around with some more things later, but for now, this'll do.
I've added the possibility of anonymous comments, after a bit of whining from Alex.
I've added a links section. Nothing massive, just a few things I usually go through.
Also, added a picture. Just...because I felt the place needed a little bit of that as well.
I'll probably fiddle around with some more things later, but for now, this'll do.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentine's day massacred
Ok ok, so it's no longer Valentine's day. Bite me.
It's a good example of something I once found endearing, romantic and a perfect day to reaffirm one's feelings. Before that, it was a day I found a source of immense loneliness, which may or may not have had something to do with me being single, angsty and teenager, but I digress.
I remember thinking that day was potentially better than both christmas, new year's and my birthday, all included - naturally, barring that one birthday that went horribly awry, but that's a story for another time.
Fuck. I keep sidetracking myself. Yay for lack of focus. I blame life in general, customer in specific, and anyone else than me in particular. That's the ticket, surely.
So, yeah. Valentine's day. Albeit that the very concept of it has been thoroughly reamed by corporate greed, it's a nice thought. Except, of course, for those that are alone on the day. For those, it's not really a lot of fun at all, unless they adopt either spite or ignorance. It's hardly fair, and god knows I'm sure there's a lot of people feeling pressured on the day, when affirmations of affection are no longer voluntary but mandatory, it kind of defeats the purpose...and with massive commercial hearts leaning on you from every side, it becomes something to struggle through, rather than revel in. My take is that our current brand of reality is simply too egoistic and rushed for this sort of thing to work. I mean, just look at what's happened to christmas.
I wonder if I've become too cynical for Valentine's day. Too old, too grizzled, like it's happened with christmas, that by now is just another chore to fulfill to a satisfying degree...whether it's because I simply will not let commercialism nutt in my mouth, and expect me to swallow, or if it's an earnest lack of emotion that dictates it for me.
I feel oddly defiant in the face of it. Maybe make a day dedicated to hating people would get my attention a bit better, and of course, I'd love to see the Colgate-smiles glaring from newspaper ads, not smiling but frowning, grinning, and wishing me a horrible day.
"Happy hatred day. May your face melt, your house burn down, and your significant other run off with your best friend, fucker. ps, fuck you thoroughly."
Whatever they'd sell me with that ad, I'd buy without hesitation.
Then again, it's a lot easier displaying negative emotions than positive ones. You're a lot less vulnerable that way. Maybe that's another reason for my Valentine's day scepticism. I don't feel like letting complete strangers see me smile. I dunno if it's because I think they haven't earned it, or because it leaves them knowing I have something to lose (whether or not I actually do). It's not only more natural, but also seems more gratifying to just grin and cok my eyebrow. Fuck'em, let them earn the right to see me smile if they want it.
So yeah. Valentine's day. What of it?
it's like an extra twist of the knife, ending a phone conversation, an email, or a text message with "Happy Valentine's day".
I don't believe in new year's resolves, for the same reason; you want to do something right and good, you don't need a fricking' title for a day to do so. Turn of a year? Who cares. Any actions, change or whatever needs to come from genuine motivation.
Moving further from the point, isn't there something fundamentally wrong when you need to know what day it is to promise yourself or others to be a better person?
Then again, I stop and wonder again, maybe it's not the commercialism, and maybe it's not even me being too jaded for it. After all, if I didn't care at all, why the hell would I spend time writing about it? Maybe I just lack a proper conduit. Perhaps that'd make it more obvious.
Ahwell. Until I figure things out better, I'll just praise myself happy that Valentine's day has been utterly sliced up from my side anyway. I guess I can put away the heart-shaped scalpel away now, and feel all good about myself. I've done my share.
Screw you, Valentine's day. You're nothing but memories coated in commercialism anyway.
It's a good example of something I once found endearing, romantic and a perfect day to reaffirm one's feelings. Before that, it was a day I found a source of immense loneliness, which may or may not have had something to do with me being single, angsty and teenager, but I digress.
I remember thinking that day was potentially better than both christmas, new year's and my birthday, all included - naturally, barring that one birthday that went horribly awry, but that's a story for another time.
Fuck. I keep sidetracking myself. Yay for lack of focus. I blame life in general, customer in specific, and anyone else than me in particular. That's the ticket, surely.
So, yeah. Valentine's day. Albeit that the very concept of it has been thoroughly reamed by corporate greed, it's a nice thought. Except, of course, for those that are alone on the day. For those, it's not really a lot of fun at all, unless they adopt either spite or ignorance. It's hardly fair, and god knows I'm sure there's a lot of people feeling pressured on the day, when affirmations of affection are no longer voluntary but mandatory, it kind of defeats the purpose...and with massive commercial hearts leaning on you from every side, it becomes something to struggle through, rather than revel in. My take is that our current brand of reality is simply too egoistic and rushed for this sort of thing to work. I mean, just look at what's happened to christmas.
I wonder if I've become too cynical for Valentine's day. Too old, too grizzled, like it's happened with christmas, that by now is just another chore to fulfill to a satisfying degree...whether it's because I simply will not let commercialism nutt in my mouth, and expect me to swallow, or if it's an earnest lack of emotion that dictates it for me.
I feel oddly defiant in the face of it. Maybe make a day dedicated to hating people would get my attention a bit better, and of course, I'd love to see the Colgate-smiles glaring from newspaper ads, not smiling but frowning, grinning, and wishing me a horrible day.
"Happy hatred day. May your face melt, your house burn down, and your significant other run off with your best friend, fucker. ps, fuck you thoroughly."
Whatever they'd sell me with that ad, I'd buy without hesitation.
Then again, it's a lot easier displaying negative emotions than positive ones. You're a lot less vulnerable that way. Maybe that's another reason for my Valentine's day scepticism. I don't feel like letting complete strangers see me smile. I dunno if it's because I think they haven't earned it, or because it leaves them knowing I have something to lose (whether or not I actually do). It's not only more natural, but also seems more gratifying to just grin and cok my eyebrow. Fuck'em, let them earn the right to see me smile if they want it.
So yeah. Valentine's day. What of it?
it's like an extra twist of the knife, ending a phone conversation, an email, or a text message with "Happy Valentine's day".
I don't believe in new year's resolves, for the same reason; you want to do something right and good, you don't need a fricking' title for a day to do so. Turn of a year? Who cares. Any actions, change or whatever needs to come from genuine motivation.
Moving further from the point, isn't there something fundamentally wrong when you need to know what day it is to promise yourself or others to be a better person?
Then again, I stop and wonder again, maybe it's not the commercialism, and maybe it's not even me being too jaded for it. After all, if I didn't care at all, why the hell would I spend time writing about it? Maybe I just lack a proper conduit. Perhaps that'd make it more obvious.
Ahwell. Until I figure things out better, I'll just praise myself happy that Valentine's day has been utterly sliced up from my side anyway. I guess I can put away the heart-shaped scalpel away now, and feel all good about myself. I've done my share.
Screw you, Valentine's day. You're nothing but memories coated in commercialism anyway.
Beaten to death with CAT-5
Or so I fantasize.
This'll be reasonably brief, since I am still at work.
The stream of calls, the lamenting wails of despair, have calmed down for now.
I'm left hating not my job, but the inevitable stupidity that invariably follows.
I know I'm arrogant about a lot of things, and I most definately know that I am arrogant in dealing with customers, at least when they insist that they know better than I do; but even in spite of my instinctive distance to any customer leaves me, occasionally, stumped, and in abject disbelief.
Just when you think you've seen it all. The best part is almost how people take internet access for granted, and assume that unless their house is on fire...
**1 hour later**
Well, fuck. Did I say the stream of calls had slowed down?
Guess what. It picked up again.
I'm considering homicide by flogging. Multiple homicide. As per the title of this entry.
*sighs*
Time to go home, now. Time for some fresh air, a cigarette, and something less mollifyingly retarded.
This'll be reasonably brief, since I am still at work.
The stream of calls, the lamenting wails of despair, have calmed down for now.
I'm left hating not my job, but the inevitable stupidity that invariably follows.
I know I'm arrogant about a lot of things, and I most definately know that I am arrogant in dealing with customers, at least when they insist that they know better than I do; but even in spite of my instinctive distance to any customer leaves me, occasionally, stumped, and in abject disbelief.
Just when you think you've seen it all. The best part is almost how people take internet access for granted, and assume that unless their house is on fire...
**1 hour later**
Well, fuck. Did I say the stream of calls had slowed down?
Guess what. It picked up again.
I'm considering homicide by flogging. Multiple homicide. As per the title of this entry.
*sighs*
Time to go home, now. Time for some fresh air, a cigarette, and something less mollifyingly retarded.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Fuelled by hatred, desire, curiosity and dreams
I really wasn't going to post tonight. Mainly, to be honest, because I had no real inspiration to write.
