luv u.

Ran across this thought the other week. It makes me extremely disappointed that someone thinks calling on the phone is now as personal as physical contact. Ridiculous – so of course I had to read the rest of the article. And you know it’s going to be bad when this is the first thing you read:

Can you imagine what a different movie “Casablanca” would be if, instead of suavely growling, “Here’s looking at you, kid,” Rick instead texted Ilsa:

The article itself is not extremely insightful as it’s just the personal opinion of a few girls, and everyone knows how much that can differ. But, of course, I need to put in my two cents.

Given how prevalent texting is I can’t comfortably say it shouldn’t factor into the dating scene. Even though that’s kind of what I think. I am understanding that it is much easier to text “let’s get dinner” than make the same kind of phone call, which will inevitably have small talk conversation included. It’s also much easier to say no through text. However, if text is your chosen mode of communication, make sure to make sure to use correct grammar and spelling. I can’t stand text abbreviations of any sort. I think it makes you sound like you’re 14 – or stupid.

Flirting is obviously just fine. This would probably get me in trouble though (and not just because I have a boyfriend). With text, it’s much harder to determine what’s a joke. And when you only have one sentence to work with, the difficulty gets multiplied. So pretty much any text I send that doesn’t seem to have a functional purpose – it’s a joke and completely non-serious. I have a feeling that experienced texters probably don’t have this black/white view.

While I don’t have a problem with emoticons in general, I do see them as more female. And in general, male or female, I am judging your use of them. I also think they’re very insufficient, which is why I can’t use them. I read something and make a face, and for the life of me, I’ve never been able to find an emoticon that captures the face I made. Even the basic smiley – if I just smiled enough to warrant emoticon use, it’s way more than just “:-)”. It’s probably even more than “:-D” too. So I think it’s easier not to use them.

And look at this, sexting has come up again. Personally, I don’t need naked pictures of anybody. I definitely do not need them coming to my phone. It will probably not increase your chances of me wanting to have dinner (or sex) with you. And I will definitely judge you.

passion.

The other day someone asked me what I am passionate about. The context of the conversation was this person telling me how there are several, very specific people who clearly changed the course of his life to get him where he is now, and me being unable to recognize these people in my life because I grew up in a town where everyone went to school and college and got a job. So that’s what I did – went to school, college, and got a job. But back the passionate question – I said I don’t know. Then proceeded to feel awful.

I feel like saying I don’t know to that question means that I’m not passionate about anything which, in turn, means I have no larger ambition for my life. Just to clear up some facts – I am young; I do have time to figure out what I’m doing in my life; I know that I do have ambition and motivation. So how come I can’t answer the question? Or more importantly, if I could answer the question, does it change where I am and what I’m doing?

This conversation I had proceeded to take the turn about whether I liked my job. I do and I don’t. The day-to-day work, I don’t love. In all honesty, I don’t think anybody can really love working with spreadsheets and stuff like that. But I do love the idea behind what I do. I absolutely, fully and completely, am behind using technology to make things better (wow – that’s super vague). This realization, which has mostly come while writing this post, was a bit of an eye-opener to me. I always thought (and I know this sound extremely naive) that doing what you love meant you did what you love every day – like actually physically did a specific activity you love. And I guess it seems more that I love not what I’m physically doing but rather the end result.

End note: When I began this post, I was actually still pretty upset about not being able to say I’m passionate about something. It brought to mind the idea that if you love everything, it really kind of means you don’t love anything. And while I might not love my job, as long as I’m happy and find the time to do other things that I love, then what does it matter? Now that I’m done writing, I feel like I get it so much more, and I feel so much more comfortable with where my life is. The fact that this happened while writing is a little bit more amazing to me than the fact that I figured it out in general.

re: look at me.

I think I’ve established the fact that I love to share. And this post reminds me I’m not alone. However, I have not embraced the automatic sharing capabilities that have emerged and become quite prevalent. I feel like I’m stuck halfway between those who grew up with the Internet and those who didn’t. I want to take full advantage of everything, but at the same time, I’m wary of it.

