Negativesmart

Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?

My bank account is going to fuckin gonna overdraft now, through no fault of my own, because I can’t make a deposit, because trasactions I made myself triggered fraud protection and OMG if someone was going to fraudulently DEPOSIT money to my accout, yeah, that would probably upset me. Best prevent that from happening while you’re messing with me. I fuckin hate receiving random mysterious cash. OMGWTFBBQ. Chase, I fucking hate you. I took a frikkin bus from bank A, which wasn’t accepting vcash deposits to bank B, which fuckin just denied to give a shit about my bank card at all. Now I am walking home because there’s no bus coming anytime soon, and my account is going to explode despite the fact that I have a pocketful of cash. And i’l be damned if I’m not stopping off at Jewel and buying a bottle of wine. Mother fucking fuck!

When people are too irrational to bother arguing with, there are a few strategies that can be used. PZ Myers is a proponent of ridicule, and that seems to be fairly effective in many cases. However, if no intervention is required in order to prevent harm to third parties, I prefer to go with the tested and true “don’t feed the trolls” method (if you can call it a method, considering that it calls for doing absolutely nothing). Trolls can eat anything. Even completely ignoring them can occasionally encourage them. However, if a tree falls in the forest blah blah blah, and I think something about a black box full of question marks or an orbiting teapot might be relevant here as well.

One of my favourite applications of troll non-feeding is from The Simpsons episode “Treehouse of Horror VI”, where the characters are sold on the idea that “if people stop paying attention to [advertising], pretty soon, it goes away” by a jingle, performed by Paul Anka. Of course, “advertising” here refers to monstrous commercial mascots brought to life by an ionic disturbance, but if you take the word “monsters” metaphorically, this little song provides excellent instructions for handling bullshit (and it’s currently stuck in my head):

Paul Anka: To stop those monsters 1-2-3,
Here’s a fresh new way that’s trouble-free,
It’s got Paul Anka’s guarantee…
Lisa: Guarantee void in Tennessee.
All: Just don’t look! Just don’t look!
Just don’t look! Just don’t look!
Just don’t look! Just don’t look!

It’s hard to remain passive when confronted by painful levels of stupid (I’ve been struggling all day), but together, we can do it!

I’d tell you who inspired me to post this, but they’re egosurfers, and I don’t want to feed them. If you get information from the same sources as me, and know anything about me (both semi-likely, if you’re reading this), you might be able to guess. But don’t. Because then they will have won.

I thought I’d lost that Graf It sketch pad tonight. Which is where I keep my most embarrassing scribbles (it’s the one I keep in my purse, so it’s the one that gets attention in bars). Losing data of any sort is terrible and traumatic as far as I’m concerned. I’ve never lost a notebook before. My head would probably explode worrying about it, if I did, even though my handwriting is totally illegible. And even though it’s damned unlikely that the contents would ever become associated with my name.

Above are all of the notebooks and sketch pads I use regularly at present. I have seventeen zillion that are filled or completed (not the same thing). As much as I blither blather about anything online, basically unfiltered, there’s a whole lot (whole lot) of other drivel that never makes it to the web. If anything, that stuff would at least make me look like a major spaz, and that’s just as good as being awesome when it comes to the internet.

If I was the sort of person who made resolutions, I’d resolve to share more of the contents of these books. But I’m not. So we’ll see. Phobia. Phobia. It terrifies me to think that if I died… ack. Somebody could eventually sift through any one of them. Just thinking of a particular green steno pad from high school makes me cringe. Every depressed kid in high school thinks they can write poetry… Pain! Why don’t I burn it!? You guys gotta promise me that when I die, every piece of paper I own will be burnt unread. It clashes with my whole concept of life and death, since I’m confident I won’t care one bit about anything that happens after I die (as I’ll be rotting in the ground, and all). Even so.

I wonder how intoxicated I’d need to be to post anything I’ve written that’s fictional.

candice++;

Midnight is a pretty silly concept. Personally, I would choose to change the date at dawn. But if you’re going to have the calendar flip at midnight, at least make it the proper solar midnight. The whole calendar and time system on this planet is batshit. Whatever. My point is this: I consider birthdays to be the 24 hour(ish) (a day is not 24 hours long) period surrounding someone’s time of birth. Probably. I’m not goofy enough to check into how different measurements of the concept of a “year” might affect things. I’m not sure I remember what time I was born. But I think it was 4:10am EST or something? Which means my birthday began at 4:10pm EST today, and I don’t have to wait until midnight for you to start buying me stuff and being nice to me.The end. Okay, I don’t expect you to buy me stuff. And you should be nice to me all the time. So what is my point? I don’t know, but it’s my birthday, so I don’t need one (as if I ever worry about that kind of thing).

Thinking yourself “lucky” is to deny credit for success. Thinking yourself “unlucky” is to deny responsibility for failure. Big duh right there. Common sense.

Of course, I don’t believe in common sense, either. I readily admit that much of my “common sense” comes from good ol’ book learnin’. Whatever I know about luck probably comes from some epistemological blather I can’t remember reading during grade school.