Fortunately, when inspiration fails, others step in and incidentally say something that makes you think in new, decaying orbits of thoughts.
And here I find myself looking back again on things in the past. This time, fortunately, it's with a mildly content grin, and a slight shrug.
All people are driven by only a few elements, anything else is just icing on the cake, at least from my perspective. It can be an ideal, an emotion, and assuming mental instability, I'm sure it can be the invisible martian lodged in your brain, too.
Years ago, I was fuelled by bitterness and hatred. Ultimately stemming from not liking myself, or what I had achieved, I projected it onto life, wishing misery on my fellow humans. Not to a degree where I'd actually cause noticeable damage, mailing nailbombs to random people or whatever, but simply wishing loss and sorrow for others.
It's natural, when you feel at a loss, and no seeming way out, you eventually channel it out at whatever gets in the way.
For me, I had an outlook on life that'd make Nietzche hide behind his moustache, and Voltaire make warding-off gestures. Lord of the dusk, mister acidity himself. It didn't make me feel better, but at least it justified my wishing ill on others, after all, what had life really done for me?
Such hubris tends to cause divine intervention, sooner or later I'm sure whatever powers-that-be would have stuck a lighting bolt down my throat, and had me raped by a rabid badger clown wearing a sandpaper condom; so I reckon my luck was that things changed for me.
I just come to think about how it was to be purely fuelled by hatred.
I've never done cocaine, but I guess this was as close to it as I'll get without doing the powder myself.
It's bad for you, and you know it, deep down...but it's so powerful, like fire instead of blood. If you listen closely, you can hear the blood rushing through your veins, and when you're high on hatred, you can feel the power of it coursing through you. It's intoxicating, all while it's disintegrating you, bit by bit. Emotions go first, sanity follows.
Like nitrous gasoline in the tank.
Fortunately for me, I learned there are other things to fuel one's drive in life. Ever since then, though, once I realized how I was running myself into a dead end, I've caught myself thinking even more of the inspiration for anyone I talk to for an amount of time. Is their goal money? Power? Love? Hate?
If you can discern what single word drives a person, you already know a lot about them, what you do with that knowledge is something different entirely.
I still feel disdain, I'm still arrogant as fuck, my most used facial expression is that of a cocked eyebrow and nothing else, but I'm better for having learned to find other fuel methods. Life is richer when you're no longer seeing things in monochromatic.
There was a point to all this at a point, but at the moment the best thing I can think of is how it relates to my (lack of) experience with drugs. Drugs, man. I should have done them properly when I was younger, crash and burn and then return to life stronger for the experience. I hate it when people talk about their journeys through mind-expanding chemicals, and I catch myself momentarily thinking "I really should get around to trying it at some point", before realizing I don't really want to do so anymore. Some things aren't meant to be pick-up elements to your life, but solely added on top of something already good, and while my life, surprisingly enough is good, I don't think it's good enough to be able to bear me waltzing around, white powder and blood pouring from my nose. Nor do I actually think my life would be better for it.
So contradictory, I know. I want to have done it, so I actually could know how it feels, but I donn't want to try something that may change my life so drastically for so little gain.
I'm an addictive nature, as in how I respond to stimuli, and considering the cigarettes next to my keyboard, I don't think I'd need another addiction.
It's the lure of drugs, the easy way out to keep the sharp edge, to make the bright lights brighter, or the comforting darkness softer. It's a lack of self-control for so many, who need the stimulants to reach the peaks they so crave, but who am I to judge them? I don't, I just go down a different path...and we all know how tempting the other path always seems.
Clipped Wings;
Fuelled by hatred™
Fuelled by desire™
Fuelled by curiosity™
Fuelled by dreams™
Fuelled for your pleasure©*
*Only for premium customers
Fortunately, when inspiration fails, others step in and incidentally say something that makes you think in new, decaying orbits of thoughts.
And here I find myself looking back again on things in the past. This time, fortunately, it's with a mildly content grin, and a slight shrug.
All people are driven by only a few elements, anything else is just icing on the cake, at least from my perspective. It can be an ideal, an emotion, and assuming mental instability, I'm sure it can be the invisible martian lodged in your brain, too.
Years ago, I was fuelled by bitterness and hatred. Ultimately stemming from not liking myself, or what I had achieved, I projected it onto life, wishing misery on my fellow humans. Not to a degree where I'd actually cause noticeable damage, mailing nailbombs to random people or whatever, but simply wishing loss and sorrow for others.
It's natural, when you feel at a loss, and no seeming way out, you eventually channel it out at whatever gets in the way.
For me, I had an outlook on life that'd make Nietzche hide behind his moustache, and Voltaire make warding-off gestures. Lord of the dusk, mister acidity himself. It didn't make me feel better, but at least it justified my wishing ill on others, after all, what had life really done for me?
Such hubris tends to cause divine intervention, sooner or later I'm sure whatever powers-that-be would have stuck a lighting bolt down my throat, and had me raped by a rabid badger clown wearing a sandpaper condom; so I reckon my luck was that things changed for me.
I just come to think about how it was to be purely fuelled by hatred.
I've never done cocaine, but I guess this was as close to it as I'll get without doing the powder myself.
It's bad for you, and you know it, deep down...but it's so powerful, like fire instead of blood. If you listen closely, you can hear the blood rushing through your veins, and when you're high on hatred, you can feel the power of it coursing through you. It's intoxicating, all while it's disintegrating you, bit by bit. Emotions go first, sanity follows.
Like nitrous gasoline in the tank.
Fortunately for me, I learned there are other things to fuel one's drive in life. Ever since then, though, once I realized how I was running myself into a dead end, I've caught myself thinking even more of the inspiration for anyone I talk to for an amount of time. Is their goal money? Power? Love? Hate?
If you can discern what single word drives a person, you already know a lot about them, what you do with that knowledge is something different entirely.
I still feel disdain, I'm still arrogant as fuck, my most used facial expression is that of a cocked eyebrow and nothing else, but I'm better for having learned to find other fuel methods. Life is richer when you're no longer seeing things in monochromatic.
There was a point to all this at a point, but at the moment the best thing I can think of is how it relates to my (lack of) experience with drugs. Drugs, man. I should have done them properly when I was younger, crash and burn and then return to life stronger for the experience. I hate it when people talk about their journeys through mind-expanding chemicals, and I catch myself momentarily thinking "I really should get around to trying it at some point", before realizing I don't really want to do so anymore. Some things aren't meant to be pick-up elements to your life, but solely added on top of something already good, and while my life, surprisingly enough is good, I don't think it's good enough to be able to bear me waltzing around, white powder and blood pouring from my nose. Nor do I actually think my life would be better for it.
So contradictory, I know. I want to have done it, so I actually could know how it feels, but I donn't want to try something that may change my life so drastically for so little gain.
I'm an addictive nature, as in how I respond to stimuli, and considering the cigarettes next to my keyboard, I don't think I'd need another addiction.
It's the lure of drugs, the easy way out to keep the sharp edge, to make the bright lights brighter, or the comforting darkness softer. It's a lack of self-control for so many, who need the stimulants to reach the peaks they so crave, but who am I to judge them? I don't, I just go down a different path...and we all know how tempting the other path always seems.
Clipped Wings;
Fuelled by hatred™
Fuelled by desire™
Fuelled by curiosity™
Fuelled by dreams™
Fuelled for your pleasure©*
*Only for premium customers
Saturday, February 10, 2007
I'll sit in my window, and look at the moon
Well, fuck.
Having come home from an abbreviated night out with a colleague, after a particularly nasty day at work, I'm now facing the fact that in less than 6 hours, I'll be opening my eyes and greeting the new day.
Some fucking greeting it'll get.
I'm already imagining it, the way waking up after too short a sleep makes you; with a gasp, and a twist of the stomach that makes you snap for air. The tinge of desperation? That instinct of "fuck no, not yet!" that makes you want to just bury yourself under the blankets and hoping the world'll go away until you're ready for it.
At any rate, that's not what's on my mind. During the evening (and the post-work beers), we came to discuss things that spanned further than the drinks in front of us, the brainless bimbos (male/female) sitting next to our table, and the questionable music from the jukebox. For some reason, we came to pick up on matters that matter, something I care highly for. After all, one can only discuss the obvious for so long until it stops even being worthy of a comment. We started talking about views on life, and how one can make the most of it.
After the bartender eventually ushered us out, we walked towards the busstop, which usually ends up the parting point. We discussed how good intentions don't help, if the act itself hurts bad enough; sticking a knife in someone with the best of intents does not undo the fact there's a fucking knife in them, and blood pouring out. We talked about karma, and I told how I don't think karma exists as other than as peripheral addendum, and how karma either can be non present, or punitive and vindictive. As they say, karma's a bitch. Just hope she's busy fucking someone else, and not you.
