Happy July Fourth everybody!
We’d see the horror in the heart of farce,
If only we could act instead of talking,
We wouldn’t always end up on our arse.
This was the thing that nearly has us mastered;
Don’t rejoice in his defeat, you men!
Although the world stood up and stopped the bastard,
The bitch that bore him is in heat again.
- Bertolt Brecht, The Resistible Rise of Arturo Ui
Linda’s art may be found on http://www.originalartonline.com/buyers/index/content/artwork/ArtistID/677. I asked her to tell me a little about these pieces, what she was doing, and what she was thinking when she made them. She has the following to say…
You may click to embiggen. (No, seriously, do it!)
“Do you want them or not?”
This was the nurse talking to the patient next to me earlier this morning. Her words struck me as about the most cruel thing I had heard anyone say in a very long time. To be fair, I wasn’t privy to the whole story, and the occasional dose of percoset could not have done much to improve my own perception of events happening on the other side of a curtain. Still, I think I took in enough of what was going on to understand the poor sobbing man who had to answer this question.
My own stay at the hospital was rather uneventful. Three minor procedures and an overnight stay. It was painful, but hardly beyond my own (less than impressive) tolerance levels. I found the staff pleasant and helpful. The story of my brief encounter with the medical world this weekend has thus far been a rather boring story of a plan coming together nicely. The drama last night was unfolded just beyond the curtain beside me.
The patient showed up well into the evening, obviously in great distress. I could hear the man explain that he had walked out of another hospital because they wouldn’t give him enough pain killers. He didn’t seem to be capable of repeating that move again. Shortly after being left to his own devices, the man began to vomit. He seemed to vomit until he had nothing left, and he just kept on going.
Granted, there were moments of respite, but they were few and far in between. I could hardly imagine the pain he must have experienced, but listening to him cry just like a child was enough to drive the point home for me. The physical suffering of the patient next to me was but the kicker for the real story. Over the course of the evening, the staff slowly seemed to disengage themselves from the struggle to control his pain, replacing the effort to help him with explanations for their own inability to do so. The response time for his requests grew longer and longer over the course of the evening. At least one time I could hear people joking and laughing just outside the door as his bell rang, and the man struggled to expel whatever it was that wanted out of his belly so badly.
Was I missing something? Perhaps the staff believed him to be a problem patient of sorts, contributing to his own misery in one way or another, or perhaps they simply felt they were unable to help him. Either way, their increasing reluctance to try seemed to grow more obvious over the course of the night. I suppose it would make sense in that perverse way that the human mind actually seems to work that a nurse unable to help a patient in any substantive manner would withdraw from him emotionally, but this seemed to be an exceptionally striking loss of compassion. By morning, it seemed the staff could hardly pretend to care anymore just what happened to this patient.
One particularly sad chapter in the drama came when my neighbor asked for pain medication. He was given a pill and some water, all of which stayed down less than a few minutes. As the patient pointed out that his pain medication was now in the bucket, the hospital staff argued that some of it must be making its way into his system. How much was in the bucket and how much was in his system, no-one could tell, and that unanswered question had serious consequences. The man continued to complain of pain all night, and having given him pain medications, the staff explained that they could not risk giving him anything more. Despite any evidence to the contrary, they had to assume the medication they had given him was still in his system. He would simply have to tough it out.
At some point in the evening, I heard somebody take them man into the bathroom where they left him. About ten minutes later I heard a crash. Do, I know that he fell? Not quite. Something else could have gone wrong, but I continue to believe that is what I heard. By this point in the evening, I was getting a slow response to my own requests for help. Perhaps the staff was just that busy, and perhaps my own efforts to get help for the neighbor had earned me too a skeptical ear. Either way, no-one came to help for several minutes as I pressed buttons and talked into speakers. The man begged me to find him some help. Finally, I decided to get up and make for the hallway.
Someone finally entered the room as I grunted and groaned my way out of bed. After asking them to help my neighbor I was told he was just lying on the floor. It was only after I insisted several times that he had fallen, and after I added that I had heard a crash, that anyone turned their attention to him. After sometime they got him back into his bed and listened as he added a very sore shoulder to his list of complaints. Convinced that it had popped out of place, my neighbor asked for help pushing it back into its socket. This request was of course denied, and rightly so, I imagine, but I couldn’t help thinking that to this person it was just one more refusal to help him.
