All kinds of musing about to happen. It’s a good thing this entire project is filed under “Personal Blog” and not “Political Blog” or “News Blog” or even just “New wave of online communication called Blogging Blog.”
First, blogging. This word has been fucking co-opted. When I started doing this in ’99, this was a blog. Now I look around and see Slashdot and Daily Kos and CounterPunch and the Drudge Report, and those are the blogs. What does that make this? It is the live electronic bastard child of the good, old-fashioned diary, and it seems doomed to require such a long referent for some time to come.
No pressing reason I bring this up, it just becomes an issue from time to time because people get ahold of the wrong end of things when I say that I “blog.” They think I’m Matt Drudge and begin to issue press releases directly into my hoodie pockets.
Next, education and career. I didn’t plan this whole thing out properly. Some people did — you know, the “goal” people. More often than not they’re very good at knowing precisely what they want and precisely how to get there, and ten years on they phone you up and say, “I’m where my treasure map led, are you where yours led?” and you respond, “Jesus, I don’t have a map, I’ve been feeding that damned Canada goose in the park all this time. What did I miss?”
So as a result I’ve worked about ten different industries in my life in all kinds of roles, most recently what I suppose would have to be called management. Didn’t like it much, I hate “managing” things, whether projects or people, it makes me uncomfortable mainly because I hate it when projects or people “manage” me.
This was meant to go somewhere nice and insightful, but it has gone off the rails at this point, so suffice it to say that I’m sitting here on top of three degrees and a fairly impressive career of eklektica that I think a culture of rationalized labor like this one can’t quite structuralizecan’t quite name. I’m rather a lot of things to anyone who looks at me with an eye toward evaluating general coolness, but people tend to have a lot of trouble figuring out what to actually do with me, both personally and professionally.
I don’t know if the return to grad school for Ph.D. work will make this better or worse. By all rights it should make things better, only while I’m working on my dissertation I also plan to be actively writing in technology and politics and shooting (cameras not guns, you lot) professionally, too — so I suspect I might wake up to rather the same outsiders’ not-quite-polymat-but-wishes-he-was-one milieu at fifty. Beh. This may be a “you’d better prepare, folks” pep talk aimed at myself.
What was the last thing? Oh yes… The illness. I’ve come to realize over the last few months what the larger problem with much of my life is: I like nearly everything I produce or create rather a lot, and so does everyone else. In fact, I often get rave reviews. But I absolutely hate selling myself, or the things that I create, because to equate cool things with cash… well, you know where I’m going. Is that an immature way to look at the world?
Naturally immature is just a euphemism for “needs to pull his socks up.”
I’m thinking, as always, in a million little estuaries of digression. It has been a long life already, I think. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be seventy. I wonder if I’ll ever know? You can’t think about such things too long without having to drink.
Chris was a monk. Before that, I always thought that only Monks were monks. Silly and naive of me, yes, yet also understandable, really. But now…
Well anyway, nevermind.
The book — the book — is still sitting here all laid out and ready to go to press. I just haven’t managed to do it yet. Who knows when I will? Others will get done first, as they always have. Maybe I’m actually a poet.
What am I saying? Everyfuckingbody’s a poet.
Speaking of, I’ve got to get that proposal completed.
Sometimes I want to bring my old posts from Defarge online and incorporate them here, but I just can’t break it up like that, it takes the whole God damn thing out of context. I miss you, my friends.