The Art of Procrastination

While I should be writing 3+ pages on Kafka’s The Trial, another 3+ on Woolf’s The Waves, and a brief 1.5-2.5 page essay on Kermode’s Interpretation of Narrative (all due tomorrow), instead I’m stuck in a time loop. The In-tuh-net has sucked me into it. (Suspend the fact that I took aside an hour to make this picture)

The Art of Procrastination

Whenever I’m presented with the task of writing, whether plopping out a paper for class, extracting the creative juices for a poem or short story, or crafting a screenplay, I have to write initially on paper and pen. A part of that is a neurosis I’ve developed thanks to Coach Mangrum, who not only taught me how to ’say it loud, I’m black and I’m proud,’ (overlook the fact that he’s white) he also would comment in class about how writing in black pen is the best way to preserve writing. Another part of that same neurosis comes from the economy of energy and words that come with writing first on paper.

Because the moment I transfer to the computer, it’s as though there’s a direct connect into my cerebellum: all trains of thought leave the station simultaneously and then collide as my fingers try and keep pace with the multiple tracks running.

And then, as my fingers fly over the keyboard, I’m suddenly hit by Sophia’s arrow. In the midst of typing, I’ll switch to Wikipedia and Merriam Webster to look up inane facts, figures and trivia. This, of course, leads to the endless quagmire of knowledge; worse than the collective quagmires of Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan and the War on Drugs. Before I know it, two hours have passed and I’ve learned about not only the etymology of ‘Percival,’ ‘pierce,’ and ‘morgan’, I’ve also read up on the history of  the West Nile Virus the English language and Standard Poodles, read a quick bio on Henry James (repressed homosexual), Toni Morrison (beautiful smile), Maya Angelou (Nobel Laureate and Pulitzter winner), Anna Deveare Smith (won the MacArthur genius grant) and Barack Obama (44th president of the United States) and discovered simultaneously how much fiber is in 100g of okra and mangos (3.2g and 1.2g respectively). In the art of procrastination, I usually have two or three tabs devoted to Wikipedia.

Then there’s the Gmail inbox, constantly clamouring for attention. I read through emails, checking out the news alerts from NYT, The Washington Post, and the Huffington Post that update me every hour on the state of the world, pop culture and the economy. I’ve had a tab open for a week now from The New Yorker about the possible innocent killing of a man  (Did Texas  execute an innocent man? I don’t know because it’s taken me a week to read the article). Because, let’s face it, after I get the news alerts, I then must check my personalized Google News page, to see if I missed anything important. God forbid the television is turned onto CNN, MSNBC or FOX. Princess will  then use her nose to nudge my hand for attention, possibly concerned for my health and warning me about the dangers of being sucked into the In-Tuh-Net, but I’m absorbed in an electronic world. I’ve no time to put on my heels and toss that ball for you, dear. I’m sorry, I’m busy writing a paper but first doing some research and checking my news.

After I’ve satiated my thirst for knowledge, assuaged my fears and concerns about the state of the world via my Inbox and personalized Google Newspage, I then feel a sense of restlessness. Enter Facebook. But before I can log onto Facebook, I have to update my Twitter account. Now that I’ve told the world, in a brief 160 characters, that I’m busy procrastinating, I can delve into the labyrinth of Facebook. And a labyrinth it is. Boyfriends from the past morph into a minotaur beast, and I have to know how they’re doing and who they’re talking to instead of picking up the phone to call them. Friends post ‘must-see’ videos. I remember wanting to watch episodes of The Boondocks (see a Nigga Moment, the R Kelly Trial, and the one where they parody Rumsfield and the Iraqi War; ‘The absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence) This, in turn, leads me to open up even more tabs in Firefox for various Youtube videos. The inbox on my Facebook account has morphed into a monumental task of reading (204 messages and still counting). By this point, I have more than seven tabs running.

Suddenly, an alert from UGA pops up in my inbox, and I’m clutching the pearls around my neck in frustration debating whether to call financial aid or toss the computer out into the back, piss on it, douse it in lighter fluid and dance the dance of dances while circling the burning mass like a mad savage.