Things were relatively quiet for awhile after that. When asked, the man always said he was in pain. Finally, someone brought him a couple pain pills and a glass of water. The man patiently explained that he would vomit them back up just as they had the first time. His nurse interrupted with terse question; “Do you want them or not?”
After a long silence, I could hear the man taking the pills. It had to be a difficult decision. The previous botched attempt at such medication was the very reason he spent the night in so much pain, and now this was the only option the nurse could (or would) offer him. She left immediately after giving him the pills, and the room fell silent. As it happens, he did keep this batch down, and things were okay for awhile (less than an hour). Who knows, maybe there was a trace of wisdom in her cruelty.
I keep thinking about this, wondering how accurate my sense of the events may be, what details may fill the gaps in my own sense of the story, and just how much I should be angry over the story unfolding beside me. If I’ve gauged the bathroom incident correctly, then I think that argues for an angry-as-hell verdict, but I am on very uncertain ground there. Most of the story takes place in more grey areas, a patient in great pain, and staff well beyond their ability to help him. I wonder if people may have overlooked some options that were available to them all along, but I don’t know what those would be. Perhaps there are lessons here about the way bureaucracies allocate authority for decisions and the way people deal with those policies in real life. Far more likely, I suspect there is a lesson here about the way that people respond to their own limitations, and the short trip from inability to help to utter lack of compassion. These weren’t uncaring people, at least I don’t believe they were, but by the end of the evening you’d have been hard-pressed to see it in their actions toward that patient.
Ah well, I now have a date with some percoset.
…which I am apparently unable to spell.
This is going to be one of those this-is-what’s-happening-in-my-life posts. I generally don’t do those. I figure a blog is a sufficiently self-indulgent exercise in itself when I am at least trying to talk about other things, but life has gotten far eough ahead of the me and my blog that a commet or two about my present state would seem to be in order.
…My keyboard has a sticky ‘n’ …dammit!
Anyway, It’s been a Hell of a summer. I won’t say its been a particularly good one, but it certainly did have its moments. The first feature quality of this summer would seem to be travel. First I flew down to Denver, then I flew to Vegas, then to Orange Couty, then back to Vegas, then up to Barrow, down to Santa Fe as part of a summer camp I ran for high school kids, then back to Barrow, down to Anchorage, and back to Barrow once again. …and I’m headed back to Anchorage in a few days.
That’s a bit much.
Extra travel (always by plane) is part of life i barrow, but this is a bit much. I worry that my cats will soon disown me. Seriously, all I have to do now is touch my socks and they are all over me. That aloe makes me feel bad.
This summer has also been a bit too medical for my tastes. I entered Jue with two teeth on the left side of my mouth making a good argument against ordering a steak dinner. They have had me chewing on the right side for awhile now, and I’m getting pretty good at it. Mid you, both of these teeth have had work doe on them, ostensibly complete work. So, an endodontist tore into one perfectly good cap i search of problems with a root canal and my regular dentist tore into a nice filling to investigate the other tooth. Turns out the first was a lateral channel near the bottom of the root, ad the secod also had an extra root. The doc took what nerves she could outta the tooth, but lucky me, I get to visit another endodontist soon. …and I get to pay some hefty bills on accounta my dental plan is already maxed out for the year.
I the interim, I have a steak i my fridge, and I wouldn’t bet on it still being there tomorrow night.
The funny thig about doctors is that if you avoid them for a long time (say about a decade) they tend to find things when you come back. Everythig on me is more or less fixible, or live-with-able, but damn! I am relieved to learn that the general sense of fatigue that has bee creeping up o me for years may have a specific (and perfectly treatable) cause. That’s a good thing. I’m also happy that this doc found the source of recurrent pai i my side. Let me just say that a certain kidney stone has a date with destiny. …soon, you bastard! I do wonder why previous doctors missed it, but K-Sarah, or something like that! Also, I am hoping the outtie which became my belly button a few years back will one day soon be a innie again. Three small procedures in one day; I wonder if that adds up to at least a medium-ish procedure?
Also, I guess I eed to eat more bananas. At least I’m told my heart will stop skipping around so much if I do. And of course it’s time to start thinking about my cholesterol, …well past time actually.
…and once again money! My bank account was healthy a few weeks ago. It’s taking a hell of a hit now, and I can’t help but wonder what I would have done without work-related insurance.