Boo fucking hoo, I've done things I regret in my life. Things I would dearly love to redo and undo, just like any other person alive and self-aware. And thus, we all struggle with something that has shaped us and others, where we know (or hope) we, by action or inaction could have changed the outcome. It's something I've only ever told one person. And that was tonight.
It's awkward, because the person is someone whom I'd not call friend yet - not because I don't like him, trust him or feel I have a lot to talk about with, but simply from lack of time and chance to establish said bonds. And so, it ended up being spilled onto a colleague. Of all things. Fucking elegant from the person who's until recently lived by containing the essentials inside. It did make me rethink, and realize that it's something I have to let go of, though. I've always lived by some form of idiom of keeping a hold of things; emotions and belongings are all stowed away somewhere, sometimes tidily, more often messily, but they're all there somewhere. I've assumed that by keeping the things or thoughts, they'd still be with me, but if I threw them away or put them somewhere else, I couldn't touch them, I couldn't feel them. Just below the surface, like a gelatine overlay taughtly pulled over troubled waters, I guess.
The thing is, I've done things that I would wish I could undo. One certain person I'd wish, more than anything I could part from, so we could meet as strangers again. Undo the things I've fucked up and start over; say the right things this time; but that's not what spilled out of me tonight.
Like a fountain of regret.
It just keeps fucking pouring.
Years ago, 10 to be exact, I was in school. I had a select few people I spent time with, none of them in hindsight real friends I'd trust anything of value with. I was isolated and, self-pity permitted, desolated. Just like any teenage, disassociated and discontent male. There was a girl. I knew her marginally through aquaintances. She wasn't quite the normal type of girl who'd endlessly drool after either boyband singers or year+2 students; she wasn't a rebel, just someone who fell outside of the system, and someone who had the self-confidence to stand up for it and live alternatively. I didn't realize how much I admired her back then, I only knew that I convinced myself that she and I were similar, and that I wished to learn to know her better. I was attracted to her, definately, but at the time I was not only a virgin, but also of the typical teenage guy notion that I'd go to my death, lust and devotion unrequitted both. If I had known better then, I'd have defined myself as desperately yearning for both physical and emotional gratification...and utterly lonely as a result. Thoroughly miserable and alone, does that phrase sound familiar to anyone?
I knew it would.
Good thing that both you, reader, and I, predated emo, so as to at least avoid that labelling.
She and I talked, on occasion. During recesses, a few times after school when we both went home at the same time. I wished for those times, and each time I was wondering if I would have the courage to ask her if she'd want to meet outside of school time. I never really did muster that courage. Through means of school-class intelligence (and I use this term as loosely as possible), I gathered that she actually had something reminiscent of a passing interest for me. She liked me, I was told, and apparantly talked about me on occasion when I wasn't there. I fell in love with the romantic notion of it. One day where we were talking, and the talk fell on music, I managed to say something right, or maybe I just didn't clam up as utterly like I used to, and she asked if I'd want to listen to some cd's she had gotten a few days prior, at some point.
She asked me home to her place.
I managed to, suave as always, suggest we meet somewhere in the city on friday after school for something to eat, and then go from there. Suave, I say, because I believe I managed to bungle up every single word in the sentence, while feeling like I was blushing grotesquely.
Either she didn't notice, or she didn't mind, whichever way, she agreed.
We met, we walked around talking about just about everything, we went home to her place. We listened to the music, talked some more. Each moment, I felt so close to tell her how much I liked her. I didn't have the courage to do so. In the end, her parents came home, and I eventually made my way home, feeling like I'd been within touching distance of everything I'd ever wanted. In a way, I had, sitting on her bed, next to her, just outside of reach. As it goes, time passed, she got a boyfriend and was, I assumed, happy with him, although she didn't stop talking to me. She had the decency to not publically show her affection for him, although I suspect as much that she wasn't head over heels with him anyway. We still talked, on occasion.
One day, at a party at my oldest (and at the time, only actual, though peripheral) friend, where the party content was mixtapes with techno that I'd mixed, and light amounts of alcohol (oh Pisang Ambon, the liverache and nausea you've caused!), she called the house. She was apparantly at another party, and had retreated to a bedroom, drunk as hell, and had discovered that I was at this particular other party. (bear in mind here, this time predates cellphones, unimaginable as it may sound, so instant communication was not at all an everyday commodity) She called the house, and asked for me. I still remember, me drunkenly trying to explain the difference between cutoff frequency and a resonance filter to an, unsurprisingly, drunk guy who claimed to be the best thing to happen to electronic music since the Moog synthesizer, and some girl I'd never met before coming down, asking for me. I was guided up to the phone, being told as we walked that someone wanted to talk to me.
It was her.
She was drunk, and had decided to call the house because she wanted to talk to me. She told me she was drunk, and that she was thinking about me, and how she wanted to talk about some music with me. And that she was apparantly, at the time of calling, trying to fit the drink she was cradling into a boot. I believed her being drunk, inebriated as I was, myself. Like the Don Juan I was, I made some lame crack about how the boot really didn't need another drink, as opposed to myself. I think that if I had been any less suave than that, I'd have deteriorated into a series of grunts and hair-flowing-from-armpit burlesque masculinity. Ever the social and sexual butterfly, me. I remember my heartrate being triple-digit, easily, and my palms getting clammy.
I wanted so badly to tell her; that I'd want to be with her, outside of loud music, outside of school and outside of childish carousing. That I cared for her and that she made my heart feel like bursting. I wanted to tell her I was in love with her, even though I don't think I even knew what the words meant. I didn't, because I remembered that she had a boyfriend, and for all I knew, she'd chosen him and was happy with him. I didn't want to be the tragic figure, the hunchback of Norte Dame, come leaping from the shadows, grunting and helplessly trying to mimick a heart-shaped figure with crooked fingers to the queen, dancing at the center of attention.
Picturesque? Definately.
Pathetically metaphorical? Oh yes, I agree.
Utterly human? Indeed.
And I remember her saying something that I think I should have responded to, and me not knowing what the fuck to say, and ending up saying nothing. A few moments passed, and she blew a kiss at me over the phone; I heard her clearly...and she asked me to reciprocate. I locked up, and utterly - utterly - failed to even make the slightest of return of the gesture. Even as I said nothing, I felt like tearing the nails from my fingers, and gouging myself with them, I just couldn't say anything. The call ended in a stalemate, with her unwilling to lay herself more emotionally bare, and me completely unable to utter anything more confound than that I was looking forward to seeing her at recess on monday. Utterly brilliant, I hear you think.
The party, like the phone conversation, came to an unelegant and awkward end, as I fell asleep in the bathroom, waking up only after someone had spent the better part of ten minutes pounding on the door. She didn't come to school the following monday. A week went by without me seeing anything of her, and lacking both cellphones, email address and instant messaging (again, predating such commodities), the following week did likewise. Her friends (whom I cajoled myself to talk to) just knew she was home, with the flu or something.
About a month passed, and I saw her for the last time. It was a thursday, I remember, where I ran into her during lunch recess. I was in the cantina early, beating the mad rush for food, and I bumped into her, walking around a corner. I know how cliché it'll sound, but pale as she was, she looked as beautiful as ever. Distraught, eyes flickering around, she looked ready to dart away. I had always thought of her as strong, courageous enough to go against the tide, come hell or high water, but now she looked tired and worn out. Spent. We walked over to a side, and talked for a while. She mentioned she had been ill, and didn't feel that well really. I tried to make some lame crack about how it might have had something to do with drinking, hoping against the situation she'd mention that phonecall herself. She didn't, although I managed to convince myself I saw a flicker of a smile when I mentioned the drink not fitting into a boot. She told me that yes, she had called the house that night because she was hoping I'd be there. That she was drunk that night, and the evening before had dropped hey boyfriend because she simply didn't feel anything for him, but had just gone out with him because it seemed like the appropriate thing to do, and how she'd felt awkward and awful about it. She told me she felt alone and tired, and I remember thinking that she needed me to be there for her.
She told me she wasn't feeling well. She told me her friends were waiting, and that she wouldn't want to keep them waiting, and then she looked into my eyes and said she'd like to talk to me again soon. I failed to respond intelligbly.
