More trinkets!
Oct. 17th, 2002 04:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pseydtonneI've decided to buy a DVD player. I have no clue whether I really want the f*cking thing anymore. I've been shopping around. Maggie wants one. I can afford one. Part of me wants one and part of me just wants the excuse to walk into an audiophile store again.
My employer has this habit of handing me large hunks of cash-like objects and prizes. I have a set of Sopranos glass mugs, playing cards, a weird FM radio that won't tell you what station you've tuned into but makes surfing for music more interesting, a frisbee, hats, a spring-collapsable beach blanket, an LED necklace, pens, a self-supporting roach clip (err, paper holder), and a stress ball that looks like a TV set. I also received some travelers' checks, which cannot be deposited and thus will go toward the cost of the DVD player.
I've had other employers that pulled the pseudocash scheisse, but they usually reamed me. A local weekly that once employed me (let's call it 'Birdy') would hand out 'scrip' in lieu of stable pay. Scrip was an IOU of an amount. You went to a certain office at certain times of the week and traded your IOU for time-stamped coupons at a specific place. Most of the places were restaurants. I didn't have a date back then, so I think I still have coupons for a Vietnamese restaurant because I didn't want to eat alone. I wound up quitting that job because the bank with my car loan wouldn't take scrip.
I like having enough money than I can worry about how to spend it. However, it's not cash and thus I cannot save it. I can't take the pseudomoney to the swap fest and grab a hard drive, although I can go to a certain chain electronics store and buy a brand-new hard drive or a CD burner.
If these are my worries, then I have no worries, right? Actually, I'm worried about my dad. I can't do anything about that, so I'm buying the kind of toy he'd love to have. He's not ready for the gifts I have for him. (Oh, and if you see him before I do, don't tell him about the Sopranos mugs.)
What do I want? Voice recognition software that works with a Palm Pilot. I suppose I'd need a Palm Pilot as well, eh? I'd like to talk into a portable device and upload the file as text. That technology isn't around yet, so I'll make do.
I want to feel useful again. I like my job, but I want to use the talents I enjoy having. These hunks of money will have to do. Maybe I'll let them sit in my bank account as long as possible and hope they won't run away.
Maybe I should walk over to Tufts and ask about their post-bac minor in computer science (aka. trading my BA in b.s. for a BS in CS). I should dress nicely and turn on the charm. Maybe I can trick them into paying for it, the way I got my last university to do it. "You don't know me, but I live down Boston Ave and you want me to take your courses for free."
I'm scared. My dad's failings have left me bitter. I'm supposed to stand behind him in his time of need. Instead, I want to yell at him. I want him to understand how lost I am because I had to work weird jobs for several years. I don't know what I want anymore. Is that really his fault? No. I didn't have my skull together when I got out of college. Then again, who does? I'm bitter because there was no free career wanting for me after being "the smart kid" since the age of 2.
I'm more adept at dealing with people. Good. I know how to use myself as a tool. Too bad the job I really want is quickly disappearing. Radio is dead. NPR isn't hiring. I get paid to talk, but none of the words are mine.
"The grass is always greener on the other side." "Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it." Not enough. I've been broke so long that I'd never known this confusion.
I still can't afford to do the important stuff -- fix my car, get married, make my own recording studio. I can't throw money at some radio station and hope they'll hire me.
I went home a couple months ago and ran into a friend from high school. He reminded me that I really loved radio and that I should do something to get back to that. I'd convinced myself, over the past six years, that getting back on the microphone was impossible. No one was hiring, I don't have a decent demo tape, blah blah. "What happens to a dream deferred?"
I'd crushed my desire for so long that I'd really shoved my spirit into a box. Right now, at 4 in the morning as I sit typing, I must have opened the box.
Computers are logical. My desire to study them, practically and theoretically, is the desire to find new ways to think. The time that requires is hard to gather. My own thinking is warped, but there must be a method to it. I could spend my life unraveling my mind, but even a grand documentation of the process would not solve anything.
The no-mind. Wu wei. I used to meditate; now I just argue with myself. This would be a good time to find my center again, or at least get near it.
This post is getting less and less focused the longer I write. I'll stop and hope someone could tell me something conclusive about what I've said.
-press send give me a break, Dante
My employer has this habit of handing me large hunks of cash-like objects and prizes. I have a set of Sopranos glass mugs, playing cards, a weird FM radio that won't tell you what station you've tuned into but makes surfing for music more interesting, a frisbee, hats, a spring-collapsable beach blanket, an LED necklace, pens, a self-supporting roach clip (err, paper holder), and a stress ball that looks like a TV set. I also received some travelers' checks, which cannot be deposited and thus will go toward the cost of the DVD player.
