I had to go into “search for your account” since it has literally been years since I made my MySpace page. I had it all Gothy and tricked out. It was great. I picked out the perfect background and curated my mostly comedy and music clips. The funeral of Graham Chapman, a lot of Tim Minchin stuff, and whatever depressing music I was into back then. Now I come to think of it, it’s possibly a decade. I really expected it not to have me in their system at all. Holey moley, I’m still there, sort of.
I was kind of excited at the prospect of szushing my profile page and customizing it again. The creative expression it allowed was one of my favorite aspects of it. It is now a customizeable media stream. If you ever wanted to have complete control of your Facebook feed, this is for you. Well, I’m going to start clicking on stuff and see what happens. Aha! Eureka. The way to access your profile is on the deck on the bottom of the page. Exactly the opposite of every app ever made. I have been looking on the left-hand-side’s index and the top for it. Alright, this is getting better. Profile pic and background later, I’ve added the Toccata and Fugue in D minor as my background music, alright. Okay, the page is customized but how do you actually get media clips to show up on it? Time to Google “how to make media show up on MySpace personal page”. Ah, there’s a MySpace Help site which I cannot see any way to access from my actual page. So, what is it I’m looking for “embedding and sharing”, “making a post”, am I making a post, am I “managing your video”? No, the video I’ve searched for is “Graham Chapman’s Funeral” and I found it. It’s now in a Queue but no matter what I click on it never shows up on my page. It’s also not technically “mine”. This used to be a lot easier.
MySpace used to be a quick way to have a personal bulletin board to share what you love with your friends. It may work now as a Portfolio of one’s own work but Facebook is way easier to navigate, way more intuitive, is more social, and uses less technical jargon than MySpace. I may go back and try and figure MySpace out when I have unlimited time and patience to look through every single entry in their “help” site. Right now, it’s finals time and life is short. Enjoy!
I found this on Youtube and pasted it into WordPress in roughly .09 th of a second. Maybe some day I’ll love it and it’ll make a big comeback, but for right now MySpace can bite me.
Luckily, I keep a diary. My entry for the 9th of November was thus.
“The election was yesterday and Trump won. It reminds me of when Bush won, except that Trump is a different animal. Bush could pretend to be decent, Trump is seen as their savior but he’s a mean-spirited bully. Oh well, start saving money, I got a couple of things today. I’m still trying to put together the Blog post on it. It’s too fresh and painful. Yay, I finished my blog. More important, I went into photoshop and threw in a lightsaber on my favorite selfie. It looks noice. Gilles says it’s like the new Mona Lisa.” Not exactly pithy stuff but it keeps me sane.
This is an illustration of the denial and “self-care” that people in blue states, insulated by media predicting a Hillary win, have been dealing with. In another class, I’m doing a project on Anne Frank, of whom I’ve been obsessed since I was a child. My mother made sure I read her book as soon as I could comprehend the words and knowing my mother lived as an allied’s child in Germany after the war, it gave me an understanding of the aftermath that her six-year old mind struggled to grasp. It was through Anne Frank that I learned the true meaning of empathy as I cried to my mom, “Why would anyone kill her she was just a young girl?”. My mom didn’t have any answers and we watched every History channel WWII documentary back when the History channel actually taught history instead of making popular shows about truck drivers and aliens. We wanted answers, we wanted to know how Hitler (an obvious madman in hindsight) gained power. We ate up every documentary which explained his tormented childhood and tried to spot the moment when history could have turned a good corner. We listened to my grandpa (when he had drunk too much port) and he told us what he went through as a soldier fighting at Die Burenhaus, in Villengen-Schwenningen (known as “the Brown House” by my grandpa and the English Allies). His closest friend shot dead next to him, he had to wrap him in a blanket and put his dog-tags around his feet so that he could have a chance at being identified and maybe sent home to his loved ones. Two Polish boys from the Ghetto, barely in their teens, who joined the Allies when their entire village was murdered by the Nazis. Grandpa said that when the war had turned and the Allies were taking in the lower-level privates and the drafted Germans who were surrendering in droves, the two Poles notified the Sergeant in charge that one of the lower surrendering officers was in fact the S.S. Officer who they watched murder their entire family and village. Grandpa’s Sergeant then asked for TWO volunteers to “interrogate” the prisoner. The rest of the unit understood and only two hands went up. Grandpa: “Those Polish boys interrogated him within an inch of his life.” He admitted to being the S.S. Officer in question and provided more intel after that. While what the Sergeant did was probably against the Geneva convention, it earned him the undying respect from his men as a fair leader. That is the line I walk every day. I understand the draw and the attraction of unorthodox methods that fly in the face of convention, however, I also understand spin and ultimately how it can make monsters out of the ordinary man. Others have been feeling the same. On Youtube there are videos of everyday people expressing and processing this moment in history. I found this man’s sentiments lovely.