Then I realize the answer is obvious. I would have done exactly what I did do when I didn’t have insurance, which is nothing. Without insurance I still wouldn’t know what that pain was in my side, why I am so damned tired all the time, or why the slightest exercise makes me want crawl directly into the grave. And since a couple of those things are ticking time bombs, I guess my story would be a tragedy unfolding it’s way toward the climax chapter.
So, I guess things are shaking out okay, but I definitely have to rethink my perspective on doctors. Time was when I simply couldn’t afford any of this care, but I was awful slow to take advantage of it when my circumstances changed. Ah well, I shall kick myself over this three or four more times before moving on.
We are already seeing snow here in Barrow, though it isn’t sticking yet. I am oe week ito a ew semester, which usually means a more stable schedule, and more time with the cats. I ca only hope my students don’t pick up any bad spelling habits from yours truly. …and maybe I can fid some compressed air i Anchorage.
The blog looks like a bit of a train wreck at the moment. My topics are a bit more scattered than usual, and my efforts to catch up on summer comments ended with many good people unanswered. As of now, I eve have a badly misspelled title i one of my posts.
I have plas for several posts. Most of those plans have been in place since Jue, but I suppose that’s better to be behid than to have nothing to say. Hopefully I will soon begin knockig out new material soon.
Could someone please eat these donuts for me? The doc says they will kill me, so naturally I bought a whole firing squad.
Just a quick note to say that I am running a summer youth camp right now, which is why the blog has been silent lately. What I’ve posted has been stuff written in advance (like this one for example). The kids will soon dismiss me, though, and I’ll commence bloggenating proper once I taste freedom.
Okay, most of you probably aren’t going to get the point of this story, and some of you may flee in terror shouting ‘nerd alert! nerd alert!’ That’s okay, because, well, …guilty as charged.
The game was D&D, and it may have been the mid-90s, but we were playing first edition. I was the Game Master, and two separate gaming groups (one from Las Vegas and one from Flagstaff) had come together for a single game session. Each of the players had several characters on the table and we were engaged in a massive battle with an army led by evil forces. At some point in the evening, the players had achieved a clear victory over that army, so I thought it was time to wrap up the long game session and give the players their just rewards for a battle well-fought.
I told the players that an evil God (Li Kung, I believe) had descended upon the battlefield and congratulated the party on their victory, asking them to consider sparing what remained of the evil army and allowing it to quit the field. In exchange for this, Li Kung would grant a number of favors. At this point I meta-gamed the issue and simply told each player that they could ask for 1 favor for 1 of their characters. The players readily agreed.
It didn’t take long for the players to begin making their requests. Most of the specifics were perfectly forgettable, but one of them stands out. This player prefaced his request with the words; ‘it can’t hurt,” which I actually thought was probably a safe assumption under the circumstances. He then asked for a Holy Avenger for his Paladin.
I thought about explaining to the player that his great and Holy Warrior ought not to ask an evil deity to provide him with a weapon that was supposed to be a symbol of his faithful service to his own (good) god. Then inspiration struck me. I told the players that Li Kung nodded his head and then disappeared. The players chatted a moment in character, wondering where he went and whether or not this meant the deal was off. Then the evil one reappeared with a great sword, which he offered to the Paladin, the bloody stump of a human hand still gripping its handle.
“Oh goody!” the player was positively beaming.
He wasn’t entirely sure why the sword functioned as a simple +2 weapon.
My friend Sarah, from “A Knitty Society” has finished her own critique of the Erotic Heritage Museum. Her thoughts on the subject can be found in this post.
Ok!! I finally stole some free time to finish up my review of the Erotic Heritage Museum in Las Vegas. Thank you readers for being so patient! :D Oh and, before I begin, let me just say that as a person who studies sex and gender is multicultural contexts, I am very sensitive to human sexuality and to the controversy of sex work and its hotly debated legitimacy. My intention with this post is the critical analysis of the Erotic Heritage Museum and its themes -which deserves it- not about the legitimacy of sex work or the porn industry.
Recently, I went with my husband and a friend (Northy) to the Erotic Heritage Museum here in Las Vegas (check out his article here!!). Yeah, I know…the last place you may expect to find a museum about sex, right? Well, that’s one part of the…
View original 1,307 more words
So, a year ago yesterday, I grumbled something like “What the Hell” and dragged out my debit card to sign up for the WordPress service. A year ago today I hit the “publish” button for the first time. I wasn’t at all sure what I had in mind or even if I would keep it up, but like I said at the time, “What the Hell!”
