Day 7: Facebook Generation

I contemplate modernity a lot. Too much, probably, seeing as it usually leaves me feeling exasperated. But there are questions I always return to, like:

What is Facebook doing to our generation? We will be remembered as the Facebook generation, unless we stage some other crisis or discovery quick. But how is this state of ‘ambient communication’ really affecting us? I talked a bit yesterday (although actually it was very early this morning, I lied about the date – this time I’m actually on top of things. Well. On top of this. Not on top of other things) about personal descriptions and resumés, at least I think I did, and how I feel I can’t convey much accurate information through them, vital though it may be to do so.

That’s not to say that information isn’t being transmitted, however. I’m reminded of how much I read into other people’s descriptions of themselves; on Facebook, for example. No one really reads those anymore, but on occasion when I’m engaging in a bit of FB stalking I do take it it. And arrogantly, as I am, I take their words and phrases to speak volumes about themselves, things they don’t necessarily want to communicate but that I can adeptly pick up on and know them by. Ha. I’m inexcusably cocky under my humble exterior, you know. I try to hide it when really what I should be doing is dismantling it, so it imposes itself on how I think about myself and others.

Ostensibly others are doing the same with me, if they’re anything like me in terms of arrogance or narrow-mindedness. So what are they reading into my introductions that I don’t mean to say? And would that have anything to do with why I haven’t gotten any solid couch offers yet? Heh. On the other hand, there’s no end to the second-guessing. Live your life, as they say.

So what do all these short personal introductions we write do to how we think about others and how we think about ourselves? Not to mention all the trivial stati, the ‘like’-ing, the commenting…

It’s yet another one of those things I would love to research, but so far haven’t considered it high enough up on my list to make time for. And lately I’ve been feeling more and more like you can study and study and never get much closer to understanding things as complex as how the world works, and how people work. Someone needs to inspire me with a ray of insight before I get any more disenchanted. Part of me recognises this as the natural ebb and flow of studenthood, though. You come in with all these notions of learning the world inside out and figuring out how to change it, nay, save it, and then you run straight into the wall of books of lifelong scholars saying, “This issue is incredibly complex; here’s what tiny progress I’ve made past everyone I’m citing, but this issue is really complex, you know, and there’s so many immeasurable factors that really, I’ve devoted my life to this marginal field of research and have very little to show for it, guess I’ll just be satisfied as a parenthetical citation in someone else’s next book.”

Presumably it’s somewhere in the course of your second, third, master’s, or Ph.D. year that you come to accept that meagre satisfaction of being quoted as adequate reward for years of research, for so many years are already gone; either that or you change majors.

I say screw that. Screw that to the sticking-place (sticking-post? Points if you know where this quasi-quote is from). I’m gonna change the world.

But it’s not going to be through blogging. Or vlogging. Well…maybe vlogging. My Japanese video is strangely getting a lot of views, so I need to capitalise on that niche.

Here I was going to talk about my oldest memories of Christmas, and how I got a LEGO set that had a broom in it, and I was really excited about that broom because it was probably the first tool-type piece I’d ever gotten. Oh, LEGO, how I miss you. When I set up someplace semi-permanent I’m going to get all my LEGO over there and play to my heart’s content for a day, then go save the world.

But those memories will have to wait. I’m going to call this a day, whatever state I or it is in, sleep nicely and sufficiently, knock out what I need to tomorrow and take stock of my life.

Yeah, like I said, I’m idealistic.

Here’s a dearly beloved bit of culture for the road:

Day 6: Next Time I’ll Try Not To Make You Wade Through Prose To Get To Poetry

Here’s a quick tip if you spent a lot of time hunched over a desk and screen. No idea if it’s healthy, but it sure feels good. Stretch back over your chair with your arms spread wide, like, I dunno, a…yeah, really don’t know. Just stretch everything back. You might feel some nice cracking. If you want to maximise the effect point your index fingers out to both sides and straighten your arms so you feel something like a cord running all the way through your arms and chest from hand to hand. Neat huh? Then, with your back still arched, clasp your hands behind your head like you might do if you were lying on your back, and push your head forward towards your chest. Crackcrackcrackcrack…aah.

There were always those people who said cracking parts of your body, usually your knuckles, was bad for you. I never got around to finding out if this was true or not, I just try not to do it too often. (Ugh, don’t be sick, you sick-minded sick boy.) I did look up some other urban legends when I was young, though, like whether or not carrots really help your eyesight, and the website said they don’t. However I don’t know how reliable the website was. But that’s the way information, or opinion, rather, spreads, isn’t it? Seems like the things we find out through overhearing, or a passing comment; essentially randomly, are the things that stick with us the most, especially if they support something we want to believe at that time. I wanted to have one over my parents, so I believed carrots were in fact not good for my eyes. Now, I want to be eating plenty of vegetables, so I allow that possibility, true or not, doesn’t matter, to exist in my mind. At any rate, vegetables are good for you.

