Hairy Thoughts

I don't know what to do with my hair. Now that I am out of a job, paying thirty dollars to get the back stacked every two months or so. I had been going to cheaper places like Master Cuts but the last time we went there, David and I looked at each other and both decided we didn't like it. So to the more expensive place and resulting turquoise feather. I don't care what you say, the feather amused me. I was like some sort of suburban Indian. It was cool.

But basically, I no longer want to pay to keep the back short. Unfortunately it will be a while before it doesn't look weird because it is all different lengths. So currently, I can't do much with it. Right now, I could let it go wild and it will poof out the sides and I will probably wear a stocking cap that day. I can straighten it with my new-for-Christmas hair straightener and it will actually look decent. And the third option is to put in two absurd little pigtails.

Those are all my current options. Now I need a plan. If I'm not going to keep it short, what am I going to do? Being vastly influenced by media, I wanted to have my hair like the gypsy girl from the new Sherlock Holmes movie. Her hair was long and wavy and she had a strand of beads worked into one lock. That would be way cool I thought, before I remembered that my hair isn't wavy, it's wave. Singular. When my hair is long, it has one poof somewhere in the middle. When it is short, it just poofs out the sides. So I grow it long and hope gravity will somehow straighten it out. But my long hair doesn't look as good as I'd like, so I put it up or let it run wild and eventually get fed up and chop it off.

I want to do something different. I was thinking about dreadlocks. I found a website (dreadheadhq.com) that has products and instructions to put dreads into any kind of hair. Dreads, once mature, look good every day and take very little maintenance and are clean. However, dreads are making lots and lots of knots in my hair. That seems counter-intuative for someone who has been brushing her hair all her life. Another thing is that I would need help putting them in and it will take hours. They would take months to look good and around a year to mature.

And the final thing is that dreads are different. Dreads are a sign on your head that says you are different. The website warns that once you have dreads, everyone notices you and remembers you. A lot of people will judge you just for having them and others will judge all people with dreads by your actions. So you need to be a good example because people will watch and remember... kinda like being a Christian. Also, as you are judged, I don't think people will take you as seriously. Imagine a candidate for office having dreads. Yeah.

So all that against it. But I think it would be cool to get them and try and change people's perceptions of them. Why should dreadlocks bar you from public office or a position in a business firm? This world is so built on stereotypes and so many of them are stupid. We should judge people on their words and actions, not hair style, religion or race. Time to change the world.

NEEERRRRDDD

What defines reality? I ask this as a member of the computer game generation. I realized with a start yesterday that walking back to my apartment with the cold wind blowing and the grass poking out the snow on the ground that it reminded me of something, same as people get memories of past winters. Except my memory of winter was from Northrend. It's a place in World of Warcraft.

As I can stand the fictional cold of my computer game (frost resist, heh), I have probably spent more time out in the cold of Northrend than the cold of Iowa. I really despaired of being "grown up" when I discovered I had no desire to play in the snow. I remember clearly not caring about the temperature as a child, just wanting to bury myself in the ice particles whenever they came down. Now I look at snow with suspicion as something that is going to clog my car and seep into my boots.

But as I have a fairly good imagination, Northrend becomes real when I visit it and spend time there, back when it was the current expansion pack. I am aware of the cold and the wind there. It becomes a memory of sorts.


But it is not a real one, is it? Technically, it isn't a memory of a real thing, but it is a memory of a time in my life, an experience, and to some extent people. Now I know that is nerdy, but what else do we base our life experiences and memories on? I have some memories back to computer games because I live for the story. I have memories back to books as well. Books could be considered a false memory. Movies too, although I think those stand out in our minds as something separate, but often something stronger than normal memory. Some people mentally live alongside celebrities and experience their lives as strongly as their own. Their memories are tied to someone else's experiences.

In the information age, I think a large portion of what we recall and connect to our own lives is going to be related to media. I remember where I was during 9/11 and I remember where I was when I first saw Napoleon Dynamite. And really I was present at neither of those events. Now that we can see everything, that is going to be grafted onto the patchwork of our memories and our lives.

Linsey Wins!

Tremble, world, for I now have an elected position. I am one of two members from my precinct in the Polk County Central Committee. It happened rather quickly and started with me yelling, "Hey!" out of the corner of the room.

Basically, at my caucus on January 3rd, I believe it was, they were conducting business while counting the votes (Ron Paul won) and one of the first things they asked for was volunteers to be on this committee. Silence.

"OK, then we will have zero seats on the committee..."

"Hey!" I was in the corner of the room, trying not to take up a chair in the already crowded place. "What does that mean?"

"I second that girl!"

So I crawled out of my corner in my sweatshirt and stocking cap, saying something along the lines of, "sure, I've got spare time." And I was voted in.

