I need to find a good program with a calendar for managing tasks. It must be more feature rich than a standard calendar + to-do list. I've got to be able to organize my plans according to some sort of system.

I need to work with my ADD proactively.

It's been so long; I barely even remember writing the last few posts. I guess I should say I'm doing a lot better since then.

I wondered whether it was going to work full time over the summer, or moving out, or going back to school that pushed me back into an at least somewhat productive state of existence. I'd like to believe, though, that those steps weren't so much steps taken at all, but product of a gathering and release of momentum.

That analogy highlights my cycle of being and doing: I lie fallow for a period of time lamenting my lack of productivity until I can no longer take it, and I finally rush off in a frenzy to do everything at once. As soon as I'm mentally or physically exhausted, or both, the cycle repeats.

The cycle is sort of like a fractal, I guess. It applies generally to my mood and energy over a period of months: I'm lazy and unhappy until a certain point where the anxiety and missed opportunities, deadlines, and bills pile up to a breaking point. I then try to fix everything at once, make progress, then sink slowly and subtly back into ennui. It then applies on a more frequent schedule by weeks: My car and my house fall into a sort of funk as junk, trash, and clothes pile up, followed by a one-night cleaning frenzy, repeated every two weeks or so.

Holy shit, Whartscape is great.

Wanna make 45 seconds last a lifetime? Turn on the microwave.

Last night, Evan came to me with the same "we need to jam!" I give and receive to way more people than with whom I actually end up making music.

Maybe it'll actually happen this week; I've got high hopes.

Until I find someone to work with, I'm not going to make anything. I just don't have the discipline, and I haven't reached the point with any instrument where I can sit down and simply play.

I need the motivation to learn. I need a "hey, learn to play this song by Friday."

Otherwise, I think I'm doomed to making thin, unfinished songs in Reason and picking up the guitar for about 10 minutes once a month. It's just not working.

Everyone's always down with collaborating, but we never seem to get around to it. Maybe I need to find someone with the same complaint as myself.

Maybe I should create a social networking site for people frustrated at their lack of productivity. All we need is another social networking site, and all I need is another project I'll never finish.

I'm back.

I need to write again, or I'll never learn from myself. I've not been able to write in earnest for about a year, and it just so happens that this year has been the worst of my life.

I've got to exercise my body and my mind. My mind, by writing. Without writing, I will fall into a fugue state and remember nothing.

CWiki has utterly failed as a medium through which to organize my thoughts. Plus, I haven't paid for the hosting.


I've been spending a lot of time on the trail, in part to bask in the memory of time well spent, and in part because I owe it to Meghan to enjoy and appreciate the beauty of it.

I walk until I'm tired, and then write until I'm rested.

The people on the trail unconsciously let their eyes drop to the ground and to the right as we pass, until I jar them with a "hello," which they usually follow with a guarded, almost surprised, "hi."


Here's a rough sketch of this year:


I don't know if it's quite hit the bottom, but I'm hoping yes. Trying to get it to swing back upwards, y'know?

Well,

My Dad sent me a rather amazing and bizarre video today through one of those chain-emails that I filter into a separate folder and avoid. I think I might be able to set up gmail to sort religious inspirational chainletters, pictures of dogs doing quirky things, pictures of soldiers doing touching things, and ebaumsworld videos each into a separate folder, while email from my parents that I actually want to read remains in the inbox.

Anyways, he forced me to watch a video [youtube] about a woman who trained her cat, Tessa, to eat at the dinner table using a fork.

My first impression upon hearing about the video is that anyone with the spare time and dedication to teach a cat to eat using a fork could learn three languages and cure cancer in that time.

Says the owner, "on a scale of one to ten [she] would rate [Tessa's] table manners as probably a seven or an eight."

It's not a good feeling to think that a cat has better table manners than some of my extended family.

Why did she do it? "It all started when Faye Murrell's kids left home, and she was left with only her husband, Bill, for company during mealtime."

TERRIBLE. It takes a CAT to make dinner alone with this lady's husband bearable? This guy must feel like shit. Notice the dead silence on his part during the scene where Faye and Bill walk together.

"For several months, Faye worked closely with Tessa, using a technique that she's not sharing with anyone."