Then she left. I missed the spot in queue for food, and didn't care one fucking bit. The rest of the day, I was jitterish and unable to calm down, which nearly brought me into a fight with the teacher for not paying attention and disrupting the class. It never even struck me that I'd not even told her that I'd like to talk to her again, and that the closest thing I'd gotten to a display of affection was telling her I thought she was a cool person, and buying her a fucking 2-dollar key-ring teddybear from a store when we were in the city together. Time went by, and I didn't meet her. Five days later, I dared myself to call the phone number to her home to ask how things were. No one picked up the phone, so I abandoned the project thankfully after three rings. My courage didn't last long enough to find out if there was an answering machine; dialling the numbers was courage enough spent for a year for me at the time.
I asked her friends again, whom I had almost come on a first-name basis with, if she'd fallen ill again; they told me they haden't heard anything, so they figured she was either skipping school or had fallen prey to the flu again.
Weeks went, school holidays came and went, and I wondered where in the world she was; each night I'd sit and look out of the window, thinking if she was sitting at her window too, looking out, thinking about me. Thoroughly miserable, locked in my own unrequited infatuation.
Coming back from holidays, I learned differently.
Each year, a number of teenagers, predominantly girls, commit suicide by taking pills. Less than a week after I had talked to her, she had joined that statistic. I never learned the reasons behind it.
For years, I haven't thought about it. The time after I learned of what had happened, I became even more reclusive. I don't think anyone apart from the closest few even knew why I seemed so quiet. Like so many things already, I bottled it up inside and kept it to myself, close and untouched, in fear it'd disappear if I pulled it into daylight. I bottled it up, and taught myself to forget about it. And apart from a very few occasions, I've kept it underneath the surface and under the radar, to myself and others, because I was afraid it'd fade away like a dream, like a childishly romantic notion, unable to stand up to a scrutinous eye. That the holes in my perception, my failure to even remotely act on what I today consider unrefined, but obvious signs of affection would become too obvious. I didn't react to her advances, because I partially didn't believe that I should ever be so fortunate, and moreso because I remembered thinking "this isn't right, I don't want to spoil her relationship with that guy".
I remember kicking myself, even as I was saying nothing, for exactly saying nothing. I remember me doing a whole lot of that, actually.
I don't believe in positive karma. You either get raped by karma, or you do not. Neutral versus negative, you just don't want to be an asshat and piss karma off. Avoidance of retribution is as good as it gets.
Good intentions don't stop things from hurting. And having done the wrong thing, either by good intentions, or from lack of courage leading to inaction, it still changes lives.
Now, it's late. I've been writing on this for hours, and I feel no closer to closure than when I formed the words to tell this, in whatever abbreviated form my sobriety allowed.
The words are on the screen now, and I wish this would make me feel more calm about what I failed to prevent then. I guess, with a sardonic twist of phrasing, that it's delightfully ironic how for once it weren't my actions that caused things from happening, but rather my lack thereof.
Tonight, I'll sit at my window and look out. And I'll look for the moon and think about you.
I'm so sorry I never told you what I felt, and that I never met your eyes properly and smiled back to you.
I'm so sorry. I wish I could do it over again, and do it right instead.
And I'm so sorry that I still fail to do things right today, to repair the hurt I've caused and set things right. Maybe I'll muster the courage to do it one day, and things will get better.
Having come home from an abbreviated night out with a colleague, after a particularly nasty day at work, I'm now facing the fact that in less than 6 hours, I'll be opening my eyes and greeting the new day.
Some fucking greeting it'll get.
I'm already imagining it, the way waking up after too short a sleep makes you; with a gasp, and a twist of the stomach that makes you snap for air. The tinge of desperation? That instinct of "fuck no, not yet!" that makes you want to just bury yourself under the blankets and hoping the world'll go away until you're ready for it.
At any rate, that's not what's on my mind. During the evening (and the post-work beers), we came to discuss things that spanned further than the drinks in front of us, the brainless bimbos (male/female) sitting next to our table, and the questionable music from the jukebox. For some reason, we came to pick up on matters that matter, something I care highly for. After all, one can only discuss the obvious for so long until it stops even being worthy of a comment. We started talking about views on life, and how one can make the most of it.
After the bartender eventually ushered us out, we walked towards the busstop, which usually ends up the parting point. We discussed how good intentions don't help, if the act itself hurts bad enough; sticking a knife in someone with the best of intents does not undo the fact there's a fucking knife in them, and blood pouring out. We talked about karma, and I told how I don't think karma exists as other than as peripheral addendum, and how karma either can be non present, or punitive and vindictive. As they say, karma's a bitch. Just hope she's busy fucking someone else, and not you.
Boo fucking hoo, I've done things I regret in my life. Things I would dearly love to redo and undo, just like any other person alive and self-aware. And thus, we all struggle with something that has shaped us and others, where we know (or hope) we, by action or inaction could have changed the outcome. It's something I've only ever told one person. And that was tonight.
It's awkward, because the person is someone whom I'd not call friend yet - not because I don't like him, trust him or feel I have a lot to talk about with, but simply from lack of time and chance to establish said bonds. And so, it ended up being spilled onto a colleague. Of all things. Fucking elegant from the person who's until recently lived by containing the essentials inside. It did make me rethink, and realize that it's something I have to let go of, though. I've always lived by some form of idiom of keeping a hold of things; emotions and belongings are all stowed away somewhere, sometimes tidily, more often messily, but they're all there somewhere. I've assumed that by keeping the things or thoughts, they'd still be with me, but if I threw them away or put them somewhere else, I couldn't touch them, I couldn't feel them. Just below the surface, like a gelatine overlay taughtly pulled over troubled waters, I guess.
The thing is, I've done things that I would wish I could undo. One certain person I'd wish, more than anything I could part from, so we could meet as strangers again. Undo the things I've fucked up and start over; say the right things this time; but that's not what spilled out of me tonight.
Like a fountain of regret.
It just keeps fucking pouring.
Years ago, 10 to be exact, I was in school. I had a select few people I spent time with, none of them in hindsight real friends I'd trust anything of value with. I was isolated and, self-pity permitted, desolated. Just like any teenage, disassociated and discontent male. There was a girl. I knew her marginally through aquaintances. She wasn't quite the normal type of girl who'd endlessly drool after either boyband singers or year+2 students; she wasn't a rebel, just someone who fell outside of the system, and someone who had the self-confidence to stand up for it and live alternatively. I didn't realize how much I admired her back then, I only knew that I convinced myself that she and I were similar, and that I wished to learn to know her better. I was attracted to her, definately, but at the time I was not only a virgin, but also of the typical teenage guy notion that I'd go to my death, lust and devotion unrequitted both. If I had known better then, I'd have defined myself as desperately yearning for both physical and emotional gratification...and utterly lonely as a result. Thoroughly miserable and alone, does that phrase sound familiar to anyone?
I knew it would.
Good thing that both you, reader, and I, predated emo, so as to at least avoid that labelling.
She and I talked, on occasion. During recesses, a few times after school when we both went home at the same time. I wished for those times, and each time I was wondering if I would have the courage to ask her if she'd want to meet outside of school time. I never really did muster that courage. Through means of school-class intelligence (and I use this term as loosely as possible), I gathered that she actually had something reminiscent of a passing interest for me. She liked me, I was told, and apparantly talked about me on occasion when I wasn't there. I fell in love with the romantic notion of it. One day where we were talking, and the talk fell on music, I managed to say something right, or maybe I just didn't clam up as utterly like I used to, and she asked if I'd want to listen to some cd's she had gotten a few days prior, at some point.
She asked me home to her place.
I managed to, suave as always, suggest we meet somewhere in the city on friday after school for something to eat, and then go from there. Suave, I say, because I believe I managed to bungle up every single word in the sentence, while feeling like I was blushing grotesquely.
Either she didn't notice, or she didn't mind, whichever way, she agreed.
We met, we walked around talking about just about everything, we went home to her place. We listened to the music, talked some more. Each moment, I felt so close to tell her how much I liked her. I didn't have the courage to do so. In the end, her parents came home, and I eventually made my way home, feeling like I'd been within touching distance of everything I'd ever wanted. In a way, I had, sitting on her bed, next to her, just outside of reach. As it goes, time passed, she got a boyfriend and was, I assumed, happy with him, although she didn't stop talking to me. She had the decency to not publically show her affection for him, although I suspect as much that she wasn't head over heels with him anyway. We still talked, on occasion.
One day, at a party at my oldest (and at the time, only actual, though peripheral) friend, where the party content was mixtapes with techno that I'd mixed, and light amounts of alcohol (oh Pisang Ambon, the liverache and nausea you've caused!), she called the house. She was apparantly at another party, and had retreated to a bedroom, drunk as hell, and had discovered that I was at this particular other party. (bear in mind here, this time predates cellphones, unimaginable as it may sound, so instant communication was not at all an everyday commodity) She called the house, and asked for me. I still remember, me drunkenly trying to explain the difference between cutoff frequency and a resonance filter to an, unsurprisingly, drunk guy who claimed to be the best thing to happen to electronic music since the Moog synthesizer, and some girl I'd never met before coming down, asking for me. I was guided up to the phone, being told as we walked that someone wanted to talk to me.