Being as it’s my bloggoversary, I suppose this is a good day to let my rambling mind able freely about the experience.
This has been something of a guilty pleasure for me, because I can always think of a hundred things I should be doing instead of writing something for this blog, but I wanted some place to spill the thoughts out of my skull and make them someone else’s problem.
See how I love my readers!
That is how it usually works by the way. I wake up in the morning after thinking about something for a few days and I have the general outlines of the essay in mind, maybe even a few specific sentences I want to write. When the specific wording for a full paragraph comes to mind I go nuts until I can type it out. I think it’s been that way since college, though I haven’t actually written essays like this since sometime around graduate school. My brain just works that way. I feel like I have sorted something out if I can express it in the form of an essay or a short speech. But for sometime before the blog I hadn’t been expressing a lot of my thoughts in any tangible format, and I decided I wanted a place to do that.
This is how I answered those all-important blogger questions what do you want to say and who do you want to reach? For me the answer really is whatever is on my mind and to whomever is odd enough to want to suffer through it. In the beginning, I sort of thought the blog would evolve to a more specific purpose. I thought that might be something quasi-journalistic about Alaska (you can see that approach in one or two REALLY DULL posts at the beginning), or maybe I thought I would just focus on the film reviews and celebrations of movie-villainy. (Come to think of it; I really need to celebrate another great villain soon.) In the end, I didn’t do either.
I remember thinking about the writing style a bit. Did I want to use foul language a little, a lot, or not at all? Did I want to eliminate contractions and/or slang? Did I want to include scholarly citations? A lot was settled less by conscious choice than by what seemed best on the page. I soon found the contractions rolled off my keyboard quite easily and more than once the more lengthy version a word of ruined the text. So, I went with the contractions. The question of foul language was soon settled with my first post about Mitt Romney. I didn’t just use foul language in that piece, I swore at a portion of my readership. And thus was my c lost! As to citations, I list my sources, but I don’t dig through my books to add more, nor do I consult MLA, Chicago, or APA styles. As much as possible, I prefer to supply a link. The bottom line is that I settled into an informal style
I have to admit that it took me awhile to get the technical stuff down. My tremendous knowledge of computers gives me three strategies for dealing with technical issues.
1) I occasionally sacrifice something of value to the demons in the screen. If they are happy they will keep my Dell running. If they are not, then I will suffer great hardship.
2) I keep something expendable near the computer.
3) If all else fails I shout at the top of my lungs, threaten the computer demons, and break the expendable object in full view of the computer screen. Someone once asked me how this was working out for me, and I had to admit the computer was still a bit uncooperative, but at least the neighbor kids generally stayed out of my yard.
…that was back when I had a yard.
Anyway, my approach to interface-diplomacy might explain why it wasn’t until December that I really worked out the gadgets on WordPress and produced a viable website. That’s also when I began using the tag words, registered with a few search engines, and even learned how to surf WordPress for sites with related content.
I have let the blog slide completely at least twice, from November to December of last year, and then again from January through early March. I don’t think I’d had a thousand unique hits when last March rolled around, but I did notice a little spike of about a dozen hits that occurred for no reason that month, and that was enough to inspire me to make one more try. It was around that time that I hit my stride, such as it is, and the blog has been going reasonably well ever since.
I try to post something once a week, and I try to keep each post to one or two basic points. My list of drafts is filled with pieces too long and over-complex. Some will be finished, some will be chopped up and used for smaller posts, and many will be deleted outright. The bottom line is that the piece needs to be done in an hour or three; if it isn’t, then something is wrong.
I’m not always happy with what I’ve written, but I hit the submit button if I think I’ve done something right. Often I am at least a little wary of something else about a given post, something I’ve done wrong or not done at all. The piece about which I am least comfortable would be my post on ‘primitive superstition’. That phrase bleeds prejudice from every syllable, and I can think of a dozen ways to take it down. I tried only one of them. I had a very specific point in mind for that post, and I think I made that point, but much of what I didn’t say in that post may be more important than what I did say, especially to those under the gun, so to speak, when that prejudice is hauled out and used by those who mean it. My critique there is woefully incomplete, to say the least, even if my point is worth making. So, I cringe a little at that one an I smile when I read it.
I do that a lot when I read this blog.