It’s funny, the things that stick with you. But they’re one of those things that never come to you when you want them to, only when you’re thinking about something else. So I can’t tell you what any of mine are. But the acai berry is no better; worse, in fact, than blueberries in nutritional value.

I’m a blogger. I’m a frickin’ blogger. Never wanted to be a blogger. Still don’t. Want to be a writer. This is just a phase, and I’m struggling not to get sucked into the habit of shallow reporting on menial, near-meaningless things.

Some good is coming of it, though. It keeps me busy because I know I need to have something to report, at the very least on the Couchsurfing front. Well, I’ve sent ten requests so far and gotten four declines back so far – just like applying for a job, except the replies are a little quicker (they actually come!). I hate things like resumés – though I like the word itself – because there’s no way I can represent myself in such a small and specific space. I’m a deep person; everyone is, or at least they should be, and worthy of far more than being reduced to a collection of daily tasks.

I’m never going to let my day-job define me. Yes, I will find something I enjoy doing, otherwise I’ll find something else to do, but it will remain that: what I do, and though it will be an outpouring of who I am, it will not be who I am. As soon as it is, the meaning of it is lost.

I’m not at university to get a job. I’m not terribly concerned about unemployment rates. I’m here to improve myself, and as long as I’m doing that the rest will fall into place. A lot of people struggle with living in the past, but it’s just as difficult to get out of living in the future to live in the present, and truly be, and be fully.

(That’s where the term ‘liberal arts’ or liberal education comes from, you know. It’s far older than the political liberal-conservative debate. It signifies an education for the purpose of bettering oneself in general, not just technical training for obtaining employment. Lately universities have been moving away from ‘liberal’ towards the latter, but we mustn’t.)

So those are the kinds of things I think about on a regular basis. Someday I’ll develop them each individually into things worth something, but for now you’ll have to be content with me listing them off as they pop familiarly into my head.

I’m the frightfully idealistic sort. In the end, I think that’s the only way to live.

So I’ll leave you with something I jotted down this afternoon when I was thinking much more clearly:

I am sitting at a cubicle in the library with a tall stack of books amassed, earnestly trying to dive into my next politics essay. But I’m so distracted. My thoughts just veer off the lines of words into a limitless space of musings, and I feel like that’s how it’s been all day. So I’ve given up – I only have a few minutes until I should move towards my politics lecture – and resolved to write poetry. Maybe if I can wrap this frustrated swirl of tinkering thoughts in fancy dress, their clamour will subside and I’ll be able to focus on matters at hand.

There was a can of Relentless in the cubicle when I arrived; I thought to move to the next one but then my feet would’ve stuck under the divider to where another studier’s were doing the exact same thing already. Awkward moment waiting to happen. So I took the Relentless cubicle, flavour: Inferno. I’ve never had it, nor any kind of energy drink, really; I’m not into them.

But now as I rotate it to read some small italicised writing on the back, I’m surprised to find that it’s half-full, and even more surprised to find that the writing is a quote from Lord Byron. My, my.

But I have lived, and have not lived in vain;

My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire:

And my frame perish even in conquering pain;

But there is that within me which shall tire

Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire.

I find a can with poetry inscribed, just as I’m about to write poetry, or try, and what’s more, it still contains liquid. Now, I’m not in the habit of eating or drinking consumables that I happen upon. That’s a lie, I am in the habit, to the great exasperation of a certain of my friends, and it hasn’t hurt me yet (much).

I wasn’t even tempted by this; like I said, I’m not into energy drinks. I make my own energy. But…

Oh, it’s not half-full, it’s whole-full. But open.

<sip>

Hmm. I fully expected to hate it. It is very carbonated, which isn’t my cup of tea. But the artificial orange actually isn’t bad. It reminds me of something…

<sip>

Gummies, perhaps. Or do you call them jellies? At any rate, that must mean it’s loaded with sugar. I’m not going to drink any more.

It doesn’t have a very poetic taste, and I doubt the company – oh, Coca-Cola – is very poetic.

But it does go to show that you find poetry in the most unexpected of places, and even more so when you look for it. And when you’re attempting to create it, well, you can’t escape it.

It might be a little early in our relationship, dear reader, but I’m going to tell you this anyway: I’m not really about this blogging stuff. Not really. This is just to keep the cogs oiled and juices flowing.