The idea of Last.fm keeping track of what music I listen to or Google Latitude keeping track of where I am removes a sense of control I like having over my sharing habits. It reminds me of this comment about the new Internet. I’m more than willing to monitor my image online despite having a zillion sites to watch and maintain. I’m not willing to do this with my life in general. So anything online about me is there purely because I put in the effort to share it. And sexting – ok, I’ve never done it. But I think this falls into a completely different category of sharing than others, and I’m not even going there in this post.

While the need to share might be inherent, the need to broadcast on the Internet is not. I think part of the newer generation’s need to share stems from the want to find people who are similar and who sympathize. Before, if you felt like an outcast, you were pretty much stuck. Now, you can find a community online to relate to. On the flip side, you get a lot of negativity from strangers as well, so you need some tough skin. I think the other part stems from the idea of reciprocation. You share something with me, and I feel obligated to then offer you information about me. This happens in real life, and I think it’s just increased online because there was the idea that you could be a dog and I wouldn’t know it unless you specifically shared that you weren’t.

The way the Internet seems to be going, broadcasting your life isn’t about to disappear. In fact, I think more recently, it seems that more and more sites are targeted at putting everyday activities online. Last.fm tracks my music (except I don’t use it), Readernaut tracks my books, Amazon tracks my shopping, Remember the Milk tracks my to-do lists, Flickr tracks my photos, Facebook tracks my contacts, and Twitter tracks the odds and ends. Really, most of these sites are aimed at helping me document my life for me, almost a form of extreme journaling. It just so happens other people can read it too. As more of my life goes online, it’s more about me than others. In a sense, I think it started as sharing because it was new and fun. But more and more things are being hidden with privacy controls and select account access. In the end it’s going to be about me having access to my information rather than you having access to my information.

museum.

It’s official. The Baltimore/Washington D.C. area is my weekend vacation city of choice. It’s close to where I travel for work. There are lots of friends in the area. And family too (though I must make a better effort to actually see them when I’m around). But really, it wins because I will never get tired of the museums.

On Friday, I got to spend all day doing the tourist thing by myself. Even though my mom was very worried about me being alone, it worked out really well. I spent close to three hours at the National Gallery of Art. Despite the fact that I truly like a very select amount of art (especially museum art), I can spend a ridiculous amount of time in an art museum. Once I was done there, I got lunch at the American Indian museum and made my way over to the Air and Space museum.

Air and Space was a bit overwhelming for me. There was just so much stuff that I didn’t even know where to start. Paired with the fact that I’m not real passionate about aircrafts and space things, it wasn’t the museum for me. I just don’t like to do a lot of reading in museums, so if I don’t understand what I’m looking at, I usually just move on. Either way, I still spent over an hour there. And apparently I really need to go see the annex in Virginia, so that’s on my list for next time.

By this point, I only had time to get to the monuments before I would have to meet a friend for drinks. I love the Washington Monument, but I hate to wait in lines, so I’ve never gotten a tour. It’s also much more impressive in real life than it ever is in photographs. Moving on, I stopped at the World War II memorial, which is my favorite. It has a fountain; it has places to site; you can see both the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial from it. Speaking of which, the Lincoln Memorial doesn’t really interest me. Last, I walked by the Vietnam Memorial. To me, the wall is amazing. It’s so simple and so un-imposing compared to the rest of the monuments around it. And yet, even though I have no personal connection whatsoever to the Vietnam War, walking by the memorial somehow makes me feel like I do. The World War II memorial does not do that at all.

Of course, I am already planning my next trip, which now looks like it will be in January instead of December. I must visit the Natural History Museum.

bus.

Had to make my way from Philadelphia to D.C. this past weekend and did extensive research in choosing my method of transportation. Unfortunately, flying – for such a short distance – is too much cost, not enough benefit. So I looked into renting a car. By doing that, I could leave whenever I wanted and have my own transportation once there. Sadly, the fee for being under 25 plus the extra cost of only driving one way…it would have been cheaper for me to fly. Unbelievable.