You may not believe this, but my editing skills are vastly improved. Even a few years ago, I could hardly write a paragraph without some typo, brain fart, or horrible error that makes me want to hide under a rock. Now I am down to one or two of those per post. And I am still amazed at what I find in stuff I wrote months ago. Still, I’ve resolved to do my best and live with the results.
There is truth in typos.
The most interesting part of the whole thing for me has been reading the comments. My biggest failure has been my inability to respond to them in a timely fashion, and I am very conscious of the fact that some of my favorite comments have gone unanswered.Every now and then I comb through the blog and try to catch some of the missed gems, but I haven’t done that in awhile.
What an ass!
Seriously, I have had the pleasure of meeting several wonderful people on this blog, and I need to do a better job of keeping in dialogue with them.
In case anyone is wondering, yes I did fork over the cash for a renewal fee, so the Northy page will continue for at least another year.
…even if I am eaten by polar bears.
You’d think a sentence like that would have a pretty clear meaning, wouldn’t you? If that whole 3 word sentence is a little complex, then surely the single word “like” must convey something pretty simple and obvious.
Unless it doesn’t.
But before I go on to suggest what I mean by that, let’s take a moment to note that that word alone is creeping (by itself even) into more and more of our public discourse. (Now there is a word I haven’t used in awhile.)
It seems rather innocuous, the little “like” button underneath a Facebook entry, a Youtube video, or a post on WordPress. I can see another one right now up in Stumbleupon bar above the page I’m working on. I’ve long since lost count of the number of discussion forums that make use of similar conventions. Let’s not even get into the whole reddit thing, okay! My point is that an awful lot of mass communication these days comes with the invitation to express our approval in terms of an upvote, like button, or some similar device. Ever greater portions of our news and entertainment now come with a prefabricated seal of approval, just waiting for us to click yea or nay, and thus make ourselves heard.
…in a really limited way.
But what does our little click of approval mean? What these buttons mean to us and what they might mean to the websites that host them isn’t always clear. Often, the significance seems pretty obvious. You liked what you read, listened to, watched, or otherwise consumed. But sometimes, there is a twist to the content, something that skews the meaning of your approval. If you are reading a news article about a political speech you like, I’ll bet you are happy to give your blessings to both the speech and the article with a single click of a button. But what about a well written piece about a political speech by that fart-for-brains bastard you can’t wait to vote against? Well, then the ‘like’ button only applies to the article itself, right? …or do you refrain from clicking the ‘like’ button at all in cases like that? We don’t have a button that helps us to distinguish content from style or subject matter from the simple decision to call our attention to it.
And I’m sure most of us are familiar with the dilemma posed by a friend describing on Facebook something awful they’ve just experienced. Suddenly the like button just isn’t quite the tiny gesture of personal support that it has been for the last hundred or so mind-numbing left clicks we’ve executed while watching bad TV or not-quite-reading the memos at work. So, you sit there for a moment and think about it, before telling yourself you better actually write something this time. And since it’s significant and personal, you’re going to have to think about it and choose your words carefully. …dammit!
But perhaps there is a sob-story in this too
I have 5 minutes of time to kill, and I want to enjoy it by reading funny stories from my friends and thanking them for it with a simple click of a button. I’m even happy to cheer folks on when they tell me good things about their lives. But now one of my close friends has just experienced a major tragedy, and she snuck a note about it into this stream of otherwise happy-and-light fluff I am using for my entertainment. Now I feel obligated to say something meaningful, and I’m really not ready to get all emotional, and fuck I only have 2 minutes left before I have to do something anyway, and I have no idea what to say. Fuck!
Presumably this sort of Facebook entry would create a similar tragedy for anyone with enough heart to know just how frustrating that kind of moment can be. The social niceties of liketry can be very complex. We need a button that says; “I don’t really like what you’ve just described but I like you and want you to know that I support you in your struggles, …at least enough to press a button about it.”
On WordPress at least, hitting the “Like” button a little akin to saying “Hey baby!” It is often a way of telling someone you exist and inviting them back to your apartment. Whatever else the ‘like’ button means around here, it is also a potential means of hinting that someone should come visit your own blog, where of course you hope they will read and like your own material. …which is what one will likely presume when you see that they have hit the like button underneath your own article.
…unless it means that they just want you to come back and read their new post.
The possibilities of mutually re-enforced self-deception here are astounding! Sometimes I think it is entirely possible that nobody is reading anybody’s work anymore, online or otherwise, or even looking at the pictures. Could WordPress be a community of illiterate button-pushers, liking each other in one great big orgy of self-referential liketude? …with nary a word ever making its way into a single skull!
