Multimedia Friday: On the issue of environmentalism

I swung by the grocery store today to pick up something for my grandmother. I was so proud of myself for finally remembering to grab a paper bag out of my trunk to re-use. Nine times out of ten, I forget to take the final step between toting them around and using them. It's worth a nickel back at most places, but that's barely relevant--plastic comes from petroleum, you know, and that's a finite supply we're dealing with.

So, I bring my paper bag into the store and put it on the conveyor belt. I'll give the clerk credit; he didn't ask, as one cashier did, whether I intended to use the bag(s) (because I brought them just for kicks?). I pay for the item, grab the bag by the handle, and head out.

Only outside the store do I note my cashier's diligence: he placed my paper bag very carefully inside a new plastic bag.

Feh.

That incident reminded me, in a loosely associative way, of a humorous clip on Youtube from environmental activist Derrick Jensen (his name's popped up on this blog before). This particular clip is on how many environmentalists it takes to change a light bulb. It's pretty funny, I suppose, if you find leftist politics interesting . . . and it's even funnier if you've participated in them. I particularly like that he's willing to have a good-humored chuckle at the ridiculousness of what seems like sectarian division amongst people who profess to have a common goal. Does it apply to right-wing political movements? I don't know, haven't participated in any, but from the outside, they seem a little more cohesive. Without further ado, the answer to that timeless question: How many environmentalists does it take to change a light bulb?



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Now playing: Against Me! - Those Anarcho Punks Are Mysterious...
via FoxyTunes

Vindicated

I've been having a good week, but today put the icing on the cake.

I went back to tutoring part time again at the community college writing center. It's a lot less stressful than teaching (in many ways, though it has its aggravating, make-you-want-to-beat-your-head-on-the-wall moments). Oh, and the work at the writing center stays in the writing center, doesn't follow me home and take over both my floor and mental space, pile by pile of freshman prose.

While there today, I saw a former Comp. II student on my way out. I went by the table where she was working with another tutor, asked how she was, etc., and out of curiosity, asked what class she was in, since she passed mine with flying colors and didn't have to take more composition.

Speech, she told me. And, unprompted, she added, "I've been using the analysis techniques you taught us in class."

I think I mumbled something along the lines of "good to hear that" and ducked out quickly--I'm not good with compliments.

But there was a huge grin on my face moments later and a definite spring in my step that I'm quite sure wasn't just the third cup of coffee spontaneously kicking in.

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Now playing: Against Me! - Unprotected Sex with Multiple Partners
via FoxyTunes

That was unexpected...

The Google gods have apparently chosen to favor me. Or, more accurately, by some odd fluke, I included one word in my last post that sent my hit count spiking. One word. One name, actually, and I'm not typing it in this blog again. Stupid chat bot.

See what that did in terms of site traffic?

I shouldn't complain. Exposure is exposure. This feels... tawdry, though, even though I didn't do it deliberately. It's almost as bad as if I'd invoked any number of drug-addled or has-been pop culture figure for the sake of attention, like I've compromised my bloggerly integrity.

But mostly, for the sake of those 100+ folks who've been googling a celebrity gossip chat bot, I wish I'd sharpened my critique of the concept of chatting with people who aren't actually people about matters that have no relevance to the real world whatsoever.

Bah humbug.

On a lighter note, I can only dream of one day generating enough content to get search strings like these.

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Now playing: The Broadways - Upton
via FoxyTunes

Fake people

These are funny times we live in. People have the potential to be so connected, be it through texting, social networking sites, e-mail, phone calls, video conferences. I've video conferenced with people halfway across the world and e-mailed with the same. Thanks to Facebook and (when I had one) Myspace, I've kept in touch with people I probably would've lost touch with. I don't text (it's not in my plan, folks, and it costs me when I accept the occasional message!), but I do keep in touch by phone. A scant handful of people have my blog URL(s).

About the only medium I haven't dabbled much in is IMing or chatting. Why? Dunno, it just hasn't been a priority. I only recently got an AIM screen name and have actually been using it (well, leaving it signed in, anyway). My buddy list isn't very long, and I only catch friends online occasionally.