The only cure for any of the anxiety caused by all this techno-stress is to window shop on the internet. It begins innocently enough, wanting to check to see where and when I can order those Snakeskin Platform Pumps. And then, I must form a wish list. Soon, I’m going through all of the in-tuh-net, looking in major department stores and making notes about shoes I want to have. Which of course, leads to designing the must have outfit. And I’ll need a handbag or seventy to go along with all of this, charged on the imaginary limitless creditcard I have while what was once innocently windowshopping online becomes a mad hunt for every little delight to my eye. To give you a bit of perspective, just last week I spent three hours perusing Nordstrom crafting the perfect wishlist, and another hour looking over at Macy’s before I collapsed from exhaustion. The art of procrastination quickly devolves into the art of being a consumer whore.

And, before I know it, the In-tuh-net has sucked away all my time, and I’m mentally exhausted. I never knew writing could be so dangerous, but whenever I come to my computer to write, I must  dedicate at least two or three hours: perhaps a 1/4 of that spent writing and the other time procrastinating.

Usually, the only remedy for this is to go weeks at a time without logging into Facebook or Twitter, limiting myself to one – maybe two – Gmail checks, and the occasional glance at the news. Otherwise, I would never climb out of the abyss. After a short respite, I think to myself ‘ I have self control, I have willpower. I can resist. I must resist!’ But like that first hit of crack or injection of black tar heroin, I’m instantly addicted again, only to be found twitching on the floor mumbling ‘Christian…Louboutin. Twitter. Wikipedia. Gmail. Face…book.’ before collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

Now that I’ve procrastinated long enough (three hours and counting) I shall close all web browsers, surround myself with books and churn out those 10+ pages due tomorrow. But not before one last glance at my inbox, my friend feed, all the news that’s fit to print, and where I can get those faux Snakeskin pumps.

More Found on Craigslist …

Normally, I have a policy against posting the reply address, but this one is just too ridiculous for words. The comment at the end is completely unnecessary. Seriously? Michelle is a beautiful lady. And Obama is quite the handsome man.  I don’t condone any behavior, but if you feel inclined to write him/her horrible letters, well I can’t stop you …

Monkeys as pets (Ron)

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Reply to: pers-fkb76-1174690106@craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}
Date: 2009-05-16, 10:52PM EDT

You’re fucking nuts. I have known several people who have had monkeys as pets and all would never do it again for several reasons.Contrary to what you have heard, most women are scared of monkeys and will avoid you like the plague.Ditto for snakes, lizards, and parrots. A friendly medium sized, well groomed mutt works much better.Or a bear cub, but those are hard to get and they grow up to be real big. Monkeys are very smart and have lots of energy so you can imagine the chaos, especially when you are at work and he gets out of his cage. Monkeys are unpredictable and can flip out on you without warning. And acquiring and caring for a monkey isnt cheap. For proof. look how much obama is costing us and how much trouble he is. although watching his ugly, tree swinging wife peel bananas with her feet is rather entertaining.

November: Conspiracy Theories and Dionysian Mysteries

Dear Readers,

Usually I’m all against breaking the fourth wall, and keeping that emotional distance. Except, we are facing an incredible month of November. No, I’m not talking about the elections and the showdown between Joe-the-Plumber’- evil-and-sinister-uncle-who-I’m certain-was-Senator-Palpatine-in-Star-Wars-and-his-trusty-sidekick-Caribou-Barbie and Mr. Elitist-who-acts-as-though-he’s-already-the-g’damned-President-, scheduling-overseas-rallies-and-buying-National-Air-time-and-actually-moving-the-world-series-back-by-fifteen-minutes-before-he-parts-the-seven-seas.

On a side note: my parents and I like to joke about Obama as the second coming of our lord and Savior Jesus Christ. My dad had heard in the week leading up to the convention he was going to speak from something that looked like a Greek temple. In turn, I jested in the week leading up to his appearance that Sen. Obama would descend from the clouds and grace us with his presence, turning water into wine, parting the seas and being the Second Messiah. Whether Jesus or John F. Kennedy was the first I’ll leave up to debate.