This world is composed, in its very fibres, of poetry. Some call it chaos. Some call it cosmos. Many call it beauty – few believe it. I happen to.

This what this is all about, and this is why I’m going to London.

Day 3: Shopping and Living Cheap

I went to York again today, 1) to see it decked out in its Christmas finery (got some pictures for you), and 2) to go Christmas shopping, not that I would’ve needed to go all that way just for shopping but I did get what I think are some good presents for my parents. Now I just need to figure out how to mail a box, oh, and get a box, too; all things I hate doing. Measuring and weighing and calculating and hauling are such a pain. They really need to make international shipping more convenient, just like they need to make sending money overseas easier. I hate those processes like I hate trying to get a job.

But I’m doing it again, jumping here and there, wherever my scattered brain takes me, failing to pay any heed to flow, continuity, and conciseness. Sorry. Sometimes I feel like a comedian swinging from joke to joke, earnestly trying to find something that makes the crowd laugh, and when such a line is found, he sticks with it, expounds (yes that is a real word) on it, repeats it, and generally ruins any humour the joke originally possessed. I’m tempted to go into a comparison of British and American stand-up, but I refrain – I do have a preconceived list of things to report on tonight, I promise.

Oh, I also went to York to be social, as I expected a sizeable group of my classmates to be going. That proved to be a faulty assumption. But it was still enjoyable.

The first bit of my London adventure prep is taken care of: I bought the bus ticket to get down there. As simple as that may sound, there were actually some temporarily-worrying complications, which I’ll get to right after I do a bit of plugging. A big part of this blog is to help you, after all; maybe not replicate my trip exactly but have adventures similar to it, should you be interested. That’s why I went into detail about Pandora and Hotspot Shield yesterday; I’m talking about Megabus and Couchsurfing today (and many other days, no doubt), and I’ll get into some ways to transfer money overseas cheaply within the next few weeks. World travellers gotta help each other out.

Yes, after being dismayed at hearing the exorbitant prices for taking trains or coaches down to London, I was overjoyed to find out about a service called Megabus. From what I’ve heard it definitely has students in mind – no frills but no extra costs, just getting you from point A to point B in a cheap and hopefully, hopefully (considering all this snow we’ve been getting) timely manner. I suspect that every country has something like it; during my year in Philadelphia I took the ‘Chinabus’ from the Chinatown there to the Chinatown in Washington D.C. for cheap. It was sketchy, yes, especially as I was arriving in the dark evening, as I seem to always do, but since I was surrounded by students for most of it I felt fairly safe.

We shall see just how plain the ‘no frills’ bit gets – I have heard some derision against Megabus – but I’m not particular. Oh yes, the complications. I was on the website, having finally decided on a day to go (leaving a day for a possible complete Star Wars marathon right after uni breaks up, that would be awesome), but when I went to put in the dates and get the times, the site decided to go on the fritz. The booking feature would not budge.

This isn’t actually as interesting a story as I thought it might be when I started telling it (don’t you hate it when that happens? What’s that? You don’t start telling stories you know won’t deliver? Ah.) but I did wonder if it was a sign that I shouldn’t be opting for Megabus. Let’s hope it wasn’t, because they got the website working again just in time for me to be late to meet my friends, and I bought one ticket for me and one for my flatmate.

So we have our way in. Whether we, once down there, will be staying on lush bedding in a wonderfully hospitable host’s home or sneaking Z’s in a gay bar somewhere (no, I’m not, I just heard that they’re safe places to spend a night – not sure I want to test that suspicious-sounding theory though) remains to be seen.

I’m not trusting that point to chance completely; I have been surfing the Couchsurfing archives for potential couchsurfees. I even got a message from a friendly-sounding guy which I will pursue to see if it’s an option. People, this isn’t as sketchy as it sounds! There’s a whole reference system and everyone who’s done it seems to love it. You’ll see. You’ll see.

I’m being too picky, though; like job applications I just need to send loads out there (personalised, of course) and see what’s even an option. I’m sure there’s loads of people CSing over the holidays, so places will be few, just like the hostels, which I foolishly continue to wait to reserve. Oh man oh man. Why do I do this to myself.

But it will all work out and pay off massive, it always does. I made it here, after all. And into a wonderful job last year. And a wonderful uni the year before that. There’s a precedent.

So that’s how things stand right now; I’ve done some Christmas shopping, I have a way into emerald city (poor choice of metaphor?), accommodation options are slowly availing themselves. I need to get money, I need to finish my essays on the UN in Cambodia and British citizenship, respectively, and I need to stop boring you guys, right?

And I need to publish this before the clock strikes twelve.

Bradford City Hall by night, and night-shot mode.