I've had other employers that pulled the pseudocash scheisse, but they usually reamed me. A local weekly that once employed me (let's call it 'Birdy') would hand out 'scrip' in lieu of stable pay. Scrip was an IOU of an amount. You went to a certain office at certain times of the week and traded your IOU for time-stamped coupons at a specific place. Most of the places were restaurants. I didn't have a date back then, so I think I still have coupons for a Vietnamese restaurant because I didn't want to eat alone. I wound up quitting that job because the bank with my car loan wouldn't take scrip.
I like having enough money than I can worry about how to spend it. However, it's not cash and thus I cannot save it. I can't take the pseudomoney to the swap fest and grab a hard drive, although I can go to a certain chain electronics store and buy a brand-new hard drive or a CD burner.
If these are my worries, then I have no worries, right? Actually, I'm worried about my dad. I can't do anything about that, so I'm buying the kind of toy he'd love to have. He's not ready for the gifts I have for him. (Oh, and if you see him before I do, don't tell him about the Sopranos mugs.)
What do I want? Voice recognition software that works with a Palm Pilot. I suppose I'd need a Palm Pilot as well, eh? I'd like to talk into a portable device and upload the file as text. That technology isn't around yet, so I'll make do.
I want to feel useful again. I like my job, but I want to use the talents I enjoy having. These hunks of money will have to do. Maybe I'll let them sit in my bank account as long as possible and hope they won't run away.
Maybe I should walk over to Tufts and ask about their post-bac minor in computer science (aka. trading my BA in b.s. for a BS in CS). I should dress nicely and turn on the charm. Maybe I can trick them into paying for it, the way I got my last university to do it. "You don't know me, but I live down Boston Ave and you want me to take your courses for free."
I'm scared. My dad's failings have left me bitter. I'm supposed to stand behind him in his time of need. Instead, I want to yell at him. I want him to understand how lost I am because I had to work weird jobs for several years. I don't know what I want anymore. Is that really his fault? No. I didn't have my skull together when I got out of college. Then again, who does? I'm bitter because there was no free career wanting for me after being "the smart kid" since the age of 2.
I'm more adept at dealing with people. Good. I know how to use myself as a tool. Too bad the job I really want is quickly disappearing. Radio is dead. NPR isn't hiring. I get paid to talk, but none of the words are mine.
"The grass is always greener on the other side." "Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it." Not enough. I've been broke so long that I'd never known this confusion.
I still can't afford to do the important stuff -- fix my car, get married, make my own recording studio. I can't throw money at some radio station and hope they'll hire me.
I went home a couple months ago and ran into a friend from high school. He reminded me that I really loved radio and that I should do something to get back to that. I'd convinced myself, over the past six years, that getting back on the microphone was impossible. No one was hiring, I don't have a decent demo tape, blah blah. "What happens to a dream deferred?"
I'd crushed my desire for so long that I'd really shoved my spirit into a box. Right now, at 4 in the morning as I sit typing, I must have opened the box.
Computers are logical. My desire to study them, practically and theoretically, is the desire to find new ways to think. The time that requires is hard to gather. My own thinking is warped, but there must be a method to it. I could spend my life unraveling my mind, but even a grand documentation of the process would not solve anything.
The no-mind. Wu wei. I used to meditate; now I just argue with myself. This would be a good time to find my center again, or at least get near it.
This post is getting less and less focused the longer I write. I'll stop and hope someone could tell me something conclusive about what I've said.
-press send give me a break, Dante
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no subject
Date: 2002-10-17 06:30 am (UTC)Radio isn't hiring so much but voices are still needed for things. Think websites. Think F^5.
Those AMEX gift checks *can* be deposited to your bank account but you have to do it in person - no ATM. Alternately if you go to a bank (or the AMEX place in Hahvahd Squayuh) you can get cash for 'em.
Don't forget that in a couple of months you'll be eligible for the tuition reimbursement plan and that's good for up to $5k a year of college courses. Talk to your supervisor about it. If you get a scholarship, hey - bonus!
I am a bit uncomfortable myself with the fact that some people my age knew exactly what they wanted to do out of college and did it, and some of them are movers and shakers. I want to do a bit of movin and shakin myself, and ManRay is too smoky.
no subject
Date: 2002-10-17 06:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-10-17 04:37 pm (UTC)hedwig must wait just a few moments longer...