I can’t think about it anymore; that way lies madness!
I suppose the fact that giving gestures of approval may be a means of getting them back didn’t exactly begin with the internet, but sites like WordPress have certainly re-arranged the economics of liketry in new and interesting ways.
By ‘interesting’ I probably mean ‘just a little sickening.’ …yeah.
I recently got a bit of an object-lesson in what it can mean to ‘like’ something on Stumbleupon. You see, when I first started using that service, I wasn’t entirely sure how I wanted to set my standards for liking a webpage. Was it enough if I liked something a little? Or did I want to be a hard-sell and like only the very best of the very best? It really didn’t take long before I realized that there are real advantages to liking more pages (more followers being chief among them), so I loosened up a bit, but I still insist on somehow keeping a trace of sincerity to the whole thing. I don’t ‘like’ things that I don’t actually like.
For the first month or so I followed my usual approach of restricting approval to those things about which I could voice clear and unmitigated approval. I ‘liked’ only those things which I really did like, completely and unreservedly, from the bottom of my soul, …or at least my liver. I held back from approving many thoughtful articles on a range of interesting subjects because I had a problem with something in the third paragraph of this one or the specific language used in expressing a minor point in that one. Pictures on the other hand? Well, I found quite a few of them to be like-worthy, not the least of reasons being that I’m not a photographer. I wouldn’t know how to pick at them if I wanted to, …well not that much anyhow. The point is, that I liked a lot of pictures.
Of course the thing about Stumbleupon is that the site shows you more of what you like and less of what you don’t as you establish the difference by clicking those buttons. So, I suppose I should not have been surprised the that thoughtful articles on religion and politics answered the call of the stumble button with ever decreasing regularity, or that they had been replaced with images of kittens, sunsets, and street art. The more time I spent on Stumbleupon, the less useful information I got from it.
I figured this out when I heard a strange and stupid voice saying; “this site is useless for anything but lolcats!” The voice was of course my own. A moment later, I think I called myself an idiot.
At least I should have.
Because of course I had been telling the Stumbleupon site to supply me with frivolous content all along. Every time I hit the ‘like’ button I was effectively saying “more of these please.” And since I was only saying that when I looked at things about which I had few serious concerns, I was pretty much telling the software demons at Stumbleupon to keep it light and fluffy went they chose my content.
Once I figured this out, the remedy seemed rather obvious. If I wanted to see more interesting material, I was going to have to give a pass to the next pretty scene and (more to the point) swallow at least some of my reservations long enough to say ‘yes’ to a opinion piece or three. I made the adjustment, and today I am finding the material I get from Stumbleupon far more interesting than I did at the end of my first month on the site. I simply had to stop thinking of the ‘Like’ button as a sign of ultimate approval and start thinking of it as a sign of general interest, or even an outright request for more of the same sort of content.
Of course that wasn’t the end of my adjustments. I find that my likes page at Stumbleupon includes articles I really don’t agree with at all, but which I might want to read again, anyway, or to reference for purposes of one of my classes. Somewhere along the line it dawned on me that I could use my Stumble account as a kind of caché for anything of interest to me in any way. So, the ‘like’ button on Stumbleupon no longer mean as that I actually approve the content; it means that I am interested in reading it again. Sometimes it means I dislike the content of an article enough to want to come back to it, …probably to pick a fight of some kind over the matter.
So, I guess I do ‘like’ something that I don’t like, which is a fact that I don’t like at all.
…I need a drink.
Lest you think this ramble is entirely about the trivialities of internet liketry, I should say that the whole Stumble incident has me rethinking my overall philosophy of likalism. yes, it is. I’ve always been reluctant to place my stamp of approval on most anything in life, and I can’t help thinking this business showed me something interesting about the mental landscape that produces this pattern. Perhaps, a little to prone to hold a flaw or two against the overall value of an otherwise interesting work. Would it be wiser to think of my approval less as a pass on the problems and more as a sign of interest?
Then again, I’m not much sure if I like what I’ve just written. I mean what the Hell? Somewhere in here I touch on some really interesting questions (or so I thought) about how the net skews our sense of meaning and commodifies approval, …and then I end up with this quasi-self-help lesson. I hate self-help lessons! Seriously, how the Hell did I veer so far off the path on this one!?!
If I were y’all, I wouldn’t like this post.