It was her.
She was drunk, and had decided to call the house because she wanted to talk to me. She told me she was drunk, and that she was thinking about me, and how she wanted to talk about some music with me. And that she was apparantly, at the time of calling, trying to fit the drink she was cradling into a boot. I believed her being drunk, inebriated as I was, myself. Like the Don Juan I was, I made some lame crack about how the boot really didn't need another drink, as opposed to myself. I think that if I had been any less suave than that, I'd have deteriorated into a series of grunts and hair-flowing-from-armpit burlesque masculinity. Ever the social and sexual butterfly, me. I remember my heartrate being triple-digit, easily, and my palms getting clammy.
I wanted so badly to tell her; that I'd want to be with her, outside of loud music, outside of school and outside of childish carousing. That I cared for her and that she made my heart feel like bursting. I wanted to tell her I was in love with her, even though I don't think I even knew what the words meant. I didn't, because I remembered that she had a boyfriend, and for all I knew, she'd chosen him and was happy with him. I didn't want to be the tragic figure, the hunchback of Norte Dame, come leaping from the shadows, grunting and helplessly trying to mimick a heart-shaped figure with crooked fingers to the queen, dancing at the center of attention.
Picturesque? Definately.
Pathetically metaphorical? Oh yes, I agree.
Utterly human? Indeed.
And I remember her saying something that I think I should have responded to, and me not knowing what the fuck to say, and ending up saying nothing. A few moments passed, and she blew a kiss at me over the phone; I heard her clearly...and she asked me to reciprocate. I locked up, and utterly - utterly - failed to even make the slightest of return of the gesture. Even as I said nothing, I felt like tearing the nails from my fingers, and gouging myself with them, I just couldn't say anything. The call ended in a stalemate, with her unwilling to lay herself more emotionally bare, and me completely unable to utter anything more confound than that I was looking forward to seeing her at recess on monday. Utterly brilliant, I hear you think.
The party, like the phone conversation, came to an unelegant and awkward end, as I fell asleep in the bathroom, waking up only after someone had spent the better part of ten minutes pounding on the door. She didn't come to school the following monday. A week went by without me seeing anything of her, and lacking both cellphones, email address and instant messaging (again, predating such commodities), the following week did likewise. Her friends (whom I cajoled myself to talk to) just knew she was home, with the flu or something.
About a month passed, and I saw her for the last time. It was a thursday, I remember, where I ran into her during lunch recess. I was in the cantina early, beating the mad rush for food, and I bumped into her, walking around a corner. I know how cliché it'll sound, but pale as she was, she looked as beautiful as ever. Distraught, eyes flickering around, she looked ready to dart away. I had always thought of her as strong, courageous enough to go against the tide, come hell or high water, but now she looked tired and worn out. Spent. We walked over to a side, and talked for a while. She mentioned she had been ill, and didn't feel that well really. I tried to make some lame crack about how it might have had something to do with drinking, hoping against the situation she'd mention that phonecall herself. She didn't, although I managed to convince myself I saw a flicker of a smile when I mentioned the drink not fitting into a boot. She told me that yes, she had called the house that night because she was hoping I'd be there. That she was drunk that night, and the evening before had dropped hey boyfriend because she simply didn't feel anything for him, but had just gone out with him because it seemed like the appropriate thing to do, and how she'd felt awkward and awful about it. She told me she felt alone and tired, and I remember thinking that she needed me to be there for her.
She told me she wasn't feeling well. She told me her friends were waiting, and that she wouldn't want to keep them waiting, and then she looked into my eyes and said she'd like to talk to me again soon. I failed to respond intelligbly.
Then she left. I missed the spot in queue for food, and didn't care one fucking bit. The rest of the day, I was jitterish and unable to calm down, which nearly brought me into a fight with the teacher for not paying attention and disrupting the class. It never even struck me that I'd not even told her that I'd like to talk to her again, and that the closest thing I'd gotten to a display of affection was telling her I thought she was a cool person, and buying her a fucking 2-dollar key-ring teddybear from a store when we were in the city together. Time went by, and I didn't meet her. Five days later, I dared myself to call the phone number to her home to ask how things were. No one picked up the phone, so I abandoned the project thankfully after three rings. My courage didn't last long enough to find out if there was an answering machine; dialling the numbers was courage enough spent for a year for me at the time.
I asked her friends again, whom I had almost come on a first-name basis with, if she'd fallen ill again; they told me they haden't heard anything, so they figured she was either skipping school or had fallen prey to the flu again.
Weeks went, school holidays came and went, and I wondered where in the world she was; each night I'd sit and look out of the window, thinking if she was sitting at her window too, looking out, thinking about me. Thoroughly miserable, locked in my own unrequited infatuation.
Coming back from holidays, I learned differently.
Each year, a number of teenagers, predominantly girls, commit suicide by taking pills. Less than a week after I had talked to her, she had joined that statistic. I never learned the reasons behind it.
For years, I haven't thought about it. The time after I learned of what had happened, I became even more reclusive. I don't think anyone apart from the closest few even knew why I seemed so quiet. Like so many things already, I bottled it up inside and kept it to myself, close and untouched, in fear it'd disappear if I pulled it into daylight. I bottled it up, and taught myself to forget about it. And apart from a very few occasions, I've kept it underneath the surface and under the radar, to myself and others, because I was afraid it'd fade away like a dream, like a childishly romantic notion, unable to stand up to a scrutinous eye. That the holes in my perception, my failure to even remotely act on what I today consider unrefined, but obvious signs of affection would become too obvious. I didn't react to her advances, because I partially didn't believe that I should ever be so fortunate, and moreso because I remembered thinking "this isn't right, I don't want to spoil her relationship with that guy".
I remember kicking myself, even as I was saying nothing, for exactly saying nothing. I remember me doing a whole lot of that, actually.
I don't believe in positive karma. You either get raped by karma, or you do not. Neutral versus negative, you just don't want to be an asshat and piss karma off. Avoidance of retribution is as good as it gets.
Good intentions don't stop things from hurting. And having done the wrong thing, either by good intentions, or from lack of courage leading to inaction, it still changes lives.
Now, it's late. I've been writing on this for hours, and I feel no closer to closure than when I formed the words to tell this, in whatever abbreviated form my sobriety allowed.
The words are on the screen now, and I wish this would make me feel more calm about what I failed to prevent then. I guess, with a sardonic twist of phrasing, that it's delightfully ironic how for once it weren't my actions that caused things from happening, but rather my lack thereof.
Tonight, I'll sit at my window and look out. And I'll look for the moon and think about you.
I'm so sorry I never told you what I felt, and that I never met your eyes properly and smiled back to you.
I'm so sorry. I wish I could do it over again, and do it right instead.
And I'm so sorry that I still fail to do things right today, to repair the hurt I've caused and set things right. Maybe I'll muster the courage to do it one day, and things will get better.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
A neverending echo
Some days just wear you out, force you to expend most (if not all) of your reserves to make it through in a proper fashion. Those days owe me bad. The least I'd expect was some kind of post-performance pat on the back, a tip of the hat or somesuch.
And it just doesn't.
The worst part is, I'm not even that bitter, just feeling this odd, detatched resignation.
Like the need to be in a room with no lights, and just sit there and say nothing. No tears, no sadness, just lying down, looking into the ceiling, and collapse.
I don't do much in wearing masks anymore; I have done a lot in the past, and just like everyone else, I still do on occasion, but this is one of those moments where even keeping a straight face means an effort that just seems insurmountable.
The irony of me writing about not having the energy to do anything isn't lost on me, don't worry. I just feel slightly like my fingers are moving without me really thinking about it, so assuming I just keep writing, I wonder what will come from it. Probably nothing entirely too impressive.
My only worry is, I know this feeling. It's one of the first things that tend to happen, before I start feeling really distant.
I don't know if others feel it the same way, but for me, when things for one reason or another become a bit too much, I start getting distant. Depending on what the cause is, and how quickly I catch it, it'll either pass with a night's sleep, or it'll deteriorate to a point where I spend days feeling like I'm constantly a bit behind myself. Looking at life over my own shoulder, a bit like a third person perspective game. Same detachment as when you just sit down to play a game you've completed time and time again, it's some form of defense mechanism to not get too involved for me.
What I don't like at all about that situation is, if I don't correct it it'll just turn into me not wanting to be here at all. Not as in "I want to die", but as in "I don't want to be here, and be me, just now".