In any case, I’m clumsily expanding into words the above chunk of my “luck” gestalt for my own benefit, because I think it was losing integrity (,captain).

Concept and principle reestablished. Carry on as usual.

A Bed Ced Ded Ed Eff Ged Aitch I Jay Kay El Em En O Ped Que Arr Ess Ted U Ved Double-U Ex Wye and Zed

So, some douche that I had no prior contact with posted this shit on Twitter:

If you’re looking for #emo this #christmas, just follow @candice. She’ll make you want to cut your eyes out. TAGGED: #suicide #drama #xmas

(I’m pretty sure, no matter what he says, that it’s because he wants me… Because from his following messages with mentions of my sister and my husband it’s obvious that he’s been up to some creepy stalker action.)

When I wondered what the fuck, this was his explanation:

@candice the deal is free #advertising. You tweets and complaints = my success :) Just look at Lindsay Lohan or Brittney Spears for example

@candice overall it’s a social/twitter experiment and you were the lucky rabbit pulled out of the hat. Ya digg?

It seems that he just searches certain keywords all day and then insults people who show up in the results. Obviously a brilliant marketing technique. I’m sure he has many such wonderful ideas, because his bio states that he is a computer guru. </sarcasm> (100% of people who describe themselves as gurus are fucktards.)

He then gives this advice when I point out that that’s fucking dumb as shit:

@candice be careful what you say online, reputation is everything :)

Seriously, guy? You’re the one posting drive-by insults. I’m the last person who needs advice about the internet, anyway. Me and the internet, we’re pals. We go way back. We understand each other. Be careful what I say online? Totally not into that. I say whatever I feel like saying, and if people have a problem with it, it’s generally because they suck, so I’m not about to give a rat’s ass.

But I think he was really trying to say that tweeting about what a jerkoff he is benefits him, because he goes on to post this snarky BS:

@candice not really giving advice, just a reminder. You publicly tweeted about my feed. I’ve gained 10 of your followers so far. :)

Which, by the way, is a lie. Observe:

0 < 10 (most of the followers he does have appear to be bots) (note to idiot: real people generally do not end their username with four random numbers)

He further explains the genius of his idea:

@candice it’s all a test for a client, twitter is a model that’s great for basing startups. This idea involves negative tweets to draw attn.

Society loves negativity. THRIVES off it in fact. You of all people should understand that. Angst music is one of the most common forms

@candice Brittney Spears. Are you a millionaire? Didn’t think so. Success can be measured in many ways. You’ve just proven mine.

He is right that negativity gets attention, but I don’t think he understands that not all attention is good attention. The keyword I used that led him to me was “Magento”. He just so happens to have a blog that has lots of Magento-related content. Hooray, you succeeded in getting my attention. But will I bookmark your site? No. Because I think you’re a douchebag. Your “client” (if said client actually exists…) could get a lot of attention, sure, but I don’t think telling people that they “make you want to cut your eyes out” is going to get positive results (*cough* negativity begets negativity). But he’s a guru, so he probably knows that a high click-through rate doesn’t mean squat if those resulting hits don’t convert…

And again with the trainwreck misspelled celebrity example. I do not believe that Britney Spears or Lindsay Lohan became famous because someone insulted them. Other way around, I think I recall. But aside from that, posting negative things about fuck ups doesn’t get the same reaction as, say, posting negative things about me. Insulting Britney Spears is socially acceptable, because she’s a mess. But insulting me just makes you look like a jerkass, on account of the fact that I am awesome (as anybody with any sense knows). I mentioned him in my feed, yes, but since it was to point out his shit talking, and because people that follow me tend to like me (or they wouldn’t follow me, ya digg?), I don’t think it led to much success for him (i.e. none of my followers are following him, and several agreed that he’s a turdburger).

Oh, and I bet he finds this, because he looooooooooooves me. I blocked his ass, but he’s probably obsessively reloading my Twitter page right at this very moment. It’ll probably give him an ego boost, but whatevs. I just couldn’t believe his level of stupid, and pointing out extreme stupidosity was the original (somewhat failed) purpose of this site, so ta da.

She makes it look easy,
and it is easy.

For her.

Conveniently, for you.

Otherwise it might be important.

Tried to sleep. Didn’t take. My thoughts are racing, but I’m not thinking anything, so it’s difficult to stop. Just random sounds and concepts repeating. Over and over and over again. Because that’s what repeating means. I’m restless, but paralyzed. It’s a very uncomfortable state of being. This happens to me now and then. Eventually, the restlessness overpowers the paralysis. How that built up energy manifests itself, that’s what I can never predict. I guess it depends what sort of mood I’m in when my brain reaches that singularity. What will it be this time? Creativity or destruction? At the moment, all I know is that this is giving me a headache.

If you’re ever wondering why I’m taking so bloody long in the bathroom, it’s probably because of my unstoppable compulsion to photograph myself (badly) in toilet stalls. Examples from Saturday. Yep, I’m completely aware that I’m retarded.

