Large numbers large difference small changes
Thursday February 28th 2019, 10:11 pm
Filed under: can't make that shit up,change,family,himself,money,nextish,something new,tired Tags:

Large numbers moved around today, after delays. Life changing, I suppose, though the life changes will be incremental rather than immediate. And, frankly, I already got a second shot a 13 years ago, and dug a hole just deep enough that I could always keep shoveling, and wasn’t going to drown, but wasn’t going to get very far ahead either. Which was fine. But instead, one typo and three sets of lawyers later, here I am. One completed, one pending, one with an additional step, and one to be folded in with some others. And then, presto magico, not only am I still part of the global bourgeoisie, but will be even more so. Neither elated nor despondent, not proud nor ashamed, nor quite meh. It’s a big deal. It will make his life different, and that matters, assuming we manage to make the differences the right ones. Who knows. I’m fucking tired. It was a weird day.



no easier
Wednesday July 02nd 2014, 10:10 pm
Filed under: money,myjobfuckingrocks,myjobfuckingsometimesdoesntrock Tags:

not that it’s so very hard, really, but a request, made long ago at someone’s suggestion, didn’t pan out. A dangerous precedent, apparently, which is bullshit speak for “we can’t reward those who make up for the mismanagement of others.” But ain’t no thang – I stopped counting on this long ago, and stopped counting it not long after that.

A shiny new gadget with which to type on my slightly less shiny, slightly less new gadget. It will take some getting used to, but it’s a fuck of a lot faster than the poke-n-pray of a touchscreen. Not totally convinced I want to write a book on it, but then I probably shouldn’t write a book sprawled on my couch, listening to Nick Drake, a bottle of wine deep in the evening.

Night two of ?eleven or so, meetings in the morning where I work, meetings in the afternoon where I’ll be working, pups before, in between, and after. No writing done, of course, as that would be too useful. But tomorrow, writing, piano, maybe an early feature on analog synthesis, and drinks with my piano teacher. As you do. As you were.



What, yet again, is to be done?
Friday July 13th 2012, 10:41 pm
Filed under: Boozy,can't make that shit up,money,nextish Tags:

A bit of a funk over the last few days. 3 weeks in to summer teaching, an endeavour rather looked down upon by many of my colleagues. We’re in it for the money, yo. 900 years, give or take, in 6 weeks, things move fast. I’m phoning in the passion, if that makes any sense. There are some who seem to care and some who don’t, some who might recognize that I’m not all there, and some who don’t. I’m more there than many or most, so I’m still better than many or most.

And I care. But less. And I want. But less. And I wonder, what if, given an answer one way or the other so I can move the fuck on. A friend moving to the UK after two years of fighting a “no” that made no sense. A colleague in limbo for her third consecutive year as a “no” goes up and trickles down, is sent down and bounces up, lacking clarity or resolution, leaving only pain and crushing self-doubt. A long talk with a friend as I, some 13 years later, I paid him back. Speaking of which, ran into a friend of an old friend (headed-to-the-UK guy, above) at our local bodega. “Last time I saw you,” he said, “I loaned you money at a flower store.” I have no fucking memory of this, though reconstructed bits and pieces come back to mind. “Did I pay you back,” I asked, cuz, well, fuck, it’s me we’re talking about here. “Yup,” he replied, “you sent me a cheque.” No memories, really, of this exchange, despite the unusual state of having paid someone back promptly. I don’t think I owe anybody non-corporate right now. And corporations aren’t fucking people, so I don’t owe anyone. Anything. Except for all of the less easily measurable bits.

I’m not sure I care that much. Enough to write a chapter of a second book I’m unconvinced by? Enough to write a far more interesting popular book, conceived in an office-park uni in Surrey, bugging me for the last 7 months? Enough to say fuck it all and open a wine bar somewhere? The path is all too clear, though there’s still hope I can get from there to here. If I can find the balance between giving enough of a fuck to make the move possible, but not so much of a fuck that I can’t get there from here. If you see what I mean, and I think you do.



3 bucks a post
Wednesday February 01st 2012, 11:39 pm
Filed under: Boozy,money,Rubbish Tags:

That’s the price for TPT, if I continue posting at the appallingly intermittent rate of 2011. I have a few premiums, though, if you call now, provided by local restaurants and businesses who also accept my special “fringe benefits” card, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Private self-indulgent blogging needs your support!

It’s pledge drive time on KCRW, always a reason to tune out, when I’m not listening with the public radio equivalent of rubber-necking at a tragic accident. The forced cheer, the feigned mirth, the good natured jesting and collegiality, and the perfume of insincerity mixed with sickly sweet smell of real fear is (courtesy the smell-o-radio in my otherwise unremarkable car) rather compelling. First of the month but not first of the year, so deep in obligations that ever smaller accomplishments are beginning to seem ever bigger, because I don’t think I can (convincingly) get there from here. I’m not sure what it looks like to phone in a large public lecture, but I (or rather, the public) may well find out.

“I said is this contagious. / You said just drink it up….I thought the past would last me / but the darkness got that too.” It’s a fucking amazing song, Leonard’s Darkness from the new/old Old Ideas. But the rest of the album doesn’t measure up, which is a shame. It’s an OK album, but some of the “old ideas” are perhaps not as old as this idea, which trots out the darkness at the center alongside getting old and passing time and caring and feigning and loving tied up neatly with a sweet organ solo and a backing chorus.

Back to my red wine and my n+1 (though I’m annoyed that the guy who didn’t hire me a decade ago, for a job I wasn’t qualified for and didn’t really want at an institution I don’t respect, cowrote a piece. Between McGurl on zombies and now the digital humanities zombies on [whatever the fuck it is they’re on about – haven’t read it yet], my cherished sense of “in”ness from reading n+1 in 2006…well…I liked them when….owned the first album/issue….may have to stop wearing the t-shirt. Sigh.



hurry up
Saturday April 12th 2008, 10:27 am
Filed under: money,whingeing,Work Tags:

Broke, again, while waiting for reimbursements on Canada and hosting Distinguished Guest.  Some day I’ll get this money shit sorted out.  In the meantime, I splurged and got Radiohead tickets for August, which should, at the very least, be entertaining.  Work-Hell Part III begins today – a clear run at writing a paper for next Saturday, something I’ve been banging my head against for months, so at least I’m not starting cold, as with the talk for last weekend.  Also, it’s material for the Big Book of “Gimme Tenure You Fucktards,” so, again, in contrast to last weekend’s talk, I’ve been thinking about this shit for a while.  I might even have some existing stuff I can crib, except, of course, for the fact that I can’t steal my own thunder and publish in the Festschrift that will result from next weekend’s shindig what I want to be the Big Dramatic Opening to the book.  We’ll see – as the days slip away, I’ll slowly give up, I imagine. Also, remind me to write a post about how annoying I’m finding some of the graduate students resistance to – gasp – work.  Of course it’s hard, and tiring….that’s what it’s supposed to be.  Anyway, a bit more coffee, then I’m gonna break my own rule of “no shorts on campus” and brave the 94 degree weather out there. Thank god our flat stays so cool.  (It’s difficult to muster sympathy from those of you still facing the tail-end of winter, or early but fickle spring, I know, but remember, I’m always the victim.)