And that left a bus or a train. But the train can’t beat the $15 price of the Chinatown buses. I decided on New Century because it offered the earliest D.C. bus on a Thursday. I’ll admit, I was a bit skeptical. Reviews on Yelp were not entirely reassuring, and frankly, most things in Chinatown look a little bit terrible (whether they are or not). But the waiting area was fine. Nothing exceptional, nothing awful – I chose not to use the bathrooms. The people weren’t very friendly, but I chalk it up partly to working at a bus station and partly to being Chinese (ps. I don’t mean that to sound racist). The bus itself was a standard coach bus. It was relatively timely, especially given I traveling around rush hour in both cities. Definitely worth the $15.

Must do it again some time.

repair.

Admittedly, I know nothing about cars. And when I say nothing, I really mean it. I don’t know what to do when I have car troubles. I don’t understand anything when people try to explain things to me. I don’t’ even know enough to ask questions to attempt to hold up a conversation. This is quite distressing to me since cars seem to be one of the topics most males (and I’m sure females too) can discuss. And since I can’t talk sports either, I am really lacking in the masculine small talk arena. But that’s really a completely separate tangent.

I went to get my car fixed this past weekend. There was a recall on something with the brake system, I needed routine maintenance, and the flat tire had to get replaced. It seems like pretty standard stuff. But I was still nervous that they would try to explain things to me and I wouldn’t understand at all. As much as I think it’s easier to just pretend to know what’s going on, if I’m clueless, I’m going to come right out and say it. This is apparently not what most people would suggest when having work done on your car.

However, my experience at Smart Motors was very reassuring. The guy helping me told me that if I’d gotten my oil changed at the normal interval, then I am probably good to go until the next mileage interval and I don’t need the routine maintenance. For replacing the tire, they didn’t have the exact kind of tire I had on my car. So rather than order it and wait, I just told them to use a different tire (having non-matching treads is something I’m totally willing to live with as long as it gets me from point A to point B). And, he explained to me how I could touch up my paint myself (I’ve had a nice little dent for a while that I’ve been too lazy to fix), so I don’t’ have any problems once winter comes.

band.

I have a lot of trouble passing up concerts for less than $20, so Saturday night I went to see three bands I had never really listened to ever – Trail of the Dead, The Secret Machines, and Invade Rome. I was purely going on the advice of my friend who likes both Trail of the Dead and The Secret Machines. And I trust his taste in music. When we got to the venue, the stage was packed with equipment from all three of the bands. Given that Trail of the Dead has 6 people and The Secret Machines set up a small wall of amps, it was cramped. However, having all the equipment set up already made transitions very quick. Plus, the show started right on time; gotta love punctuality.

Invade Rome started things off. They’re from Milwaukee (yay, hometown!). Craziest thing – I didn’t recognize the name of the band, but as soon as they got on stage, my friend recognized them as Freshwater Collins. They did a nice job. I wish they had more space on stage, but they worked with what they had. I think my favorite part is just how happy the drummer looked, just grinning away the whole set. I love that.

The Secret Machines came on second. First, I think they blew everyone away with just how loud they were (that wall of amps they had really did it). Second, they were easily my favorites out of the three that night. Loved the music, loved the stage presence, loved the lighting, loved the continuous-ness of the music with very little talking. I personally always like watching the drummer the most, but the guitarist really knew how to work the stage. I definitely want to see them live again.

And then, Trail of the Dead. It is clear these guys have experience playing live. I don’t know any of their music, but it was just fun to watch. And you know they did a good job when the band looks like they stepped out of a shower when they’re done. But, beyond just the number of people in the band, there were a few interesting things to me. First, they have two drum sets, which both got played a significant amount. Second, they have a guy tune guitars while they play, and then they just switch theirs out quickly between songs. Also, if the Secret Machines hadn’t played first, these guys definitely would have made my ears ring.

Strangely, I was in the front row for the whole show and the crowd was unbelievably tame. No pushing, not really even any jumping. While this obviously worked out better for me, it seemed a little lacking. Maybe it lacked the fact I wasn’t getting crushed. But I guess I associate the jumping and pushing with the excitement of the crowd. Not that the audience wasn’t enthusiastic, they just weren’t trying to crawl on top of each other. Can’t decide which I prefer now.

flat.