It feels oddly...empty. Like I've let go of something inside me, but instead of feeling relieved, I just feel like something's missing, that's supposed to be there. Like there's too much space inside.
It's entirely possible to cry without feeling anything. The body reacts to something that it can't identify, and tries to cope. It happens every now and then to me. It's rare, true, but having tears coming down your face without a shred of emotion is one of those moments that feels so unreal.
I keep thinking of the past. It's a bit like watching a series of pictures from times long ago. I guess I miss them, but I don't really feel anything at all.
Right now, I just don't want to be here, and to be me.
Just for a little while.
I've now written and deleted the same paragraph four times, because it keeps sounding like some desperate cry for help, or some morbid "I'm passing onto the next plane" kind of thing. I can't seem to get the words just right, but as it is, I feel the way I guess I'd feel if I was sitting back and waiting to move on. I have absolutely no intention of neither dying, nor any wish for it, it's just that feeling like you're waiting for something that simply doesn't exist in this form of reality.
It's going to be a long wait. But then again, it's going to be a long night, too.
And it looks like I've got nothing but time.
And it just doesn't.
The worst part is, I'm not even that bitter, just feeling this odd, detatched resignation.
Like the need to be in a room with no lights, and just sit there and say nothing. No tears, no sadness, just lying down, looking into the ceiling, and collapse.
I don't do much in wearing masks anymore; I have done a lot in the past, and just like everyone else, I still do on occasion, but this is one of those moments where even keeping a straight face means an effort that just seems insurmountable.
The irony of me writing about not having the energy to do anything isn't lost on me, don't worry. I just feel slightly like my fingers are moving without me really thinking about it, so assuming I just keep writing, I wonder what will come from it. Probably nothing entirely too impressive.
My only worry is, I know this feeling. It's one of the first things that tend to happen, before I start feeling really distant.
I don't know if others feel it the same way, but for me, when things for one reason or another become a bit too much, I start getting distant. Depending on what the cause is, and how quickly I catch it, it'll either pass with a night's sleep, or it'll deteriorate to a point where I spend days feeling like I'm constantly a bit behind myself. Looking at life over my own shoulder, a bit like a third person perspective game. Same detachment as when you just sit down to play a game you've completed time and time again, it's some form of defense mechanism to not get too involved for me.
What I don't like at all about that situation is, if I don't correct it it'll just turn into me not wanting to be here at all. Not as in "I want to die", but as in "I don't want to be here, and be me, just now".
It feels oddly...empty. Like I've let go of something inside me, but instead of feeling relieved, I just feel like something's missing, that's supposed to be there. Like there's too much space inside.
It's entirely possible to cry without feeling anything. The body reacts to something that it can't identify, and tries to cope. It happens every now and then to me. It's rare, true, but having tears coming down your face without a shred of emotion is one of those moments that feels so unreal.
I keep thinking of the past. It's a bit like watching a series of pictures from times long ago. I guess I miss them, but I don't really feel anything at all.
Right now, I just don't want to be here, and to be me.
Just for a little while.
I've now written and deleted the same paragraph four times, because it keeps sounding like some desperate cry for help, or some morbid "I'm passing onto the next plane" kind of thing. I can't seem to get the words just right, but as it is, I feel the way I guess I'd feel if I was sitting back and waiting to move on. I have absolutely no intention of neither dying, nor any wish for it, it's just that feeling like you're waiting for something that simply doesn't exist in this form of reality.
It's going to be a long wait. But then again, it's going to be a long night, too.
And it looks like I've got nothing but time.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Human stupidity displayed
Nothing much, just a few (marginally) humorous situations from work.
(In case you've just tuned in, I work as tech support for an ISP)
A kindly, but not overly computer-minded middle-aged woman who called in; she had just upgraded to IExplore 7, and with that, a few things had changed.
Largely, the page our customers need to sign in via gets overwritten by IExplore itself, and hijacked to http://go.microsoft.com ...and naturally, remembering a sign-on page is pretty difficult. So far, so good, got her online.
Next problem, her homebanking had changed a bit, because apparantly a padlock icon was no longer there, so she was uncertain as to whether it was still as safe as before. I assured her it was.
Best part? IExplore 7 comes with a phishing filter. How it works, I honestly don't know, and considering IExplore itself is arguably the biggest security liability you can find onboard a Windows machine. Naturally, the customer was asking about this 'phishing filter'...except, the conversation went a bit for the worse, as she wasn't overly good with english.
I don't know about you people, but I had to bite my lip and turn off my microphone for a moment when she asked me whether or not it was a good idea to have a pissing filter on.
A few moments later, I was able to reply that I considered it a generally very sensible notion to have a pissing filter on, since you never know when you might need it.
Now you know, people. Always wear a pissing filter, in case someone tries to take advantage of you not having it. What exactly it does, I still have no idea on, but at least now I have one more theory.
Other situation; Customer insists that "your internet isn't working". Ever noticed how it's always someone else's stuff that doesn't work?
Of course, there was no problem on the line itself, modem was responding just fine...
Except for one thing;
Customer had connected, to his cable modem, first a switch (that apparantly acted as an extension cord), an IP-router, and hooked up to that was another router, which was turned off.
For some odd reason he couldn't get online; which might even have been attributed to the fact that his wireless netcard wasn't installed, his CAT-5 cable wasn't plugged in, and even as I was about to do humanity a favor and ask him to electrocute himself, discovered that he had also set his ZoneAlarm firewall to "block all traffic".
And of course, had a hijacked IExplore set to go to russian pornsites. Go fucking figure.
Best part? He demanded that this should work immediately, as it was a home office computer he had gotten from his company, and 'it had been set up by professionals'. I was tempted to ask what exactly their profession was, but since the man was so irate anyway, it seemed a moot point.
In itself, it's funny. Being confronted with it is less so, but it's worth a mention none the less;
Housewife calls in, can't get online. Line is registered to what I assume to be her husband.
Shuffling through her computer (asking her what various sections of the IExplore window reads), we come upon the fact that it attempts to hijack the starting page to something dubious. This is going to be good, I think to myself.
I ask her to check the page history.
"Uh..."
...Yes?
"There's a lot of pages here that have a lot of X'es in them..."
...Aha. Please read a few of them up, I need to check if it's the likely cause of the hijacking.
"Leatherfetish.com, Bondagesluts.com...What ARE these pages?!"
Uh, ma'am, it would appear to be pornographic material...
"Well, I haven't visited these pages!"
Well, someone has...
"..."
"...Oh."
"...Ooh..."
*click*
And then she hung up.
I figure the man of the house was in for a warm welcome when he got home.
Final note;
I also handle copyright cases for the ISP. This more or less means that we get forwarded pre-generated mails from various agencies and lawfirms representing record companies, film companies, the works really. The mails are of a nature that roughly say "we know that this IP address tried to download/upload [some material whose publishers we represent], but since we can't do a case on it, see to it that it doens't happen again."
99% of the time, it's uninteresting stuff, you get fairly jaded quickly, and just see blonde, brunette, redhead...Uh, music, apps, movies actually, but the other sounds cooler. The last 1% is the fun part. Apparantly, porn's less copyright protected, and while I can imagine how it might be a bit more awkward to try and claim the intellectual rights for "Interracial Ass Blasters, vol 4 - Return of Dick Black" as the pinnacle of creativity, it's still surprising how few cases we get on it.
Well, as it goes, procedure is that we send it out to the customer's primary mail address at us, and while this isn't always neither active, nor has an alias bound to it, it's procedure.
So, imagine my surprise when I found a case for "Chocolate Vanilla Cum Eaters" among the cases of various just-released box-office hits.
Now, as I mentioned, usually, the customers that do the massive downloading don't even bother with an assigned email. I don't blame them, really.
This customer, however, had 3 different mailboxes, and upon inspection, all were active.
One was a guy's first name, second was (presumably) his significant other, the third one was, if the alias was to be trusted, their entire family's mail.
Being the kind person I am, I sent the mail containing the copyright infringement (with the infringed work's name in it) to all three.
See, the thing is, I don't have anything against people downloading stuff illegally. It honestly does not bother me. I just feel no obligation to help the person doing so hiding it from his wife and children. Also, who the fuck downloads interracial cumplay videos anyway?
...Family fathers, apparantly.
(In case you've just tuned in, I work as tech support for an ISP)
A kindly, but not overly computer-minded middle-aged woman who called in; she had just upgraded to IExplore 7, and with that, a few things had changed.
Largely, the page our customers need to sign in via gets overwritten by IExplore itself, and hijacked to http://go.microsoft.com ...and naturally, remembering a sign-on page is pretty difficult. So far, so good, got her online.
Next problem, her homebanking had changed a bit, because apparantly a padlock icon was no longer there, so she was uncertain as to whether it was still as safe as before. I assured her it was.