Your soul. Give it to me:

Which picture of me is better? The one with the double chin (smeared with lipstick, thanks to having a big fat bottom lip and drinking without a straw) and the demon eyes? Or this one, which, to the careful observer, indicates that I probably don’t need to drink any more. Left to my own devices, I stop drinking pretty early, because I run out of money. Generosity from others can sometimes be a curse. I half half a dozen bruises and one scraped knee from that night that I don’t remember getting. Oh, alcohol, you take the pain away.

Blah blah blah… Hey, all these pictures are in reverse order. I was still slightly sensible during KMFDM. I could’ve sworn I’d been to House of Blues before, but I didn’t recognize it at all, so I guess not. Perk of having awesome husband: box seats.

See how fucking cool I am? Feh… Whatever. We’re looking down on you unwashed masses. That’s right, you’re scum! Not really, but damn. I don’t think I can handle crowds like that anymore. How did I ever go to concerts without flipping the fuck out?

I wish there was one of these within reach of my couch:

Oh, right… entire context of photos has not been mentioned. KMFDM concert. Duh duh duh. Met Steve White (he plays a guitar!) Sean toured with him last year, ’cause he was doing live guitar for 16 Volt at the time. He was charming, to be sure (or at least… I don’t remember any differently)

In conclusion, here is a picture of a newspaper clipping from sometime last month that Sean found hilarious. Wiener! Har har. Yeah, I don’t know what’s wrong with him, either.

If this post seems disjointed, it’s because I’ve been sleeping hardly at all ever, it’s 5:30am, and I can’t be arsed to be sensible. What are you going to do about it?

I’m a digital packrat. I have email saved one 5¼-inch floppies, archives of FidoNet groups I posted to, and every stupid thought I mashed out of my keyboard while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, stupidity, depression or looniness. I never delete anything. But I just deleted every unfinished draft that was hanging around in WordPress. They were holding me back. I was still planning to “get around to posting” plenty of it, but the thing is… if I wasn’t interested enough to finish at the time, there’s no way I’ll ever bother now, especially when the idea isn’t fresh in my mind.

The rest of them were cryptic things like “Why are they eating their lunch in a library?” that were meant to be starting points to longer blog entries I never got to (and eventually forgot even what they were meant to be about), several rants about Comcast that I decided no one needed to be subjected to, and once-topical posts that would make absolutely no sense now that it’s years later.

So, goodbye to that crap. I don’t feel obligated to finish any of it any more. I do feel obligated to post here more often, though. Clearing the detritus out of my head, onto the Internet, where it could be free, used to be therapeutic. Yes, this blog is my mind’s garbage disposal. Or, to use another metaphor (I hate metaphors), my words are puppies that I’m setting free in the woods because I can’t be arsed to take care of them anymore. They’ll be better off on their own. It’s the right thing to do. Those words never did like being cooped up inside, anyway.

If somebody else has any purpose for what I write, that’s their own problem. Personally, I rarely look back at anything I’ve posted. I don’t bother proofreading, either. By the time I’m at the end of whatever I’m babbling, I usually can’t even remember what I’d started writing about in the first place. This junk is just one wrung above stream-of-consciousness. I just want my ideas gone, so they’re no longer my responsibility. Ideas are troublesome little bastards to have bouncing around in your brain. You deal with them!

Oh, yeah. I also want to start not being a dumbshit who never updates her blog, again, because I’ve completely fallen out of the habit of writing. Usually when I’m not posting here, I’m still scribbling away in 87 notebooks, but I haven’t written anything for a while other than notes for things I want to write but probably never will (because I’ll forget what the notes mean and/or be unable to read my own craptastic handwriting by the time I get around to it).

Encourage me and comment, or something.

Welcome Sleep, originally uploaded by Lintilla.

Sleeeeeeep. Been doing a lot more of that lately. Been having trouble finding eight hours worth of additional crap to fill my time with.

Ten hours, if you include the two I’d usually spend on the bus. A little bit longer if you include the time I’d usually spend putting on pants.

There’s only so much reality TV you can watch in a day before you become more stupider [SIC] than the ‘tards you’re watching.

There’s only so much Twitter you can cram into your head before it splits open and starts leaking @’s and #’s all over the nice clean floor.

I forget how to be productive on my own. I can only remember how to thoughtlessly follow directions given to me via passive aggressive e-mail.

I will be attempting to have this error corrected by the end of the week. Brain needs some rewiring up in there.

Daring Jumping Spider, originally uploaded by Lintilla.

This spider has been hunting around my apartment for the last few days. It’s not poisonous, and I let it be because there are plenty of other bugs around here I’d be glad to see chomped up. I think this one is either a female or a juvenile, judging by the colour of the markings and the palps (although I don’t have any of its relatives to compare it to).

I think it’s pretty, especially the iridescent chelicerae and those big black eyes. My little friend has stereoscopic vision! Spiders are nice. Insects, not so much. And especially not ‘pedes of any variety.

These are hunting spiders, so there’s no web. Just been wandering my apartment, mostly chilling in the same room as me. Protecting me from the other icky bugs. Haven’t stepped on it yet, but I did wake up with what looked like a little spider bite this morning. Sorry, buddy, didn’t mean to roll over on you.

In general, things are a lot less frightening the more you know about them: Phidippus audax – Wikipedia.