There’s a first for everything. And while there are many things I might never experience, car trouble is apparently not one of them. Unfortunately, car problems stress me out more than most things. The stress really just makes the whole situation worse, so car trouble for me turns into car disaster. This may be because I never owned a car before last summer and that I know nothing about cars in general. But in the last year, I’ve had to get my car fixed from being in an accident, learned how to check my tire pressure and put air in them, and taken care of getting my oil changed as necessary. I still fully intend on learning how to change my oil myself at some point, but it can wait.

The other night, I had my first flat tire. It was completely my fault, which annoys me like crazy. But more than that, I had no idea what I was going to do. I have never changed a tire in my life. And if anything can trigger me to want to cry, it’s not knowing what to do. Sometimes I think the only reason I don’t cry all the time is because it would ruin my image (ps. this is totally the topic of a future blog post). So, back to my flat tire – I called just about everyone I know to see who could come help me.

I would have been happy with really anyone helping me. Given that I had difficulty just getting the jack out of the trunk, anybody would probably be better at this kind of thing than I am. But I was lucky enough to find a friend who’s actually changed a tire and has some experience with cars. Good thing. It took us forever to actually get the tire off. I have now come to the conclusion that I understand the steps to changing a tire, but I would never be able to complete the task by myself. Perhaps I’ve just had bad luck when watching people change tires, but I consider this a failure of my life.

regret.

Every once in a while I have a moment when I’m overcome with a fear that somehow I’m not going to be happy. This is one of my greatest fears – after being fat, poor or ugly. It’s not so much that I’m afraid of making the wrong choices, but that I’m terrified I won’t know until much later. I’m afraid of having regret, of not living up to my potential, of not really wanting what I think I want. God, it sounds like I’m already having a mid-life crisis. I normally don’t worry about making the wrong decisions. At least so far, I’m very happy and regret very few things in my past. But I read this blog the other day – summed up in the following quote.

One of the hardest things to look at in this life is the lives we didn’t lead, the path not taken, potential left unfulfilled. In stories, those who look back — Lot’s wife, Orpheus and Eurydice — are lost. Looking to the side instead, to gauge how our companions are faring, is a way of glancing at a safer reflection of what we cannot directly bear, like Perseus seeing the Gorgon safely mirrored in his shield.

It got me thinking. Clearly, less thinking is a better choice for me, but what can you do? The author compared his single life with that of his married (with children) friends. And all I could think was that I’m going to be on the “married (with children)” side of things when I’m that age. Am I going to look at my unmarried or childless friends with envy? Will that envy be something more than just a passing feeling?

Every time I see children and their parents, part of me wants my own. But then I wouldn’t be able to take weekend trips. I wouldn’t be able to randomly go out after a long day at work. I wouldn’t be responsible for just me. The more I think about it, the more I don’t really want it. But, perhaps it’s something that will come with time. I mean, I’ve fully accepted that I want to get married. No worries, nothing. And years ago, I would not have said I was in the same position. So maybe becoming a parent will be similar. When it’s time to happen, it’ll all seem ok.

Look at that – crisis averted.

wipeout.

After I bought my bike earlier this year, I learned that I was not a very confident bicyclist. After my first attempt, when I got less than 2 miles before turning back, it was very clear biking alone on streets was not the way to start. But after using Madison’s bike trails with a friend for a few months, I’ve gotten much more comfortable. At least, I was having no problems going out for a ride on my own.

And then, this past week, I had a little spill. I don’t even know how it happened. One minute I’m riding; the next minute I’m falling. In general, I’m pretty good at not getting hurt. Even as a kid, I didn’t run around with scraped knees and elbows. So I believe my lack of experience with taking a spill leads me to be a bit more shaken up when it happens. Anyways, I ended up with two nicely scraped up knees, a tiny scrape on the shoulder, a little bump on the chin, and about 3 miles to ride home.

Now really, I’m a bit of a wimp and have no problem admitting it. Sitting on the pavement bleeding, in my mind, is a good reason to cry. Except, there was no one on the trail that afternoon, so the tears would be purely for me only. And I probably looked on the terrible side of things already; tears weren’t going to help. The only thing to do was make my way over to the water fountain (that was luckily nearby!) and try to clean myself up. Without band-aids, and having to ride home, there really wasn’t a whole lot I could do. But biking with injured knees is not fun.