I hope that President Trump proves me wrong, but history leads me to worry about his methods and whether he will uphold the Constitution of the United States or look at it as another legal contract to weasel out of and get around. Many dictators before him have done this as soon as being elected. Whatever happens, we should all keep on journaling.
When looking at our major party candidates this election, one may be more enthusiastic towards picking their favorite flavor of cough syrup. The red (cherry flavor) or the green (doesn’t taste like anything a human would ingest unless on death’s door): they both do about the same things and are really neither palatable. However, guess what? You’re a grownup now, if you’re 18 and over and not registered to vote by the 14th of October, you’re like the benched kid on the softball team that never plays and doesn’t really wanna be there. Apathy is understandable under these situations. Hey, I get Facebook updates from Anonymous too (they do not forgive, they do not forget). Do I believe some of it? Yeah, probably most of it. But I’m still gonna hold my nose and take the medicine come November 8th. It’s not so bad.
These guys and gals seemed to think it worth fighting for, not metaphorically either, I mean actual fisticuffs and throw-downs with police and various old white dudes, over their rights to put a piece of paper in a box and be counted equal to said various old white dudes. Sorry old white dudes, nothing personal, it’s just yall’s history is not pretty.
Yesterday, I fell down hard. It probably looked like the above image a bit. Except for, instead of a banana peel, it was this neat plastic foot scrubby thing which is usually in my shower. My kitty decided it would be fun to chase around the house, so instead of it being suctioned to the bottom of my shower, it was upside down on my tiled floor. In the dark, going from one room to the next my right ankle turned under and I landed on my left arm, slamming into the wall and floor. Today, I can’t even….anything. I keep crying, it’s nearly 2pm and I’m not sure if I’m fighting normal computer problems (Chrome keeps killing pages, I download a Chrome Cleanup Tool for 15 minutes and it has no fix. *!$%# ) or if it’s the fact that every inch of my body hurts that I can’t concentrate. When you fall down, you get back up. Enjoy the ability to do so, cause as you get older, it gets harder and harder. When I feel like this, I think of all of the healthy stuff that I “should” do. Eat salads every day, lose weight so when stupid stuff like this happens it doesn’t take so much out of me. I used to bounce back from stuff so easily. In my early 20’s, I got hit by a car while biking and I literally got back up and walked home (my bike bit the big one though). Maybe that’s why I can’t anymore. I still haven’t found the scrubby thing, though. It went flying when I slipped and I haven’t seen it since. It’s still out there, in my kitchen, somewhere, waiting for me to heal and forget, the cats will find it and….boom. Here I go again.
The shark is an innocuous scrubby thing from the dollar store, somewhere in my house.
I decided to go lie down and sleep it off. I thought soothing music might help, so I turned on the tablet by my bed, put the Youtube on, reloaded the Youtube after it closed for no reason, signed back into my account, tapped the “music for relaxation” link, listened to a friggin’ commercial, the music starts, it buffers, starts again, buffers, again, stuttering almost…..!!!!%$$%$*^#
I am gripping my sheets, gritting my teeth, afraid to move because I am fighting the urge to chuck the f*&^&^$^$#^ tablet across the room. I am thinking of all of the hours and days of troubleshooting the stupid thing for it to still not work and think, “You know, it may be satisfying. I paid about $60 for the thing but I only would have one shot at destroying it. I’d have to make it count.” I’m thinking about the room next to mine, where I keep my tools and envision my hammer in my hand smashing that thing to bits. What was wrong with audiotapes? They worked perfectly well. Cd’s always get messed up. My cd player hasn’t played a cd successfully in years. I miss music. I start to think about the Amish and how they have never known this b.s. I think of some island off Scotland, where I could go off grid and never be heard from again. The need to fling the tablet is subsiding. It’s not that important, just disappointing. Like life. I rammed my fist into the tablet, remarkably it didn’t break. My hand now hurts, great. My hand hurts, along with everything else, and I miss music. I’m going to sleep now and dreaming of living like the Amish, or at least back in the 80’s when I had decent music options.
Huffington Post Politics is the go-to source for the progressive political posts which inhabit our Facebook feeds. If it’s in red sixty-point bold font over a very unflattering picture of Donald Trump (let’s face it, it’s not hard to find bad pics of him), there’s a good chance it’s from HuffPost. I’m not complaining, as I realize that I am biased in my being Lefty McLefterson from Leftsville, Leftsylvania. However, I am the daughter of a newspaper ad man and know this technique is used by both sides. It’s still tacky when my side resorts to it.
