Insomnia and

time crawling swiftly by
swollen eyes sliding over each excruciating second
inside each strand of muscle seeping molten lead
hardening into long slugs of
weaponized
ache
lye-filled stomach (is it lye? the one that melts flesh?)
recoiling from a day's work
clamoring for raw materials to violently reject
ah yes
inside that skull is certainly a mess
of aggressive radiation
held tightly inside by leaden skull
(stand back a bit, though, you
never know with these things)
these nerves are surely faulty
screaming at me like this, nonstop
i'd like to return them please
no, no receipt
they were supposed to be a gift

Intelligence in the Google Era

Random musings of a headachey mind.

Intelligence seems, to me, to be made up of two discrete parts: memory and critical thinking. Without a good memory, one's critical thinking will never have enough data to make accurate deductions; without critical thinking, one cannot make sense of what's stored in the memory.

I've always had a pretty good memory, just naturally, which I'm thankful for. I think my personal intelligence is built primarily on that--while I'm fairly good with basic logic (so my performance on geometry proofs in high school would seem to testify), and always did well with things like reading comprehension, mostly I just remember a lot of things. So when a topic comes up, there's something related I remember that I can bring to the table. I also could, in school, pick up languages' vocab without tons of specific studying, provided I practice enough, and could memorize text fairly quickly.

But more and more those skills are fading in me--in the world, too. Google is becoming our memory. With my android phone in my pocket, what need do I have to remember random facts or dates or exact quotes of things when I can just look them up right away?

Some people will say google is making us dumber. I'm not sure about that, though. I do think the cloud can impair our memories, as we grow more comfortable forgetting what can easily be recalled later, externally. But critical thinking? Figuring out what search terms to use to pull something up can be an example thereof. Googling a problem and finding people with similar-but-slightly-different problems and parsing through the results for a unique solution...? Critical thinking. Piecing together various blog narratives and arguments into one cohesive whole? Trying to separate fact from fiction, deal from scam, exaggeration from understatement, in a world where every voice has its own slice of cyberspace to shout in? Requires critical thinking.

Intelligence is becoming less and less about who can memorize the biggest swathes of Shakespeare or Homer and more about who can better sort through a flood of information, fishing out the valuable and ignoring the rest.
Just some thoughts. Memory is, of course, an invaluable asset, and I've got it in mind to try new techniques to improve mine as I see it slipping into disrepair. But memory is not the only important aspect to intelligence.

Pax.

Why anything windows-related can go die in a fire

So, I've been successfully dual-booting Windows 8 and Ubuntu 12.10 for a while now... till windows decided suddenly not to boot anymore. Didn't bother me at first, until I wanted to try a program in it that didn't work on my emulator. So, I tried a few things, nothing worked. Decided to create a recovery disk with my dad's win 8 laptop.

That didn't work either, but it DID destroy some vital grub2 files on my linux partition BECAUSE WINDOWS REFUSES TO PLAY NICE WITH ANYONE. So all I get when I try to boot into my linux partition is grey text on a black screen: "unrecognized operating system" and a blinking cursor.

Tried to manually boot into linux but none of the listed partitions were recognized by grub rescue. And, to top it all off, the windows recovery disk was stuck in my slot-loader DVD-drive, which requires an OS to eject the fucking disc, ignoring the very real possibility that users like me might need to manually eject it, lest our computers be bricked!

I just loaded ubuntu via a bootable USB stick, thankfully. ...To find out that my 870 gigabyte ubuntu partiton has been WIPED CLEAN BY THE FUCKING RECOVERY DISK INSTEAD OF THE WINDOWS PARTITION IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FIXING.

So all my data is simply gone now. I'm pretty paranoid about backing things up, so I haven't lost anything *too* important. But this will be the 3rd time I've set up this new computer to the parameters I like and installed the programs I want in it. The first time when I bought the damn thing, the second when I decided to switch from 32- to 64-bit. Can I get a GRR ARGH.

Okay. I just finished re-installing Ubuntu 12.10 (64-bit) over the ENTIRE hard-drive this time, wiping Windows from my life forever. I am not above pirating a copy of windows 8 to use via virtualbox: I had a legitimate copy, but microsoft's systems are broken and stupid, so I refuse to play by their rules, putting the health and safety of my barely-used windows partition above that of my linux one.

So. Frustrating. I'm usually a pretty laid back person, but if my computer is ever down or not working I'm on edge for the whole day, till I can get back to it and get it fixed. Just knowing it'll be broken when I return to it makes me tense.
The recovery disk that wiped my HD is now in shiny pieces on my desk.
Anyway. This is why--if any of you were wondering--I haven't done anything useful or creative today.

