What it's all about.

I have had this feeling far before I saw or read "Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist" but I'll expand on it a bit here for public consumption: There is little greater in the world than holding hands with someone you care about. It is hands-down the one minor form of a PDA that I find endearing. Granted, I can't take it when people nuzzle up all close with each other and examine their hands together for hours on end as if they were the first people to ever think of interlocking their fingers with each other.

There is one particular instance that I find especially endearing, and that is when old people hold hands. I'm not talking old like me and my "not as young as I used to be" self, I'm not even talking fifties or sixties. I'm talking about seventy-plus, the old people who hold hands because it's all they know, the people who hold hands because that's what they've been doing since it was still a novel concept in its time. Back in the day, when hand holding was officially second base. It's incredibly endearing, even moreso than like when little kids hold hands. It melts my friggin' heart, and I believe that's a main contributor of why folks pass away shortly after their partners; because they don't have that hand to hold.

Trust me, this blog was just inspired by seeing just such an occasion on the street the other day. I am not going to turn this into a paean on how I have no one to hold my hand. I am also not going to gush about how I found someone who actually wants to hold my hand, because I haven't. Hell, I am not much of a hand holder in the first place - I am so warm blooded that things just turn into a clammy mess. I far prefer linking pinkies. But not in the dirty way.

A Calling?

I had what I felt was a very interesting exchange with my mom over dinner this evening. I'd discussed my day at work, and seemingly out of the blue, my mom piped up with "You know, never in a million years would I have thought that you'd be working in an office."

On one hand, this makes perfect sense: ever since I was about seventeen or so, I'd pretty much been groomed to be a teacher. I took interest in my schooling - I hung on to extra copies of my high school textbooks, not because I had to but because I chose to. I had been told by friends, family, teachers, and administrators alike that I'd be a great teacher. I got out of college, got out of the credential program, and got into the classroom. I'd like to think that I was a pretty good teacher in my own right. I'd never be in the running for teacher of the year based on my track record, but I was able to walk away knowing that I helped a number of the kids with whom I worked.

So now I sit in a cubicle. I get to comparison shop and examine products in a fun office, surrounded by co-workers whom I hold in high esteem. I get to listen to music all day and chew gum whenever the hell I want to, all while wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I'm going to say - I like my job. I don't love it, I don't necessarily see myself being a the same company the rest of my life, but I don't think much of anyone there expects that to be the case. Still, I am happy with where I am and what I'm doing, and I'm excited at the possibilities of what the future holds for me with my current employer.

Still, I can't help but think: what did my Mom mean by that? Is it really so crazy that I would enjoy cube life? I have no idea what else I would/could be doing these days. Thoughts? Takers? What else is there out there that's not retail and not in a classroom that doesn't involve some manner of office work?

Sorry to be a bit maudlin in my posting tonight, but maudlin has kind of been the theme of the week for me. On the bright side, the weekend is just a stone's throw away.

The Good Old Days of Music.

As this blog has proven over the last week or two, I have been thinking a lot about music and musical tastes recently. I've been in a bit of a renaissance period in my musical listening, so in a given day I am exposed to any number of thousands of different artists across a wide span of genres. Generally speaking, this is a good thing. I pride myself in my ability to appreciate all sorts of musical expression, but this was not always the case. I first began to hone my musical tastes back in the mid-90s, when the battle lines were clearly drawn. I suppose to some degree, those lines are far more distinct when you are younger, as even these days back when I was a substitute teacher I'd have kids say things to me like "So what are you Mr. B? Are you a rocker? I bet you are."

Back in the day, that's how it was: you were on one side of the fence or the other. When I was a sophomore in high school, if anything came on a stereo with anything resembling "beat" I'd bitch and moan and gripe until someone finally changed it. If something had too many acoustic instruments or didn't have a fast enough tempo, I'd usually write it off as boring. If bands had more than two guitars, bass, and drums, I often quipped that "they should go back to art school until they learn how to rock." So, in short, I was kind of a prick. Still, I think this polarizing criticism was truly in vogue at the time. The fact that I was willing to stand up at the age of sixteen and say that Art Alexakis of Everclear stopped writing good music after he kicked his heroin habit shows that there was intelligent thought behind that, since I still believe it to this day. Granted, for the man, I am ecstatic that he was able to get clean and is now living a fulfilling life. But it might be time to put the guitar down.