Today I was logged in via Gmail's chat and noticed a "friend" online. I didn't recall adding this person, this GossipinGabby person. I don't know any Gabbys or Abbys or even anyone whose names were remotely similar or for that matter people who would take it as a point of pride to be gossipy. I logged into the AIM program, see if they had a profile.

GossipinGabby appeared under the tab titled "ChatBots." Could've sworn I deleted all those from my buddy list. They're not people. Why would I want to "chat" with a computer? For that matter, who would? Are people so lonely they'd rather chat with a fake person than be online without talking to anybody? Or are they so plugged in they're not going out and actually interacting with real people?

I say this as someone who has a tendency to hide from life behind a computer screen; I admit it. But I'm not stooping to consorting with fake personae in an effort to delude myself into thinking I have a social life. If my friends are offline, it's because they have lives. I should be doing the same, not chatting with an online program about the latest celebrity gossip.

It's scary how lonely this generation seems in an age where connection is little more than a mouseclick away.

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Now playing: Owen - Declaration of Incompetence
via FoxyTunes

Arming up

Knights, soldiers, and other warrior-types always take protective measures when heading out to battle baddies and other sundry folks. It's wise--after all, if someone's coming after you with something dangerous like a lance, gun, hatchet, halberd, knife, or katana, it's best to be prepared for the worst. I suppose the main thing they're trying to protect are vital organs and such.

However, there are other less dramatic battles waged on a regular basis, battles in which vital organs are not in danger (directly, anyway) and whose injuries can be just as painful.

We've all heard of the medieval tactic of pouring boiling oil over an invading army, correct? I can almost guarantee a chef came up with that.

The kitchen is a dangerous place. Knives can be mastered, as can wayward graters. Frying pans can be wrested from the hands of an angry spouse. The inevitable debris from breaking glasses and plates can be cleaned up. But there's no controlling the spitting of an irate pan of frying grease, no way to control the billowing steam that fogs up glasses and threatens to scald hands. Even the kitchen sink is not safe if the water comes out scalding hot (and, a creative writing classmate once demonstrated, people can do Very Bad and Violent Things with a disposal).

We need kitchen armor, something along the lines of a lightweight hazmat suit, complete with face guards. And gauntlets. Gauntlets are the bare minimum requirement for doing battle on the homefront. Or in the home, as the case may be.

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Now playing: Emilie Autumn - Rose Red
via FoxyTunes

Gah...

The first time I decided to participate in a solid month of posting, I did it. This time, on day two, I'm off the wagon. By 20 freakin' minutes (give or take).

So, to give up the ghost and just post when my fickle muse speaks, or continue in the spirit of [Really Awkward Abbreviation Month]? For now, I think I'll continue in its spirit. My muse needed a kick in the ass anyway. (In all fairness, we're on speaking terms again, she and I.)

More tomorr--er, later today.

The usefulness of a liberal arts degree

I've always been a reader. Whatever I could get my hands on, I read. I had little supervision, so some of what I read was probably beyond my grasp at the time. But I self-censored, delicately avoiding anything too "edgy."

And then I went to college, got one of them fancy-pants liberal arts educations, specifically, an English degree (and a second one!). I read all sorts of stuff, things about death and ghosts and incest and many a piece of literature with all sorts of bawdy plots (what education wouldn't be complete without Shakespeare?).

In that time, my "weirdness threshold" went up significantly. I have yet to read something so utterly offensive as to make me put it aside in horror. Incest? So Greek tragedy-esque. Romantic-era gothic fiction containing a date-rape scenario? Mildly disturbing, but kinda quaint. Stories with homoerotic undertones? Yawn.

I was discussing this with a couple people recently.

"Yeah, I mean, I was reading this book once where necrophilia was a factor, and this little part of me went, 'well, that's disturbing,' and I read on."

"What's necrophilia?" one person asked.

"It's when people like screwing corpses," my dear, sweet grandmother, whose attitudes about sex I could swear are Victorian, explained in a stage whisper so the other people in the coffee shop couldn't hear.

"Oh."

Which made me think, where did I originally learn what necrophilia was?

Probably from a book.