Pax.

Gender roles in Kate & Leopold

So, I was watching the chick-flick Kate & Leopold the other day when I was PMSing and lonely and apparently in the mood to fulfill ALL THE STEREOTYPES by eating pudding (made from almondmilk: warm, wintertime alternative to ice cream) while curled up in front of the space heater and ready to cry at the drop of a hat.

Those of you who know me know I'm very feminist, present as butch (short haircut, unshaven legs, typically masculine clothing choices), and hate gender roles. But despite all this, I love this movie. Why? I'm not quite sure I understand it myself, but I've been doing a lot of thinking about it.

First of all: Hugh Jackman is probably one of the most attractive Hollywood actormen out there. So there's that.

First, tho', the problematic aspects of the movie. It presents chivalry and the 1800s as impossibly romanticised ideals, whereas pretty much every century was terrible for women--most especially poor ones. Chivalry as an *ideal* respects all women, but in *practice* reinforces the madonna/whore dichotomy and presents only very specific women as desirable, worth pursuit, and the others as dirty and subhuman. Chivalry also doesn't play much into the idea of consent or enthusiastic consent. Women are (theoretically; again, not in practice necessarily) presented the opportunity to say "no" to a proposal, but must endure expressions of affection from all potential suitors until given a proposal to say "no" to--and, of course, she could never initiate a relationship or propose to someone herself. Not to mention of course that back in those days women were bartered and traded as property between fathers and suitors for favors, riches, political ties, and maintenance/improvement of class or status. The women in the beginning of this movie, hoping for Duke Leopold's proposal, don't love him or even know him, but he's encouraged to marry one anyway, for the money. While I appreciate that the movie disapproves of this and seems to be holding up love--consensual relationships based on mutual affection--as the ideal, they play it alongside chivalry while ignoring the fact that chivalry CREATED the conditions under which Leopold is originally expected to operate.

Okay, so he's transported to the modern days via time-rift-plot-device and meets Kate. Leopold is seen as desirable because he treats Kate "like a lady," standing when she enters or leaves, writing her pretty notes, saving her purse from a thief while on horseback, making her romantic meals, and "defending her honor" from a sleazy boss trying to get into her pants. He's intelligent, super good looking, and kind. He also speaks in pretty, archaic phrases and seems particularly innocent, due to his childlike wonder at the world of the future.
I don't find Kate particularly attractive, so I don't understand his attraction to her. She's your typical sarcastic, white, beanpole Hollywood starlet--not my type, but I'm not judging anyone who likes that. I appreciate that she's competent and independent, working a demanding job and taking charge when she needs to. Her relationship with Leopold is *supposed* to throw her dissatisfaction with her rat-race life into relief, but I feel like this wasn't terribly clear... it seemed to me she liked and WANTED her job, especially the promotion her boss dangled in front of her. Yes, he wanted to sleep with her and was using the promotion as leverage, but I thought she was (rightfully) upset and frustrated at his sexism and horribleness rather than upset and frustrated at the job itself. When she went back to the 19th century to be with Leopold, I was like, but...! you won't be able to work anymore! WHAT ARE YOU DOING I THOUGHT YOU WERE FEMINIST?

Not to mention, they only know each other for a MAX of one week (because he has to go back thru the rift "on Monday" before it closes, not "next Monday" or anything like that), and it seems clear to me that the inherent misogyny of the 19th century will cause future strife for them, despite not being obvious right away. He says very gender-essentialist things and does stuff like insist on a chaperone for her boss-date or say women wearing trousers are "plain." While it *looks* like he's getting over it as he gets to know Kate, when they're firmly back in the 19th century and surrounded by the misogynistic cultural pressure, will he really present as an anachronistic feminist? I doubt it. She will become his property. Beloved property, but property nonetheless.

I feel like the movie is trying to say to women, "look! Wouldn't it be so nice to just be taken care of rather than busting your ass to take care of yourself? Wouldn't it be nice to marry a sweet, gorgeous gentleman who will protect and defend you so you can just wear pretty dresses and entertain all day? How romantic! *swoon*"

And, okay, this is a legitimate (if unrealistically romanticised and problematic) fantasy, but... This isn't me at all. Why do I love this movie then? I don't want to be in Kate's place--and most women watching chick flicks like this, they want to be in the woman's place, getting the guy, being taken care of and protected. That's the fantasy. Then I realized... I want to be in Leopold's place.

