Yuk Bon

Strong storms to usher in another frigid week – South Florida – MiamiHerald.com.

IT’S MARCH, WINTER SHOULD HAVE BEEN DONE IN JANUARY OR DECEMBER OR EVEN FUCKING NOVEMBER.

Erasing selective memories coming closer

One day it’ll be a choice. I don’t like it. I mean, the flexibility is nice to have — especially for something traumatic that you just want to get rid of; war, rape etc etc. But part of your job in existence is to be witness and to work through your pain and evolve yourself. And I can see this being used nefariously — and not just in a paranoid Phillip K. Dick dystopian future kind of way, either.

I had (or have? I dunno. We’re still “friends” on facebook) a friend who called me up. Let us call her Agnes. She had broken up with the love of her life because shit happened and anyway, time heals wounds etc etc and several years and a marriage later she gets an email from him out of the blue “i fucked up, you were great, if you’re still angry I don’t blame you but i just wanted to tell you i know you were great” etc. Long story short, they got back together (and are still,) and as far as I know are deliriously happy together. Which is all well and good — forgiveness is a nice thing, after all, and happiness is a bitch to find, so you gotta work for it. Except about two months into their newfound love she calls me out of the blue saying “hey how do you permanently delete files from a Mac?”. I tell her and hang up and then go “Wait. She doesn’t have a Mac.” But I know my friend, and on a hunch (I’m usually really good at these) I call back and tell her off for deleting his pictures of his ex from his computer. Quite frankly, I feel a bit used and dirty and I am Seriously Unhappy about this, so perhaps I am less than nice. She gets mad, tells me he’s backing up the pictures later (…but she’s deleting them now…? just distraction BS…) and anyway I don’t know the situation. I tell her that it’s hardly fair for her to decide what memories he gets to keep, because they’re his memories, after all. She gets mad and repeats that I do not know the circumstances, and I say she’s right, mea culpa, if I’m wrong, please forgive me. She says nevermind and it’s ok, don’t worry about it and since then we haven’t spoken. Which leads me to believe that I was right. But enough about that.

So now think of someone demanding this of you, literally of your memories. Or doing it against your will. Note that one of the reasons given for not freeing some of the Guantanamo Bay prisoners is not “they’re dangerous terrorists and we can’t let them go” but rather “they’re totally innocent but they know too much about our information extraction (viz, torture) methods to be let go”.

Here, have some sonic yoof “Nevermind (what was it anyway)”:

Sleep tight, kids.

Writer David Foster Wallace found dead – Los Angeles Times

Infinite Jest, to me, in 1997 or so when I read it, was a life-changing thing. It’s this huge monstrocity of a book and I don’t remember where I got it. I saw DFW on The Charlie Rose show (skip to the 23 minute mark) and he was just so undeniably himself and trying not to be false (particularly in his discussion on the effect that David Lynch’s Blue Velvet had on him) that I went out and bought IJ and immediately started reading it and fell into it.

It was one of the things that helped keep me together during a couple of tough times. A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again had me in stitches and his mathematical writing (A History of Infinity) is too smart for me, really, but totally fascinating.

It would be a mockery to say that I’ll miss him — I’m sure I’ve never been within 500 miles of him, don’t even know anyone that knew him — but his writing changed my writing, my perception of what writing could be and how you could put yourself in it. So the world is sadder and dumber without him in it.

Here’s a PDF of his fairly short piece Consider The Lobster.
Here’s his commencement speech at Kenyon.
Here’s his review of a dictionary (yes, really).
His piece “The Depressed Person”, in Harper’s.
Here’s the best fansite I’ve found: The Howling Fantods.