When you first go on HuffPost Politics, the first thing you wonder is, “Do the writers think their readership carry white canes and need service animals?” The reputation of HuffPost when it started was of an egalitarian, voice of the people, source for intelligent opinion-based news. Its origin being that Arianna Huffington realized that her friends and connections had a unique point of view to share. Why are they stuck on shouting in bold and using pictures of people mid-strange-speech-pattern? (the Trump “grimace face” is one of the worst)
Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump speaks during a campaign rally at the James L. Knight Center, Friday, Sept. 16, 2016, in Miami. (AP Photo/ Evan Vucci)
This practice is a way of focusing on how unlikable he is in a very dumbed-down way. Upon scrolling down, I see no less than eight pictures and articles of him and only three of Hilary. In pictures of Hilary, they pick ones where her face is open and inviting. She is looking sane and Presidential.
If you are given candidate A (above) or B (below) and knew nothing about them, who would you vote for? Each media news-source has an underlying narrative which most people are unaware of. Each media exposure either reinforces or changes beliefs about a candidate. If you receive your news from only one source, you only receive one narrative and are thereby programmed. (“For the benefit of whom?”, is the question we must always ask.) Most of HuffPost Politics’ page is going to be focused on the upcoming election. I can choose to dive-in to all of the muck, but there’s nothing that they can tell me that would make me vote any differently.
I don’t know of anyone who is enthusiastic about this election, on either side. In English class, last semester, we were split up into groups and we all started talking about the election. We assumed, because we were in college, that we were all going to be voting for Bernie or Hilary. This one girl got quiet and looked uncomfortable. She said she wasn’t voting for Hilary. Oh, so you’re with Bernie? She looked more uncomfortable, I whispered, “You’re voting for Trump?” She nodded, we were all uncomfortably silent. A million questions ran through my head and I never asked one. The biggest was, “Why?” She didn’t look terribly like a racist. She looked sane, I never once saw her wearing a tinfoil hat (I used to live in Woodstock, I grade on a curve.). We’re in New York so the whole “Build that Wall” thing is more for the Texans and Arizonans. I wondered if her parents maybe voted Republican and it was a, “As long as you’re under my roof, you’re gonna vote my way!”, kinda thing. Maybe she’s been hurt and is lashing out against Democrat parents, we’re not all bad. From that moment, I found myself being overly-nice to her.None of us in class asked her to clarify her thinking, but there was a distinct “wall” around her. Maybe that was what was in it for her. That’s why this election cycle is so insidious, it is dividing us. I haven’t seen her this semester, I hope she graduated and got a good job, no matter who she votes for.
It’s strangely comforting, even though she’s been dead for twenty years. This is her legacy, her humor(our). My mom loved all things British and my childhood was full of Monty Python (my preference, while juvenille and bizarre to her Alabaman aesthetics, she saw me laughing at Terry Jones’s nude organist and thought “this is good, this is the essence of humor” and let me continue to watch) and “Good Neighbors”, beaucholic and idealistic ’70’s fare and with a wonderful homegrown “Punkrock Homesteading” (check them on FB) aspect before its time. Her love of “Keeping Up Appearances” mirrored the delusional, hysterical women who came before us and beside us; the ones preoccupied with the way things “appear” as apposed to the TRUTH. My mother has been gone for over twenty years and I can follow the digital breadcrumbs back. When I need her or my dad (who delighted in her Anglophilism and thought these things funny too) I can find these things and hear her laughter in my own. I wish we could have watched “QI”, she was accepting of everyone and would have loved to have made aquaintences with Stephen Fry and his lot.
On Sunday morning, I woke up with a stiff neck and a ping-pong ball-sized lump on the back of my head. It’s my lymph-node again. I don’t know why it gets infected, it just does. Before, I’d just set an appointment with my general practicioner in Saugerties and take a bus there (this would take up an entire day). They’d put me on antibiotics and give me a salve for it. It’s never come on this quickly before, and not while I’m on immunity-suppressing medication for MS. The rapidness has got me a little worried and luckily I have an appointment with my neurologist already scheduled for today. What I don’t know is whether my neurologist will be there or has he already left the practice (as he has told me he is moving to the West Coast) and passed me off to a nurse practicioner. I’ll find out as soon as they open at 8:30am. I don’t really know when my appointment is, the office robo-called me on Saturday and I couldn’t speak to a person to ask these questions. I know it said the time but my mind checked out as I was trying to imagine why I made an appointment on a school-day. The only answer is: it’s got to be the only time I can see a doctor. I’m completely at their mercy. Welcome to the wonderful world of being on Medicare. You don’t get a lot of choices. You get shuffled from one doctor to the next each year as their status as a Medicare provider changes. You don’t get the current medications, but the painful, old generic standbys until it’s proven that none of them work. Then, they might consider a new medication for your condition. All of this with co-pays and phone calls fighting to get some semblance of health care. It’s exhausting to do on your own, while you don’t feel 100%. Now I have to go walk to my appointment. It’s a couple of miles. I will stop at Dunkin Donuts for breakfast, on the way. I sort of check out emotionally and go on auto-pilot because if I think too hard about it, I’d cry…and ain’t nobody got time for that. Thank goodness for Sweet Brown memes! I want this tattooed on me somewhere.