"I'd like to say it's a family secret."

I think know Faye's secret. It's a combination of successive approximations, insane levels of patience (or boredom, or zealous greed - take your pick), velcro, and veritable cruelty to animals. That scene with the "handwashing?" That's not handwashing; it's punishment for refusing to eat with a fork. I'm going to try that on my children.

Child abuse aside, the video quickly zooms in on a can of sardines in the fridge, as if they hold the key to Tessa's training program. No amount of sardines alone could do that, as delicious as they are - especially in mustard sauce. Poor Tessa is forced to go against every instinct she has, just to eat. Then again, we humans are pretty good at doing the opposite of what comes naturally to us as a race. Just look at the classic American dream. Natural instincts never compelled anyone to shamelessly exploit pets for money, and no, the desire to succeed by getting rich is not an instinct; it's a weak social construct. The desires to live and fuck are instincts. Though, if you'd like to be more bold, and a little bit less cynical, you might find "wearing clothing" a more apt analogy to training your cat to eat with a fork. Naked feels so good.

At least Tessa eats well: "[Faye] taught her to eat the most expensive food on the market."

Faye also taught the cat to eat noodles with chopsticks, and proudly explains that "[she] thought it would be a good gesture, since [they] were going to Korea."

I'm not sure whether that good gesture, if truly earnest, is something entirely practical and sane; or perhaps if Faye has absolutely forgotten that her cat is inhuman, and that Korean cats probably eat cat food.

The narrator explains it thus: "now, when Tessa has a yen for noodles, she chows down... using chopsticks." I've replayed this a few times, and I'm not sure if he actually said "yen." If so, what the hell? Does "yen" mean something relating to appetite in Korean, or is the narrator referring to the japanese currency? If the latter is the case, kudos to the producers for writing the script with the first asian sounding word that came to mind. This is an awesome and clever move, especially with the accompanying sound byte of a gong being sounded.

Tessa also eats ice cream. I'm unsure of what to say here, except that eating ice cream with my cat could be a terrific bonding experience, and possibly a little bit unhealthy for my cat.

Any ulterior motives that were glaringly obvious before are nearly stated outright when Faye proposes that "Tess's table manners have opened up a whole new future."

And what sort of future awaits this miracle cat, excepting a questionable death linked to a certain jealous and neglected husband, or a liberation attempt by PETA?

Faye elaborates. "Tess has dreams. She would like to meet Tiger Woods, and David Duval. She would like to have a meal with Oprah Winfrey, and she would like to be a movie star."

The clip ends here, but I'm sure the action continues. This is the part where Bill cancels their subscription to The Golf Channel. Understandable, considering the insecure state she's probably left him in upon abandonment for sake of a cat. It's pretty obvious that the aforementioned list of Tessa's aspirations is basically a showcase of Faye's celebrity crushes, fantasy TV appearance, and greed typified. I hardly feel that needs to be stated, but hell if it's way too hard to wrap my head around the whole thing.

There's a parallel here that serves as both a wonderful example of life imitating art, and as a testament to the magnitudes in which Thomas Hardy kicks ass. Mr. and Mrs. D'urberville, with aspirations ambitions of wealth and nobility, send Tess D'urberville to claim nobility and work for the shady characters at Tantridge, leading to a downward spiral of terribly unfortunate, if somewhat contrived, events.

Meanwhile, Faye d'Tampa, with ambitions of wealth and... well, just wealth, fucks up her cat.

• No confidents have ever won me over; it's those unsure that win my heart and do avoid my hate


• Tonight was alright


• No more hard bites; a lighter touch does so much more sometimes


• Note to future host of this disease: do not delete this post

I lay in a tent in the dark on a camping trip with friends. In the not-far-enough distance in the town, I heard the sound of gunfire and screams of pain and anguish. I was sickened by the sound of people dying, and I'm not sure, but I may have been angered by the indifferent laughter of my friends. I'm not sure if they were laughing, though; it's fuzzy. I remember even less of the second part of the dream (they always seem to be split into two or three parts), but I was a younger child, with short black hair and glasses, and either my parents were considering sending me to war, or I was considering signing up myself.

I wish I had written this down before I forgot most of it.