So what changed? How did we get to this point? I am almost ashamed to say this, but I think a big turning point in music as far as acceptance and open-mindedness was the dawning of Limp Bizkit. They were the first band to really do the rap/rock thing well. Yes, by the second album we found out that their munchkin lead singer was a total douche, but that first album opened the floodgates. Suddenly, pulling out that copy of "The Chronic" that my friend left at my house back in 8th grade isn't so bad after all. There was a brief period there where everyone who played guitar wanted to team up with someone who knew how to scratch to make something new and innovative. Fortunately, that has all fallen by the wayside these days as well, except for perhaps Linkin Park, who still remain on the fringes of popular music.

Then there's the whole emergence of Indie, which happened some time shortly after the label "alternative" became as popular as calling something "radical". Nowadays, you can't swing a Pavement record without finding some kid in girls skinny jeans and a tattered hoodie. It's great, it's in part a side product of the musical "progression/regression" trend, but still, it's interesting to watch. What started with punk, evolved slightly into grunge and alternative has now led to a number of bands with strings and interesting keyboard samples. A music that had been identified with minimal virtuoso talent on an instrument being pressed for the few, in response to the over-technical, over-produced music of the mainstream, has now come into the spotlight again, except this time with a lot more talent. And a lot more facial hair.

Do I miss the good old days when I wore flannel, and the guys who listened to rap wore their pants around their knees? Sometimes. But, now that we're all knocking on the door of our thirties, I'm glad I can wear clothes that fit (for the most part, at least), and don't feel like a wuss or a sellout because I enjoy going to shows where people sing melodies with intelligent music that sounds better in a small room than blaring in a locker room or something to that effect. I still loves me a good pit every now and again, but I appreciate it just as much when I can see a band like Spoon (I use them because they're one of the last bands I saw live) and just hang out and listen to some great music that neither makes me want to kill myself nor throw myself violently into those around me.
Guess that makes me a sellout. Or at least a person that "high school me" would call a sellout.

Weekend musings.

As most of my San Franciscan readers should know, this weekend was the culmination of LitQuake, and Saturday evening the Mission was taken over by Lit Crawl - a district-wide evening of readings in bars, coffee shops, bookstores, and a handful of other assorted venues. Naturally, I took advantage of the experience to check out a few of the select readings.

One thing I took out of this experience was a rekindled desire to do some creative writing. I know that this happens nearly every time I go to some literary event, but I can't help it. True, for the time being I need to focus on my thesis more, but still, if time allows, I'd like to do a little writing. I'm not just writing this to express my inner conundrum or anything like that; rather, I'm setting up the question:

Do you think it's indulgent for a blogger (more specifically, me) to post creative works on a blog that isn't literature or fiction based?

I'd be interested in your feedback, but make no promises that I'll end up doing it even if you all are into the idea.

Underpants.

For work today, I had to write up a quick blog on FreshPair.com, which is an online underwear store. I was generally impressed with the variety of what they had, though I was more than a little off-put by the large number of bulges that I was subjected to.

Before getting into it here, let me discuss my underpants philosophy: maybe twice a year or so I'll wander into an Old Navy, find designs that strike my fancy (usually involving guitars, booze, or the occasional plaid) and I'll buy like six pairs to last me until I need another pair. I spend maaaaybe five minutes a year thinking about underpants, so what was I supposed to say about all these pairs I saw on a blog read by conservative Midwestern housewives?

