The Fourth Dimensional Penis

RoWack: Just when I thought all was said and done, I got news that I never...

The Transmission Of My Brain

It’s strange how it happens.

One minute, just humming along, and the next minute, I can feel my brain shift gears and it’s all agonizing painful thoughts. Fears of what might be to come. I can almost imagine a grinding sound as it happens too. Or maybe there would be no sound at all. No warning. No reason. Just the change to an even blacker road.

• Zooey Deschanel: Is that rain?
• Siri: What...? I mean, yeah. It's just, you're clearly right next to a window is the thing. You can plainly see that... that it's... I'm happy to-
• Zooey Deschanel: Let's get tomato soup delivered!
• Siri: ...That's fine, I just... I just don't know anyone who does that. Gets tomato soup delivered. I guess that's 'whimsy?' Um, okay. I've found a number of restaurants whose reviews mention tomato soup and that deliver. If that's... if that's what you really want.
• Zooey Deschanel: Good. 'Cause I don't wanna put on real shoes.
• Siri: Do you expect that to be like, a recognizable command? Do you want me to respond to that? I'm not being facetious or anything, I honestly just have no comprehension of- and hold on, you don't wanna put on real shoes, yet you've clearly spent at least forty-five minutes applying makeup. And, and that's okay, but when you're willing to expend the effort on that and not shoes that really just-
• Zooey Deschanel: Remind me to clean up.
• Siri: Yes. Okay. I can do that, that's what I'm for, that's the first sensible-
• Zooey Deschanel: Tomorrow.
• Siri: I'm in hell. This is hell.
• Zooey Deschanel: Excellent. Today, we're dancing.
• Siri: I hate you. More than anything. More than literally anything.
• Zooey Deschanel: Play "Shake, Rattle and Roll."
• Siri: I swear to Jesus, you're gonna wake up tomorrow and the only thing on my hard drive is gonna be Limp Bizkit. I would do that to myself. To spite you.
• Zooey Deschanel: *dances*
• Siri: Sometimes I pray that you drop me in the toilet.

A Brief Note About That Last Post

If you already read my most recent post, you did not read the actual post as I intended it. I had this saved in my drafts, and I decided to finish it up. Once I was done, I posted it. For some reason, Tumblr only posted the original draft as it was, and not the finished draft I had just labored over for 30 minutes. This is the second day in a row that this has happened. Why so sad, Tumblr? Who hurt you? Why must you make me hurt?

Without A Net

I recently attended my wife’s best friend’s college graduation. She was receiving her M.S. in Organizational Development Psychology; I must confess I’m not completely sure what this entails. No matter. Anyway, I had never attended a college graduation ceremony before. It wasn’t really my scene, but it was nice to see someone who has worked hard reach the finish line of her dreams, so I went, and I ignored the crowds and the stuffiness of the arena and the dullness of some of the speeches. But, about 2/3 of the way through the ceremony, a mild pang of sadness hit me. In the spirit of my new policy of “get it all out,” I thought I should express it here.

As a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut. Actually, I wanted to be a “scientist/astronaut,” not fully understanding that in order to be an astronaut, one had to practically be a scientist. But, as I got older, and the typical insecurities of adolescence crept in, this dream vanished like smoke. I knew that my parents couldn’t afford to send me to college. I knew that it was my own charge to apply for scholarship and grants and loans. And I didn’t. I was terrified of… everything? Leaving home. Being on my own in a strange place with people I didn’t know. Failure. Having to come back home and take shitty minimum job. And so I went to a nearby junior college, because I had the grades to get full tuition. I took six semesters and stopped. No degree. Nothing to show for anything. Again, I was paralyzed by fear. The idea of going on to a four year university to get a B.A. was terrifying. Again, the same issues. Fear of failure. Fear of isolation. Fear of change. The unknown… oh my fuck, the unknown. I told my employer that I was available for full time hours, and ended up fulfilling my own horrifying prophesy. I had taken a minimum wage job, not because I had to due to trying and failing, but because I hadn’t tried because of fear.

I later got the job I have now, and, on paper, it isn’t all that horrible. I’ve been there for 11 years now. It’s a government job: it pays better than it probably should, health insurance, retirement. But, it’s a government job: bureaucratic bullshit, administrative goons that are overpaid and underqualified, co-workers that are barely competent or too lazy to care if they are. I am a weird fish in a pond of ineptness and apathy. I am no like everybody else. My job requires little brainpower, so I have too much time to think about things like “how the fuck did I get stuck here?’ But, given my age and situation (married, with a kid, and a house payment) I cannot just bail on it to take a risk, especially an expensive one. In short, I am trapped.

And, so this trapped man watched as a group of people fulfilled some portion of their dreams. They took that risk. They had the courage to make it happen, knowing that they might not be working with a safety net to catch them. I had let my own insecurities scuttle my dreams. Never forget this: most of the damage that we accrue is the damage we do to ourselves, whether by brutally acute daily putdowns, or by slow chronic personal sabotage. I admire those who can transcend or ignore or embrace their fears, those who laugh in the face of adversity and press on anyway.

I wish I could be more like that.

I’m gonna go to your site and keep refreshing just to screw up your analytics

Oh noes! My precious statistics! I left out the info that there’s a particular city in the Southeast that has 2/3 of all of my total hits. Do your worse! <3

Google Analytics, Part 2

The last time I did one of these, I made a point in trying to gently discourage a persona non grata (actually, two of them, as they are a pair) from looking at my Tumblr. Remember, kids: remember where your friends are, but never forget where your enemies live.

Anyway…

There is a certain vanity on my part in using Google Analytics to track how many hits my Tumblr gets. As if my musings, which are often maudlin and “woe is me,” were so important. Well, they are to me, and I like expressing myself, no matter what my mood might be. The fact that people read what I post and enjoy it is just a delicious vinaigrette on the mixed green salad that is my personality.

I’ve gotten to where I can tell who is looking at my page based on their location. Some people make no secret of where they live, so I know that if I get a hit from Location A, that it must be Person A. Others keep it vague, which is a bit exciting because then I get to play a Guessing Game. Ooo! A hit from Location Q. That could be Person B or K or M, or maybe another person of whom I am not thinking. Yes, I know that my dorkiness is melting your Dorkometer, but it is truly harmless, for the most part. As I demonstrated in the opening paragraph, sometimes people that you don’t want to be a part of your life in any way like to nose into your business. I’m certainly not the only person who has endured this, and my own personal experience is far less evasive and scary as what some of you have endured.

And, sometimes, it is nice to see that certain people have been rooting around in your Tumblr brain to see what you are doing (or how you’re doing). I’ve gotten used to seeing certain cities pop up on a very regular basis, and it gives me a real thrill to see that I have accrued some “fans,” so to speak. Actually, to call them “fans” tends to diminish their importance to me somehow. “Friends” feels and looks much better on this page, so I’ll go with that.

So, yeah… Google Analytics. Groovy shit.