Best part? IExplore 7 comes with a phishing filter. How it works, I honestly don't know, and considering IExplore itself is arguably the biggest security liability you can find onboard a Windows machine. Naturally, the customer was asking about this 'phishing filter'...except, the conversation went a bit for the worse, as she wasn't overly good with english.
I don't know about you people, but I had to bite my lip and turn off my microphone for a moment when she asked me whether or not it was a good idea to have a pissing filter on.
A few moments later, I was able to reply that I considered it a generally very sensible notion to have a pissing filter on, since you never know when you might need it.
Now you know, people. Always wear a pissing filter, in case someone tries to take advantage of you not having it. What exactly it does, I still have no idea on, but at least now I have one more theory.
Other situation; Customer insists that "your internet isn't working". Ever noticed how it's always someone else's stuff that doesn't work?
Of course, there was no problem on the line itself, modem was responding just fine...
Except for one thing;
Customer had connected, to his cable modem, first a switch (that apparantly acted as an extension cord), an IP-router, and hooked up to that was another router, which was turned off.
For some odd reason he couldn't get online; which might even have been attributed to the fact that his wireless netcard wasn't installed, his CAT-5 cable wasn't plugged in, and even as I was about to do humanity a favor and ask him to electrocute himself, discovered that he had also set his ZoneAlarm firewall to "block all traffic".
And of course, had a hijacked IExplore set to go to russian pornsites. Go fucking figure.
Best part? He demanded that this should work immediately, as it was a home office computer he had gotten from his company, and 'it had been set up by professionals'. I was tempted to ask what exactly their profession was, but since the man was so irate anyway, it seemed a moot point.
In itself, it's funny. Being confronted with it is less so, but it's worth a mention none the less;
Housewife calls in, can't get online. Line is registered to what I assume to be her husband.
Shuffling through her computer (asking her what various sections of the IExplore window reads), we come upon the fact that it attempts to hijack the starting page to something dubious. This is going to be good, I think to myself.
I ask her to check the page history.
"Uh..."
...Yes?
"There's a lot of pages here that have a lot of X'es in them..."
...Aha. Please read a few of them up, I need to check if it's the likely cause of the hijacking.
"Leatherfetish.com, Bondagesluts.com...What ARE these pages?!"
Uh, ma'am, it would appear to be pornographic material...
"Well, I haven't visited these pages!"
Well, someone has...
"..."
"...Oh."
"...Ooh..."
*click*
And then she hung up.
I figure the man of the house was in for a warm welcome when he got home.
Final note;
I also handle copyright cases for the ISP. This more or less means that we get forwarded pre-generated mails from various agencies and lawfirms representing record companies, film companies, the works really. The mails are of a nature that roughly say "we know that this IP address tried to download/upload [some material whose publishers we represent], but since we can't do a case on it, see to it that it doens't happen again."
99% of the time, it's uninteresting stuff, you get fairly jaded quickly, and just see blonde, brunette, redhead...Uh, music, apps, movies actually, but the other sounds cooler. The last 1% is the fun part. Apparantly, porn's less copyright protected, and while I can imagine how it might be a bit more awkward to try and claim the intellectual rights for "Interracial Ass Blasters, vol 4 - Return of Dick Black" as the pinnacle of creativity, it's still surprising how few cases we get on it.
Well, as it goes, procedure is that we send it out to the customer's primary mail address at us, and while this isn't always neither active, nor has an alias bound to it, it's procedure.
So, imagine my surprise when I found a case for "Chocolate Vanilla Cum Eaters" among the cases of various just-released box-office hits.
Now, as I mentioned, usually, the customers that do the massive downloading don't even bother with an assigned email. I don't blame them, really.
This customer, however, had 3 different mailboxes, and upon inspection, all were active.
One was a guy's first name, second was (presumably) his significant other, the third one was, if the alias was to be trusted, their entire family's mail.
Being the kind person I am, I sent the mail containing the copyright infringement (with the infringed work's name in it) to all three.
See, the thing is, I don't have anything against people downloading stuff illegally. It honestly does not bother me. I just feel no obligation to help the person doing so hiding it from his wife and children. Also, who the fuck downloads interracial cumplay videos anyway?
...Family fathers, apparantly.
Friday, February 2, 2007
The little things that make your day
All the problems make me wanna go
Like a bad girl straight to video
Little darling, welcome to the show
You're a failure played in stereo
No, above text really has nothing to do with the rest of this, just listening to Mindless Self Indulgence's 'Straight To Video'. Good stuff, that.
So this day has been strange. Strange, as in multiple incidents that, on their own, would have made me raise my eyebrow.
Okay, bad metaphor, since I seem to have a constant arrogant frown anyway.
So, here's what's up:
1) Work. My former teamleader (whom I've had since I started at my job mack in march) quit in end january, to move to Australia. It's a pity, since I honestly respected him. Sure, he might have been marginally influenced by the weed he homegrew, but honestly I always considered him the example that you can indeed smoke a reasonable amount of joints and still be sharp. Also, he was considerate and willing to find solutions to most any problem that might arise at work, from work schedules, to strange solutions to strange problems. Most of all, he cared for the people that worked under him.
The new teamleader I got, was an old friend of him, and initially I considered him the complete opposite. Streamlined, goal-oriented and utterly professional. I was wrong about him, which took less than a week to discover. He had almost the same traits as my former teamleader, except he smoked a good deal less weed. I had a talk with him today, from my side because I wanted to explain why I have some trouble meeting on time. Meeting at 2 in the afternoon doesn't help one bit if you're still not asleep at 8 AM, or have already woken up multiple times due to nightmares. He listened, thought, and came with suggestions. He cared, and wanted to help find a workable solution.
Moreoever, after having been teamleader for less than 3 weeks, he also told me that he's leaving the company at the end of the month. He's been offered a position in another company that he felt too good to pass up on. Naturally, he felt somewhat bad about having just taken over this job, and then leaving, but one has to do what's right for one self. I understand him, and wish him all well the new place.
And then he said something that I wasn't entirely prepared for;
"If I was in your situation, I would file an application for the position".
In truth, I want that position. I am not entirely certain if I'd be qualified for it, having had no formal management training, but he struck a nerve. I considered applying for the position when my former TL left us, but turned it down on the grounds that I wasn't sure what I actually wanted to do. I do now.
I'll need to mull over this for a while, because I'm worried how I'll react to the rejection in case I apply and get turned down. It's obviously not the end of the world, but it's easier to slack and set the goals low, because that way you don't get disappointed. Problem is, I've done that for a long time, emotionally as well. Maybe it's time for a change.
My qualities?
1) I know what I'm doing as it is now, so I know what to expect of those who'd work under me.
2) I wouldn't ask them to do something I know I couldn't. Easy, since pretty much anything we can get tossed in our face, I've already had happen, from Backbones tilting, gateways dieing horribly and mailservers discarding usernames + passwords.
3) I care for the workplace, and those working there.
4) It'd be one fuck of a PR-stunt from their side, to show that they encourage development and growith internally in the department. God, I'd feel nauseatingly good about being the poster child for the company *coughs*.
5) I have informal management experience from work, from several occasions where things simply were going to fall apart unless I intervened.
Cons:
1) No management diplomas.
2) Not sure whether leadership experience from EVE Online really counts that much, although I could point out that I have people skills.
3) It could be strange having colleagues that'd now take directions from me.
4) Morning shifts.
5) Would you be able to take directions from a guy with purple hair?
All in all, it's started a minor avalanche of thoughts in me. Would I be able to streamline and lead people I consider more than colleagues? I actually don't know. But admitting to myself, I want to find out how I'd handle it.
That was the first thing.
Second off; going for an after-work beer with one of my good colleagues, went to the local bar. Ran into some semi-colleagues that work on the Dell Dimension assignment. One of them, whom I periphally know (from having run into him a few times), greeted me as I walked in. My glasses were fogging a bit, so I looked around a little confused; for some reason he took this as a sign to jokingly say "Hey, don't look at me like you don't know me, we've run into each other enough times!". He sounded like he was joking when he said it.
Honestly, I only know what assignment he works on, never even heard the guy's name before, and looking through fogged glasses makes it pretty damn hard to discern anything but rough size and possibly gender of the person in front of you.
Picking up on the joke, I asked him to repeat what he said.
And that's when things took a turn for the strange.