While I couldn't ask it on the company's blog, I can ask it here: does anyone still wear tighty whities? It seems to me that they are worn by every kid once they graduate from superhero undies until about high school, then boxers come in up until the point of about 35 or so. Am I completely off on this? Is there a whole tighty whitey insurgency out there that I am unaware of? Because I gotta say, this site was ALL about briefs. Some much more brief than others. How disturbing is it that they now make low-rise men's underwear? Just the thought makes me wanna vomit. I guess those he-men out there who pride themselves on having abs you can grate cheese on all need underpants that will stay out of their way when showing off their toned and sculpted bodies. I prefer my whole waistline just be ignored altogether. Hence no time thinking about underpants. Just another question while I'm already queasy: what's with the banana hammock? I don't get it. I don't think any woman finds it the least bit attractive. I don't care how much tail you get, there's no excuse for any man to wear undergarments that consists of less cloth and provide less coverage than their female counterparts.

So with all this in mind, and after having someone request that I spend a part of my day perusing underthings, I began thinking about male versus female underthings. I think it all has something to do with visibility. Men, though thankfully less than like 8 years ago, still tend to flaunt their underpants in public far too much. I don't know why this is because men's underpants is all about function. There is no beauty in men's underpants. Outside of art, there is no adornment. Speaking as a male, I am happy about this. Women's underwear, however, is almost the opposite. From the male point of view (at least from most males' point of view) the less actual underwear and the less coverage it supplies, the better. I'm not being a perv, I'm just giving it to you straight here. For this reason, a glimpse of female underwear is usually kind of a thrill. Properly chosen and properly worn, underpants choice can speak volumes about a woman. This is why countless women eschew the "granny" variety of all undergarments for things that have lace and are either black or red despite their general deficits in comfort. At least that's my theory.

Think of it this way: most women don't start to salivate at the sight of a man unbuttoning his pants and revealing some boxer. If a woman does the same action and reveals some black undergarment, regardless of ornamentation or material, 99% of men with feel a noticeable pickup in their pulse rate.

Best. Invention. Ever.

So I was hipped to this by a handful of various people today, though none directly, which is a little reassuring. Apparently Google has created a mail app that is a drinker's best friend. Read all about it here. Essentially, it's a filter that causes you to do some reasonably challenging math in a limited time to make sure that you are functioning at your best. I don't necessarily e-mail whilst intoxicated, but if I do, it's good to know that now I'm protected.

Not a whole lot else to note, other than that Jon has finally revived his blog, which can be seen at the top of my links list.

Finally, on a third tangent, I've started reading the book The Secret history of the American Empire. From the author of Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, it's an eye-opening read about how blatantly the US and the corporations behind it are exploiting foreign countries. While I try my best to be fairly in the know about the modern world, I have to admit: this book is kind of bumming me out. I know that it's not supposed to be an uplifting read or anything like that, but when I'm standing on the bus, half asleep and surrounded by weirdos, I prefer to read stuff that doesn't make feel like no matter what I do, nothing will ever change. At least give me compelling stories with superheroes or something.

As much as I'd like to.

I have little to say. Here is the Readers Digest version of my life right now:

- It is whiskey week, but I cannot take advantage of this unless I go to a bar, as my supply of the brownest of the brown liquors is nowhere to be found in casa de Bill.

- I may be playing keyboards in The Undertaker and His Pals. The only snag: I don't know how to play keyboards.

- Amy Winehouse, after admitting she "has a problem" has reportedly been considering scientology. I have to ask, does "problem" refer to scientology or her relentless pursuit of an early death?

- Everyone around me is talking about either the election or the economic crisis. I continue not to give a shit.

- Preparations for Chapter 2 of my thesis continue.

- I am beginning to think that in order to be a temp worker hired at my current place of employment, you have to be borderline mute. I have had two temps sit a few cubes away from me, and I have yet to get so much as a "good morning" from either of them in nearly three months.

- I'm thinking of putting together a class action lawsuit against MUNI on behalf of all SF commuters, as they are consistently stealing hours of our lives a week with their joke of a "schedule".

I think I'd better turn in before I get any more bitter. Tonight, you spell cynic B-I-L-L.