I want to wear the awesome clothes he's wearing. I want to write the pretty notes, know the meanings of all the flowers, cook beautiful meals to nourish my beloved. I want to swoop in for the rescue, defend m'lady's honor and expose sexist, womanizing creeps for what they are. I don't want to treat women as property (obviously) or romantically pursue someone who isn't likewise pursuing me, but... I have to say, some gender roles seem lovely. In my case, however, those gender roles I want are firmly masculine. So, does that still make it a gender role?

It's confusing. I'm both attracted to Leopold physically while wanting *his* place in the romantic equation, not the place opposite him. I don't want to defend and pursue *Kate* tho'. Just, someone. Someday.

Gender roles are such an interesting problem. I'd like to code them, rather than male or female, as feminine and masculine. I wish women were free to be masculine without reproach, and men to be feminine. It's *different* to want masculine gender roles and to want to be a man (which I unequivocally DO NOT want).

I don't know. Romance is a funny thing. What do you guys think?

tranquilitas

So, why aren't you guys yelling at me for not blogging at least once a week? Seriously guys, seriously. All two of you.

I was just reading this post on Sociological Images about how still, silent, and empty London is on Christmas morning. I've been to the places pictured, and seeing them without scads of tourists toting cameras and umbrellas--well, it's surreal.

It reminds me of Dublin. I wasn't out and about on Christmas, of course--that day I had a friend over, who had to spend the night twice because there is literally no public transport on Christmas in Dublin, as all the train and bus drivers get the day off... so we didn't go anywhere on Christmas day but church (we got a ride from the priest), and then we went home and ate and drank and were merry for a while.

I'm thinking about the morning of January 1st. Back up a bit: For New Year's, I went to a party with the same friend I spent Christmas with. She was born in Uganda, raised in Sweden, and all her friends at the party were from France. I think she knew them all from work? At least, she knew the hosts from work. They all spoke in thick accents, were unabashedly sweet, and stayed up all night drinking something like 15 bottles of champagne between the six of them. I think my drinks of choice were cider, gin and tonic, and pina coladas (hand mixed by the party host!). We all got quite drunk. You couldn't NOT at a party like that. But it was a very safe and laid-back atmosphere. I was offered someone's bed and slept in it, relatively undisturbed, all night (when I finally went to bed--at something like 3 am--I got a few hours of sleep before another girl came in to share the bed. The girls and guys stayed separate like that, I think it was a two- or three-bedroom place, and it was fine). I think my friend went home with someone she met in a pub next door and kissed at midnight. Later, they started dating.

Anyway, I got up in the morning and decided I wanted to go to church (I think it was a Sunday morning). I bid farewell to everyone as they continued drinking champagne and began cooking breakfast. They offered me some, but I declined. I was in a really melancholy mood for some reason. I was pretty close to church, already south of the Liffey, so I went walking through the back streets and alleys, making my way to the Lantern Centre.

It was dead still. Not a soul stirred--even the birds seemed hungover, lurching about on the sidewalks or huddling in their perches, hiding their reddened eyes from the world. There was hardly any traffic. I felt like I had the entire city to myself. All the shops were shut; most of them would be anyway, on Sunday morning, but even the ones that never closed were closed. It was very peaceful, and probably one of my favorite walks I've ever taken in that town. I reached the church very early and sat near a heater for a while, reading a book about icons. The Lantern Centre was open, unlocked, but empty. There was something wonderful about that. Something wonderful about entering this warm, inviting building, and being alone, being trusted to take care of things, to be honest, to sit and read until the others arrived.

I miss Dublin very much. I know the streets so well, either by foot or bike or bus. Remembering this small moment we shared, I feel like, maybe, well... maybe Dublin misses me, too.

Pax.

exasperatione

Today seems like the kind of day doing its best to make me cry.
I don't want December, and I don't want Christmas. I'm angry at myself for procrastinating away November and for all the mistakes I make at work. Everything is confusing these days. I don't know what I believe in and feel disingenuous for how fervently I used to believe things that I don't believe anymore. Work is more stressful than it needs to be because I actually care about doing a good job and my perfectionism here kills me.
Christmas isn't going to be "the same" this year. I want to be left alone for Christmas. I want to give presents at New Year's instead and just hide away on Christmas day and be alone. is that mean or miserly to want that? 
I'm sure I'll be over it soon enough.
Pax.

looking back: best/worst of my Irish cycle trip

So, I was writing this post in the week after my July cycle trip 'round Ireland was over, but the draft got lost and I never finished it. Now's as good a time to dust it off as ever.