Being confronted with what he said, although I honestly did not even stab it in his eye or sneer at him, I apparantly had mortally insulted him? He began inquiring as to why I thought he'd said that, and how he would never have said anything like that. The more he proclaimed, the more agitated and wounded he became. After about 30 seconds of rambling, he stated that if I indeed thought he had said that, then I had issues trusting people, since he would never say something like that. Odd thing is, the guy standing next to me (both of us sober, while the Dell guy was heavily inebriated) had also heard him saying it. I tried to tell him that it was indeed what I had heard, but I had thought he had meant it as a joke, which for some reason infuriated the guy even further. At this point I considered simply turning around and walking away, but stubbornness, and to some extent, annoyance that a sober person apparantly hears *worse* than a drunk-off-his-ass person does, made me force the issue and tell him that I did indeed hear him saying so, and that I had taken it as a joke.
This was the point where he began to look decidedly bitter and resentful, while mumbling through a sentence that I assume implied that I was a horrible person to even imply that he would judge people based on their looks...Where the hell he got that notion from, is beyond my reasoning. After a bit less than ten minutes of listening to him (while waiting for a beer), my patience was about worn out, and I intently turned away, ignored him and walked off to a nearby table.
I'm unsure as to whether I'm looking forward to seeing him at work on monday, or whether I hope he'll hide away from the abject nonsense he spouted.
Final straw: Sitting down at a table with my colleague, and setting up a dice game with some guy from the same building we work in. Nice guy with a white tie, no problems, but his colleague (whom I've blissfully never met) obviously had something to get off his mind. Staggering into the table, he started muttering about how he was going to get beaten up when he left the bar, and how we should follow him outside to help him. This guy looked like someone who got rejected for the casting of the "I must be Emo" video, and his rather whiny attitude made me want to toss my beer in his face and tell him to grow a pair and stop fucking whining.
Eventually, the tie-guy apparantly rejected this drunken excuse for an emo sufficiently, so emo-boy attempts to stand up, yells "you fucking owe me one, now I'm gonna get beat up outside!" and kicks a chair in towards the table.
Incidentally clipping my knee with it.
Not that it hurt significantly, but I was tempted to stand up and inform him that he wouldn't have to walk outside to get the snot kicked out of him.
God damn sufferjunkie.
Obviously, I have people skills. Especially how kindly I portray people when they annoy me even in the slightest.
And now? Off to bed, because in less than 7 hours, I'm going to be rising to greet the new day, and another glorious workshift. How fortunate I am.
Like a bad girl straight to video
Little darling, welcome to the show
You're a failure played in stereo
No, above text really has nothing to do with the rest of this, just listening to Mindless Self Indulgence's 'Straight To Video'. Good stuff, that.
So this day has been strange. Strange, as in multiple incidents that, on their own, would have made me raise my eyebrow.
Okay, bad metaphor, since I seem to have a constant arrogant frown anyway.
So, here's what's up:
1) Work. My former teamleader (whom I've had since I started at my job mack in march) quit in end january, to move to Australia. It's a pity, since I honestly respected him. Sure, he might have been marginally influenced by the weed he homegrew, but honestly I always considered him the example that you can indeed smoke a reasonable amount of joints and still be sharp. Also, he was considerate and willing to find solutions to most any problem that might arise at work, from work schedules, to strange solutions to strange problems. Most of all, he cared for the people that worked under him.
The new teamleader I got, was an old friend of him, and initially I considered him the complete opposite. Streamlined, goal-oriented and utterly professional. I was wrong about him, which took less than a week to discover. He had almost the same traits as my former teamleader, except he smoked a good deal less weed. I had a talk with him today, from my side because I wanted to explain why I have some trouble meeting on time. Meeting at 2 in the afternoon doesn't help one bit if you're still not asleep at 8 AM, or have already woken up multiple times due to nightmares. He listened, thought, and came with suggestions. He cared, and wanted to help find a workable solution.
Moreoever, after having been teamleader for less than 3 weeks, he also told me that he's leaving the company at the end of the month. He's been offered a position in another company that he felt too good to pass up on. Naturally, he felt somewhat bad about having just taken over this job, and then leaving, but one has to do what's right for one self. I understand him, and wish him all well the new place.
And then he said something that I wasn't entirely prepared for;
"If I was in your situation, I would file an application for the position".
In truth, I want that position. I am not entirely certain if I'd be qualified for it, having had no formal management training, but he struck a nerve. I considered applying for the position when my former TL left us, but turned it down on the grounds that I wasn't sure what I actually wanted to do. I do now.
I'll need to mull over this for a while, because I'm worried how I'll react to the rejection in case I apply and get turned down. It's obviously not the end of the world, but it's easier to slack and set the goals low, because that way you don't get disappointed. Problem is, I've done that for a long time, emotionally as well. Maybe it's time for a change.
My qualities?
1) I know what I'm doing as it is now, so I know what to expect of those who'd work under me.
2) I wouldn't ask them to do something I know I couldn't. Easy, since pretty much anything we can get tossed in our face, I've already had happen, from Backbones tilting, gateways dieing horribly and mailservers discarding usernames + passwords.
3) I care for the workplace, and those working there.
4) It'd be one fuck of a PR-stunt from their side, to show that they encourage development and growith internally in the department. God, I'd feel nauseatingly good about being the poster child for the company *coughs*.
5) I have informal management experience from work, from several occasions where things simply were going to fall apart unless I intervened.
Cons:
1) No management diplomas.
2) Not sure whether leadership experience from EVE Online really counts that much, although I could point out that I have people skills.
3) It could be strange having colleagues that'd now take directions from me.
4) Morning shifts.
5) Would you be able to take directions from a guy with purple hair?
All in all, it's started a minor avalanche of thoughts in me. Would I be able to streamline and lead people I consider more than colleagues? I actually don't know. But admitting to myself, I want to find out how I'd handle it.
That was the first thing.
Second off; going for an after-work beer with one of my good colleagues, went to the local bar. Ran into some semi-colleagues that work on the Dell Dimension assignment. One of them, whom I periphally know (from having run into him a few times), greeted me as I walked in. My glasses were fogging a bit, so I looked around a little confused; for some reason he took this as a sign to jokingly say "Hey, don't look at me like you don't know me, we've run into each other enough times!". He sounded like he was joking when he said it.
Honestly, I only know what assignment he works on, never even heard the guy's name before, and looking through fogged glasses makes it pretty damn hard to discern anything but rough size and possibly gender of the person in front of you.
Picking up on the joke, I asked him to repeat what he said.
And that's when things took a turn for the strange.
Being confronted with what he said, although I honestly did not even stab it in his eye or sneer at him, I apparantly had mortally insulted him? He began inquiring as to why I thought he'd said that, and how he would never have said anything like that. The more he proclaimed, the more agitated and wounded he became. After about 30 seconds of rambling, he stated that if I indeed thought he had said that, then I had issues trusting people, since he would never say something like that. Odd thing is, the guy standing next to me (both of us sober, while the Dell guy was heavily inebriated) had also heard him saying it. I tried to tell him that it was indeed what I had heard, but I had thought he had meant it as a joke, which for some reason infuriated the guy even further. At this point I considered simply turning around and walking away, but stubbornness, and to some extent, annoyance that a sober person apparantly hears *worse* than a drunk-off-his-ass person does, made me force the issue and tell him that I did indeed hear him saying so, and that I had taken it as a joke.
This was the point where he began to look decidedly bitter and resentful, while mumbling through a sentence that I assume implied that I was a horrible person to even imply that he would judge people based on their looks...Where the hell he got that notion from, is beyond my reasoning. After a bit less than ten minutes of listening to him (while waiting for a beer), my patience was about worn out, and I intently turned away, ignored him and walked off to a nearby table.
I'm unsure as to whether I'm looking forward to seeing him at work on monday, or whether I hope he'll hide away from the abject nonsense he spouted.
Final straw: Sitting down at a table with my colleague, and setting up a dice game with some guy from the same building we work in. Nice guy with a white tie, no problems, but his colleague (whom I've blissfully never met) obviously had something to get off his mind. Staggering into the table, he started muttering about how he was going to get beaten up when he left the bar, and how we should follow him outside to help him. This guy looked like someone who got rejected for the casting of the "I must be Emo" video, and his rather whiny attitude made me want to toss my beer in his face and tell him to grow a pair and stop fucking whining.
Eventually, the tie-guy apparantly rejected this drunken excuse for an emo sufficiently, so emo-boy attempts to stand up, yells "you fucking owe me one, now I'm gonna get beat up outside!" and kicks a chair in towards the table.
Incidentally clipping my knee with it.
Not that it hurt significantly, but I was tempted to stand up and inform him that he wouldn't have to walk outside to get the snot kicked out of him.
God damn sufferjunkie.
Obviously, I have people skills. Especially how kindly I portray people when they annoy me even in the slightest.
And now? Off to bed, because in less than 7 hours, I'm going to be rising to greet the new day, and another glorious workshift. How fortunate I am.
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