Personally, I’m voting for Martin Sheen, because President Bartlett was the best president personality on TV I can remember short of Clinton. Though it appears my aides have informed me President Bartlett wasn’t actually a president. And, even if he were, he would be ineligible because he’s already served two terms. And on another aside, is that what we’re reduced to? Demagogues and TV personalities crafted by the ‘liberal’ media? Eh. I digress. Immensely.

Wait, I’m being told reality has met fantasy. BARACK OBAMA knocks on the front door of a 300-year-old New Hampshire farmhouse while his Secret Service detail waits in the driveway. The door opens and OBAMA is standing face to face with former President JED BARTLET. Anyone want to perform this one-act scene with me?

No, I’m here to talk to you about National Novel Writing Month. Which begins this Saturday. What, pray tell, is NaNoWriMo?

National Novel Writing Month (also known as NaNoWriMo) is a creative writing project in which participants attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. The official event is held every November. Despite the name, the project is now international in scope. 101,767 writers participated in 2007, yielding 15,335 reported winners. Participants wrote 1,187,931,929 words in 2007, according to the project’s website.

I’ve yet to hit the 50K word mark, so I race each year in hopes of finishing it. I can write 50K words; I just can’t stay on topic that long. If you need proof, read the digression at the beginning of this letter. Still, I’m going to conquer my literary ADHD. There are few rules, but the main one that usually sticks out for me is:

Advance planning and extensive notes are permitted, but no earlier written material can go into the body of the novel, nor is one allowed to start and then finish early.

I usually bypass this by using my notes to fill up the blank screen for awhile until I hit my stride, and then delete the notes at the end. There’s just something very intimidating about writing on a blank screen that brings about writer’s block. This year, though, I’ve spent the past few weeks doing extensive notes and preplanning in hopes of completing my novel. I’ve even written notes for two different novels, just in case my attention span cannot stick to one subject, and I feel the need to switch back and forth. And just for the record, while I won’t tell you who I will vote for, I do happen to embrace Sen. Obama’s certain brand of ideology. Still, Hilary would have been a better choice, but I think this post may have enough side notes  and digression.

To win NaNoWriMo, participants must write an average of 1,666⅔ words per day. Organizers of the event say that the aim is simply to get people to start writing, using the deadline as an incentive to get the story going and to put words to paper.

Here’s the actual press release for the event.

And, because I’m like a little kid who says “Mine!” I like to pretend that the entire month of November is my birthday. I also am deluded into thinking St. Patrick’s Day is my own personal holiday. And those festivities of Mardi Gras are all in preparation for the festive date of March 17^th to celebrate those named after the patron Irish saint. I never claimed to make sense. In addition, I still claim there’s no need for me to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day because it is my day, and my name serves as my bit of green.

Interesting side note: I declared myself Dionysus in the fall of ‘07. Depending on which source you use, the Dionysian Mysteries took place either after or before the winter solstice, sometime around December 22:

This festival was timed to coincide with the “clearing of the wine”, a final stage in the fermentation process occurring in the first cold snap after the Winter Solstice, when it was declared Dionysos was reborn. This was later formalised to January 6 (now Epiphany), a day on which water was also turned to wine by Dionysos in a separate myth.

Dionysos was also revered at Delphi, where he presided over the oracle for three winter months, beginning in November, marked by the rising of the Pleiades, while Apollo was away “visiting the Hyperboreans“. At this time a rite of known as the “Dance of the Fiery Stars” was performed, of which little is known, but appears to have been appropriation of the dead, which was continued in Christian countries as All Souls Day on November 2.   - Wikipedia “Dionysian Mysteries”

or around Spring Equinox:

In Athens and the Attica of the Classical period the main festivities were held in the month of Elaphebolion [February/March] …  Dionysia had evolved into a great drama festival – Dionysos having become the god of acting, music and poetic inspiration for the Athenians – as well as an urban carnival or Komos. – Wikipedia “Dionysian Mysteries”

The Roman equivalent is Bacchus. Bacchanalia happened to fall around March 17^th, which is also the Ides of March and I used to have a historical crush on Julius Caesar.