Afterward, some people told me it was partially because I stepped forward that we filled all the other positions, that other people started interacting. However, it rather makes me glad that we are not a democracy on the national level. There is way too much voting just to vote, people voting on things with no knowledge of them. They only thing they knew about me was that I spoke up. Maybe that is the quality they are looking for.

But all political musings aside, I am now an elected member of a committee. I need to go to a meeting every fourth Tuesday of the month. I have a two year term. I'm a little excited. This could be like my first step into a political career. And to be honest, that sounds fun. Now I just need someone to offer me a position writing a weekly political column and I should be set. Writing my opinion is a hobby. Be great if I could get paid for it.

On the downside, I might not be able to put dreads in my hair when it gets long enough. Elected members of committees don't have dreads. Maybe I could change that. I am the Millennial Generation. I think I could change the world.

Stupid State

As I stand in line for the Winter Jam concert, I ponder something that I ponder every year since I moved to Iowa about five years ago: why would anyone in their right minds live in this state?

Today, it is ten degrees outside. I am not outside, but still clothed in sweatshirt, hat, jacket, scarf, and these awesome things I call hobo gloves. They are those fingerless gloves with a mitten flap. Mine have thumb flaps as well, so I can still type on my smart phone and keep my hands warm at the same time.

Completely off topic, my mom is incapable of typing with her thumbs. She can do standard cell phone typing where the alphabet is in order, but cannot reorient her thinking to use a QWERTY keyboard. Isn't that weird?

But anyway, this state is obscenely cold. I am dressesed up in all this stuff because I am waiting in line... in a skywalk. Even encased in glass, I wouldn't recommended this area. I have boots (Bearpaw, not Ugg. Bought them off my mom one winter) but my toes are still going numb. What kind of place is this where my toes will go numb in boots, in kneesocks, indoors?

And then I keep hearing about global warming. When Iowa had several really cold winters in a row they caller it climate change. When it was a decent temperature through early January, they called it global warming. Now it is cold again. Is it getting warmer or is it getting colder around here? Cause it can't be both. That would be like no change in the end.

It's starting to spit snow out. I would've thought it was too cold for snow.

Beware the Blog

Note to self: Do not put any stories on blogs. It counts as being "published" in some senses of the word. I guess the handy "publish post" button should have warned me, but I thought that a blog of few to none readers wouldn't count as "being published." So now one of my favorite things I've written is null for any future publishing. Pity.

Neuromancer

"The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel."

That is the first line to the science fiction work, Neuromancer, by William Gibson. It is the line that captured me and drew me in for the rest of the book. The line that still captures me every time I read it. That one line sets up the whole story, is indicative the aura the story gives off. It was published in 1984 and is a strong example of the "cyberpunk" genre, which I can only describe as a science fiction genre that is set in more the underworld, gritty back allies, and illegal technology. It seems kind of like the world seen in the Bladerunner movie.

And while Neuromancer is someone graphic at times (that is my word of caution), Gibson's broad strokes create the environment beautifully and display the rushing, frantic, underworld in a story where society and the larger happenings of the world do not matter and seem to just pass by in a flurry. He has an interesting style in that he uses descriptions that almost seem dreamlike in their difficulty to create a direct picture in my mind, but come together in my subconsciousness to compose the intricacies of the dark world he's created.

Look at one of the descriptions of the area he sets the story in.

"Night City was like a deranged experiment in social Darwinism, designed by a bored researcher who kept one thumb permanently on the fast-forward button. Stop hustling and you sank without a trace, but move a little too swiftly and you'd break the fragile surface tension of the black market; either way, you were gone, with nothing left of you but some vague memory in the mind of a fixture like Ratz, though heart or lungs or kidneys might survive in the service of some stranger with New Yet for the clinic tanks.

Biz here was a constant subliminal hum, and death the accepted punishment for laziness, carelessness, lack of grace, the failure to heed the demands of an intricate protocol."

It is almost like a painting to me, each sentence laying out the scene with more than just words or pictures, but with a feeling, an atmosphere. You can feel the desperation, the speed, the harshness of the underworld. When I think of good sci-fi, I think of this book. Being able to set a scene like this (and he continues with the description of characters so you can know them far beyond their physical looks) is something I aspire to. Not in the same way, obviously, but being able to tell so much more than just what a place looks like. His writing actually brings you there.

Jab, Jab

As mentioned very briefly before, I want to take up boxing in some form. I actually got boxing gloves for Christmas, and I already had bag gloves, so I have at least the tools. From a complete stranger at Anytime Fitness, I got the basics of a bag workout. Now, I am not really sure what to do. My arms are out of shape and so quite sore after Wednesday's and today's workout, and I don't know much, but I can kind of tell a few things I am going to have to work on.

1) I need to be faster. Faster at jabs, much faster at power punches (what good are they if you can see them all coming?), and much faster at getting my gloves back in front of my face. I'm guessing getting my gloves back will become more of an instinct after I actually fight someone and realize first hand that slowness will equal a punch in the face.