Another year coming around. I find myself re-evaluating all the shit, good and bad, come my way. I’m doing OK, I guess. There are some causes for sadness, but overall, I can’t complain too hard, really. I enjoy my new job, and despite the death of Vic (or maybe because of?) I am learning more and doing different things, which is something I wanted when I left the old joint. Had Indian for lunch earlier with the dudes from Ye Olde Jobbe and they are in misery full-force. Which sucks. That whole environment is like a kid trying too hard; they want to be a business/enterprise instead of educational/medical — or maybe they think they should be? — and they’re just stressing the wrong things. Be a hardass about what you expect, don’t be a hardass about vanity or chain of command or other bullshit pipe dreams about how to show that the proverbial dick is bigger than the other dudes’. On the bright side, in about 5 to 10 years time, it’s going to be SUCH a premier environment (reputation-wise, for their care and tech etc…workwise, meh…too soon to say and things are too fast-moving to be able to pin down.) Relationship stuff’s worked out, really. Interpersonal drama-llama visits have been avoided. Old friends come back, Eden’s back and I will hopefully soonish find myself making some music with Bunny. I find myself thinking of Cass, wondering if she’s doing OK. My phone calls and emails to her are infrequent and I think awkward for her. I’m hoping this is why she doesn’t reply to emails. I switched back to winamp for playing music (itunes for the ipod still, but winamp is still awesomer) and the queen cover comes up at the oddest fucking moments. Still, she was awesome and that was aside from having the most amazing tits ever. Skeeter’s still pissed at me, but since she won’t answer or pick up, I just leave “wishing you the best” messages every 6 months or so. Mils is here today and gone tomorrow, back with the ex she always will have a spot for, which is kinda good, really. Sun’s comin’ from the tx, and i will be going to tx come august and maybe san fran or canada in the winter? I dunno. The old man’s gonna have multiple surgeries done at once but is putting it off until my sister gives birth, I guess in case he dies. I try not to think about it. Maybe let the vacousness of television numb it down; dr who greys anatomy dexter futurama cooking shows. Some days it’s just so much and some days you just relish in jumping into the fray, you know?

in which Sterling provides an apt summary:
“I consider it my personal Vietnam. If I had gone in and struck hard and fast and all in one go, none of that shit would have gone down. But because I didn’t, because I took it slow, I sabotaged myself. And I think it was because [removed].”
“…So you consider it all your fault?”
“Yes.”
“And none of it would have happened and [removed] would still be friends with [removed].”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Wow, that’s a lot of guilt.”

in which Laura considers the possibility that there may be a better way to handle situations
Laura: so, he is right. we do need more time. though i think he went about it totally wrong. but, i do realize he doesnt have the emotional capability/tact that i hhave
(erm, maybe i dont always hav tact)
David: like when you laughed at [laura's ex-boyfriend]‘s naked erection?
Laura: yes
David: some people might say that was …. less than fully tactful

in which Little Trouble Girl summarizes her complex love life:
“So I’m going to see my husband in the hospital, but I stopped by to have lunch with my boyfriend — that I’m not having sex with because he’s married — to tell him about how I didn’t get laid last night with my coworker/crush because he couldn’t get it hard despite a long blowjob and to complain about how my fuckbuddy just left for [unnamed country] which is good because we might be developing feelings for each other. Which would be bad.”

in which i make an ass of myself at a party:
“dude i was in college when you were still sucking your momma’s dick!”
“you know my mom’s dead, right?”

So I come in to the restaurant and sit down and say “Hey! Sorry I’m late, your tits look great!”
To which she says: “They should, I’m pregnant.”

She had broken up with her boyfriend recently, just…differences, you know? and the short version is that one time a month ago they fucked up, and now my friend is getting an abortion, and is horrified and guilty and I feel sorrow for her. It’s the right choice for her, and it’s excruciating bordering on the unbearable for her to choose this.

I’ve had other people in my life who had them — a high school friend during my Christian phase who was afraid to tell me because she thought I would take it poorly, another was someone I drove ~400 miles to see because of it^1,2 (and she’d gotten another one I wasn’t supposed to know about, but we never spoke of it obviously) and then another who drunk on her birthday while talking about a mutual friend having a baby just dropped it in conversation matter-of-factly (in front of her current husband) about how she’d had one when 18. It’s heart-wrenching, it really is. Necessary and liberating in a way, and in many cases, it’s the only way that makes any sense. But still.

¹ If you’re still reading: you know who you are. Are you still reading? I wonder sometimes. I stopped trying to check; I figure if you can’t tell me, you just can’t.
² Technically, I went to cheer her up because of heartbreak. The Legendary Pink Dots’ song “Home” reminds me of this period, and I cannot listen to it more than once or twice a year (which sucks because it’s on my favorite LPD album, “The Maria Dimension”), because listening to it instantly brings me back to waking up slowly with the light, dim in the morning and the traffic slowly waking up and my back stiff from the mattress on the floor, the cat freaked out.

Vic’s gone, heart attack at 35 on Sunday night/Monday morning I guess. Met his folks, the wake was really hardcore. “You were his friends to the end”, the body didn’t look like him at all but made it more real to me, it’s stopped feeling like a bad joke all the time, like the most ridiculous thing that he’s gone, forever.