In Rome the Bacchanalia, …  were held in secret and originally attended by women only, on three days in the year in the grove of Simila near the Aventine Hill, on March 16 and 17. [A]dmission to the rites were re-opened to men and celebrations took place five times a month! Initiation could take place at any of these times. – Wikipedia “Dionysian Mysteries”

Mardi Gras, some purport, is but an extension of the Bacchanalian festivals the early Christian church used to assimilate pagan Roman beliefs, and make the transition between religions a bit more palatable. I’ll end the side note there, now realizing this topic may be worthy of a separate post all unto itself. Still, I think it is interesting that, of all the Greek Gods, I chose Dionysus simply because he related to wine. Then come to find out there are mysteries and festivals in his honor all throughout the year. Nevermind the link between life-death-rebirth deities (Dionysus, Jesus, Persephone, Osiris, etc) But I digress immensely, yet again.

The point being, NaNoWriMo is coming up. What better way to begin celebration of Dionysia than to unleash creativity. If novels aren’t your thing, perhaps try writing a play, or some music. Or painting a picture. Or making a baby. Whatever tickles your fancy. I like to think that Dionysus, being the god of all things uncivilized, the god of wine and revelry, his essence is about tapping into the unconscious. Delving into the shadow self to see what springs forth. Reason and Apollo rule spring and summer with the light of the sun, and favor productivity; but fall and winter are about tapping into the unconscious and seeing what lies inside the shadow self.

In the words of Baudelaire, enivrez-vous! And create! Whether a novel, poetry, music or a painting. Now Dance!

Pink Elephants and Black Gay Skeletons…

So I ran across this while seeing what the deal was on Hurricane Ike:

Detailed Study on Spread of H.I.V. in U.S.

By GARDINER HARRIS

An unusually detailed study of people newly infected with H.I.V. in the United States has confirmed that the majority of new cases occur among gay and bisexual men and that blacks are most at risk. But the data show that whites and blacks tend to be infected at different times in their lives with the virus that causes AIDS.

Most new infections of white gay and bisexual men occur when the men are in their 30s and 40s, the study found, while black gay and bisexual men are more likely to be infected in their teens and 20s. The results were reported on Thursday by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

New York Times

Being a card carrying member of The Gays is all shits and giggles, unicorns and butterflies and whatnot. We all know Trannies shit glitter (god bless ‘em) And then there’s the sobering reality of what it means to be a member of The Gays. I think, with the dismal record of Government assisting those with HIV, and The Gays in general, we’re pretty much owed equal marriage rights. There is a rampant, raging Pink Elephant who is quite belligerent and demands attention lest he break all the china (At some point he hooked up with the Red Bull and went to a china shop) As seconded by Dr. Fenton:

Dr. Kevin Fenton of the C.D.C. said the study’s(sic) findings served “as a powerful reminder that the U.S. epidemic of H.I.V. disease is far from over.”

It’s about to be, Oh, a Gurl fight!

Sarah Palin is exactly why more members of The Gays are needed in the Democratic Party. Only women and gay men can criticize women, just as only women can criticize The Gays, in that sneaky and underhanded subtle way women and The Gays can.

It’s a gift, really, the art of the backhanded compliment said with a smile. If you notice, however, these smiles typically bear teeth, and in animal world that’s a sign of aggression. Beware of smiling people with hidden agendas. Also beware big hair ..

Actually, I’ve become rather fond of Sarah. I’m gonna call her Fergie the Duchess, because they look similar. Plus, it makes the post slightly less political. Only slightly. No, I’ve a thing for cougars and silver foxes. No,

I’m not into bestiality. I am, however, very respectful of power and influence. It fascinates me and turns me on. I have wet dreams about Caesar Augustus, Herod, and Zeus. Just kidding. Maybe. Anyways, Fergie the Duchess is cute. And seem cuddly. Well, not cuddly but … approachable in the way Mrs. Robinson never was nor will be. However, Fergie aka Sarah is very much like Mrs. Robinson, but more smiley.