If you haven't already, you can start reading from the beginning of my cycle trip, Day 1, here. Or, navigate in the sidebar over here to July 2012, and have a gander at those posts ----->

I think my cycle trip around Ireland was one of the defining moments in my so-far-still-short life. It taught me a lot of things. Self-reliance. Independence. How strangers can be genuinely friendly (but also genuinely creepy--so trust your instincts). I got to know myself in a way I hadn't yet, simply by spending so much time alone with myself. I started swearing like a sailor (cycling in traffic for many hours a day will do that to anybody). I was immersed for an entire month in what very well might be the most beautiful country on Earth. I broke free of a reliance on cars, petrol, and public transport, and was essentially homeless for almost 30 days, never knowing where I would lay my head the next night--but never being worried about it, because I had all the essentials for life (except food, which was always plentiful in each town) strapped to the back of my bicycle.

Even though I haven't really gotten on my bike for more than short trips since I've moved back to the States, I will never forget how important it is to me, how it makes me feel, how amazing it is to be pedaling into the magnificent unknown. I'm planning on doing a much longer trip across America this summer. And I plan on blogging daily for that, too!

Speaking of blogging... I also learned a lot about writing, storytelling, and self-discipline as I wrote one blog entry per day on this trip. I'm really sad at how I've let my blogging lapse since then, at how lazy I got almost immediately upon my return. But I'm really proud of the posts I did make. It maybe got a little repetitive, starting with breakfast each day etc., but I got some really great sentences and paragraphs out, some nice poetry and some nice stream-of-consciousness moment captures, so that makes me happy.

I've grown soft and complacent since returning to America, but I haven't forgotten what it means to Jam Everywhere, and I certainly don't intend to settle back and watch the rest of my life spool out behind me into oblivion while I sit on my arse and do nothing with it.

Without further ado.

----

Here is my Awards Ceremony for the various aspects of the trip itself...!

Best day's cycle: either Westport to North Mayo (most peaceful), or when I was cycling on country roads thru Co. Sligo. Runner up is cycling from Sneem thru the Black Valley to Killarney, in the brilliant sunshine.

Worst day's cycle: Tralee to Kilrush. Shite weather, hardly anything worth seeing along the way, busy gross road the whole time, cold foggy ferry ride.

Most dangerous stretch: whenever I was going downhill on day three in the lashing rain

Favourite stretch of road, if there had been no traffic on it: coastal road into Larne in Northern Ireland. Starts somewhere after Cushendall.

Favourite stretch of road, as is: Sneem to Killarney via the Black Valley. Altho' of course it would be nicer without ANY cars on it, the cars were few and far between.

Best detour: Guagan Barra national forest.

Best rest day: Probably the extra day I spent in Killarney. Rode on a horse and cart thru the National Forest there, which is pretty awesome. Hostel was super cheap but decent, and I got plenty of good sleep.

Best overnight: (see below for accommodation synopsis)

Worst overnight: wild camping in woods outside Dungloe. Was literally breathing midges.

Piece of gear I was most grateful for: Pearl Izumi droptail bib shorts. I've gone on a weekend tour using cycling tights with an elasticated waist, and bib shorts are WAY more comfortable; I'd never go without them, now. The droptail bit makes it possible to go potty without having to take off all my clothes first, which was the handiest thing ever.

Gear I never used and shouldn't have brought to begin with: extra warmth sleeping bag liner (it was too warm for it); all the extra base layers (my one merino one was fine).

Gear I never used but wouldn't have gone without: bike and puncture repair stuff, most things inside the first aid kit.

Gear I had to buy along the way which I should have brought to begin with: insect repellent; tea tree oil for first aid kit; small bottle of chain lube.

Mechanical failures along the way: had to replace rear brake pads about halfway thru. Other than that, nothing! Not even a single puncture!

Worst injury: pouring boiling water all over my ankle outside Doolin on accident D:  . Funnily enough, I never fell off the bike or had an accident while cycling.

Accommodation Review!

best hostel: Kilcommon Lodge, North Mayo. 16 euro. Clearly the cleanest, friendliest, best run, best value-for-money hostel of all of them.

cheapest hostel: Paddy's Palace, Killarney. 8 euro.

most expensive hostel: Old Convent Hostel in Castletownbere at 19 euro, except I only paid 15 euro; otherwise, Old Mill Hostel in Westport at 18 euro for a mixed room. Old Convent is better value tho', because the rooms are only two person rooms and you get it to yourself if it's not full up.

best B&B: Rivervale Lodge, Mallow. Was cleanest, best rooms, AND had an awesome giant bathtub downstairs that I could use to soak my tired muscles! Turned out to be the only bathtub I came across during the entire trip. Sorely needed (pun intended), as I came across this place on day two.

friendliest B&B owners: tie between Sea Villa on the Ring of Beara, and Croninn's in Ballingeary.

And that's all I've got for now!