2) I need to work on my stance. Stance needs to be solid with jabs, and hips rotating with the power punch. Also I probably move my feet sometimes when I shouldn't. I know some people dance around while boxing, but this moving my feet seems more like I'm trying to get movement to help my punch and it is just going to upset my stance. I think.

3) I need to punch right. On a bag, sometimes I forget to aim because it is all just hitting a bag. On a person, you have to aim for their nose or chin or whatever. On the bag, I need to aim for the Everlast logo. I also have a harder time making sure my uppercut punches hit. Partially, because the bag is smooth. Nothing really to hit on an uppercut. Also note, I need to balance my jab flurries so that when I power punch at the end, my last jab is the opposite hand. As in, right, left, right, left, power punch with right. If I end with a right, then the left is just dinking around and the right hand has to come back and go forward again.

And this is just from one lesson and what I am guessing about. I'll probably have to find Josh, the trainer, at some point and be like, "Ok, this is what I know, can you fix it?"

Panic Button

Ah yes, the familiar feeling of panic. Every now and then my heart seems to pound for a few beats and return to normal. I have been stressed before, so I didn't think it was that, but now I am changing my mind. This is a different kind of stress. This is the stress of high expectations, both other's and my own.

I don't know if I could write. I mean, I can put words on paper and occasionally make them sound good. But what then? How many stories can I actually produce? I want to do sci-fi, but how can I make it in such a specific world? I was thinking short stories, but how long before I run out of ideas? WHAT IF I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING TO WRITE? And what if it doesn't come out good?

All this makes me want to start submitting my resume to places. But I only found two places I was interested in for publishing that might have me. They are both in Des Moines. And with David's job situation, I'm not sure how long I will be. So I have to write.

This is my week off and it is starting to scare me. I keep thinking, "next week I'll start," but start what exactly? The problem is that stories need purpose, underlying themes, and I have been better at scenes, conversations, things that hinted at a greater story, but never actually had one spelled out. I was thinking short stories because they are, well, shorter. Less of a commitment to get finished. But I have no idea of how to fit a whole story into a short format. Maybe I'll learn to love this format. But I don't know. I'm scared.

Too Much Free Time

Today is the second day I have had work-free and I have already felt the rising guilt and boredom involved with being entirely unproductive. I mean, I'm not even sure what to write on here. Normally I can get by with complaining. It's one of my hobbies.

Ok, it's a horrible hobby. "Linsey, what do you do for fun?" "Well, I read books, play the computer, and make mental snide remarks about my coworkers." To be honest, finding the words to express just what was wrong with any given situation was one of my forms of entertainment. Unfortunately, since I am now unemployed, I have lost my muse.

Which leaves me with a somewhat blank blog post. This is supposed to be my week off before trying to be productive, but taking a week off worries me because I have no idea how long it will take me to be productive. I read somewhere that a particular bestselling author wrote TEN novels before he got one published. Ten! That is commitment, right there! And that demonstrates his commitment to writing. And I have to ask myself, do I have that commitment? Do I have that overwhelming love for the craft or overwhelming faith in my eventual greatness?

Right now, it is unlikely. I have so little faith that I can do this, just hope. Should I just give up now? I love to write (or have written). I have been making up stories in my head since I was a small child. All of that extending period of playing dress-up, make believe, dolls, Legos (I had three brothers), all of that was to provide actors and scope and visualizations for my stories. I didn't "grow out of it" because I had friends who decided it was time to stop playing with dolls. I "grew out of it" eventually, and I mean eventually, when I realized that stories in my head had so much more scope than ones played with dolls on my bed. Well, that, and I found I didn't need to sleep with all my Beanie Babies anymore. They were overcrowding my bed.

So can I do this? I don't know. If I could do it, though, it would probably be the one thing I would want to do more than anything else. I take failure really hard. It is wonderful that I have people, like my husband, who support me fully in this. I guess it's time to see what I am made of.

Ironic

In a cruel twist of fate, the last post becomes painfully ironic. On the very last day of work, David picked me up. On the way home, I found he was... stressed about something. "Rough day at work?" I asked, and he replied with the affirmitive. I got scared and tried to eliminate the worst possible option I could. "Do you still have a job?" I asked. "Sort of," he replied. Turns out a better answer would have been "not really."

His boss is probably not going to renew his contract, meaning when the end of the month comes around, David is going to be out of a job. If I had known before I left work... I might have turned around and told them to ignore my two weeks, take me back, make me full time.

David maintains that he wanted me to quit, he's glad I did, and he still wants me to follow my dreams and write... but we are in a really odd place right now with neither of us holding jobs. He has a little more work coming, but after that... either we are in trouble or we are free. There is hope...