whoah.
i don't think i've even looked at this thing in a year.
and somehow it automatically changed my language to hindi, which i don't understand.
still, i'll be leaving soon, and i need a way to spread news to people that are so far across oceans and continents, so pay attention, blog! your services are once again needed.
now is not the time or place to rebuild acquaintance, though, but i have this superstition about starting things when the idea hits. restarting things. makes it easier to keep going. or so i think.
very often not even close to true.
still, we'll see how focused i am when i am surrounded by a language that i purport to understand, in a country that i think i know so much about, when really neither is entirely true.
still, fucking excited.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Saturday, August 30, 2008
ha ha
i've been putting my old myspace blogs on here, so i can take them off of myspace. something about the fact of rupert murdoch owning the space that i feel like i can babble in does not sit right with me. not like blogger is so ideologically pure, either. still, feels slightly better.
they are all labeled as "past myspace." some are not up yet. i'm trying to make sure they are listed under the original time and date. pain in the ass. sigh.
still, feels good.
they are all labeled as "past myspace." some are not up yet. i'm trying to make sure they are listed under the original time and date. pain in the ass. sigh.
still, feels good.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
is there anybody alive out there?
i don't know how to write on computers. i have a problem with the concept. i was a fan, at a young age, of anne tyler, because the preliminary love scene in accidental tourist was the most awkwardly gorgeous thing i had ever encountered in my young young life. in college, while i was supposed to be reading something else, i clutched one of her mass market paperbacks in my hands as the admissions administrator leaned over the table in front of me, her big eyes startling me out of my own reverie.
"i love her, too. do you know," she said,"that she writes everything she publishes on legal pads in long hand?"
i did not know that. but my eyes widened in admiration, as i remembered all the papers that were demanded of me later that night, later that week. the admissions officer, after dropping that idea upon my head, looked into my eyes before turning, with great portent, to the stairs that led to the dining hall. i wanted to be able to have that confidence and, more importantly, to have someone else translate my handwriting to the printed word. those were the only words the admissions officer spoke to me, or the only words that i remember, despite dealings i had in her office later that year. the only thing i remember of her is curly, framing hair, and this short, one-sided conversation.
this was in a time that teetered on the border of then and now. i could have easily written my papers on typewriters, but even those were only peripherally available to the studious impoverished. i know that i did actually write a few papers on friends' typewriters. miserable, the process. i tend to change my mind a lot, and typewriters only lend themselves to that idea when the author has the time, or the presence of mind, to gently insist upon the finality of their end result. instead it was a far superior idea to borrow time on friends' computers, with word-processing programs barely adequate, even then, for the job. i found that with the luxury of constant editing, it took some time before i taught myself to refrain from editing to the point of nonsense. i have gradually learned, through practice, how to write on typewriters. but still, to this day, i have problems with writing directly to computers. sigh.
what this remnant of the past has to do with the very drunken and blurry now is almost a mystery. why this fragment occurred to me, though, is much clearer. my oldest friend in the world, a person that i apparently would drop everything for, a person who i would maybe perhaps die for, got in touch with me tonight. we haven't talked in 6 months, and i demand an infusion of his words into my brain periodically, to keep me traveling upon this path of life with a modicum of humility, or inspiration, or salvation. lately i have been starving for these things. i started to talk about my new weblog. i think he may have been confused, as i did not have the time to explain this site to him before he professed knowledge of what i was talking about. perhaps he is psychic. perhaps he was talking about something else, some lesser site where my ramblings are slight and diminished. it does not matter. what does matter is that he asked me, with worry of offense, if i planned for something ... well ... more. he wanted to know if i was planning to publish, if i was planning to make something of my brilliant talent.
he stammered over what he was sure was an uncomfortable question. actually, it is not. the answer is that i do not know. i don't know what the hell i am doing these days. i am happy to self-publish my grandiose words for the rest of my life. still, i often feel like i am forcing myself into missing something. perhaps i could get it together. perhaps there could be more.
i don't know. perhaps this blog is the first step in that idea of something else, something beyond.
"i love her, too. do you know," she said,"that she writes everything she publishes on legal pads in long hand?"
i did not know that. but my eyes widened in admiration, as i remembered all the papers that were demanded of me later that night, later that week. the admissions officer, after dropping that idea upon my head, looked into my eyes before turning, with great portent, to the stairs that led to the dining hall. i wanted to be able to have that confidence and, more importantly, to have someone else translate my handwriting to the printed word. those were the only words the admissions officer spoke to me, or the only words that i remember, despite dealings i had in her office later that year. the only thing i remember of her is curly, framing hair, and this short, one-sided conversation.
this was in a time that teetered on the border of then and now. i could have easily written my papers on typewriters, but even those were only peripherally available to the studious impoverished. i know that i did actually write a few papers on friends' typewriters. miserable, the process. i tend to change my mind a lot, and typewriters only lend themselves to that idea when the author has the time, or the presence of mind, to gently insist upon the finality of their end result. instead it was a far superior idea to borrow time on friends' computers, with word-processing programs barely adequate, even then, for the job. i found that with the luxury of constant editing, it took some time before i taught myself to refrain from editing to the point of nonsense. i have gradually learned, through practice, how to write on typewriters. but still, to this day, i have problems with writing directly to computers. sigh.
what this remnant of the past has to do with the very drunken and blurry now is almost a mystery. why this fragment occurred to me, though, is much clearer. my oldest friend in the world, a person that i apparently would drop everything for, a person who i would maybe perhaps die for, got in touch with me tonight. we haven't talked in 6 months, and i demand an infusion of his words into my brain periodically, to keep me traveling upon this path of life with a modicum of humility, or inspiration, or salvation. lately i have been starving for these things. i started to talk about my new weblog. i think he may have been confused, as i did not have the time to explain this site to him before he professed knowledge of what i was talking about. perhaps he is psychic. perhaps he was talking about something else, some lesser site where my ramblings are slight and diminished. it does not matter. what does matter is that he asked me, with worry of offense, if i planned for something ... well ... more. he wanted to know if i was planning to publish, if i was planning to make something of my brilliant talent.
he stammered over what he was sure was an uncomfortable question. actually, it is not. the answer is that i do not know. i don't know what the hell i am doing these days. i am happy to self-publish my grandiose words for the rest of my life. still, i often feel like i am forcing myself into missing something. perhaps i could get it together. perhaps there could be more.
i don't know. perhaps this blog is the first step in that idea of something else, something beyond.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
completely freaking me out
Current mood:confused
it's not a new thing, this finding old friends online. or old friends finding me. ever since the advent of these social networking sites, or rather ever since i succumbed to their evil allure, i have been approached, or have been approaching, people that i was possibly pretty sure were dead a long time ago. or i thought they were surely not on any site like this one, so lost to my sight. or i thought they were perhaps really unhappy with the idea of ever knowing my whereabouts again. so many possibilities.
what really freaks me out, though, is not that people keep popping back into my life, but the lack of any sort of effort to go beyond what myspace deems appropriate verbal intercourse. there is very little "i'm glad you're alive," a dearth of "good to see your face," absolutely no "do you still think that maybe you still hate me?" as i get older i want more resolution, and so many many more words, than most people on here are willing to strive towards.
or maybe that is not it. i have always been inappropriately verbose, except for when the situation demands it, so maybe i ask too much from such a site as this one. the few times i have met up with the long lost in person it has been enjoyable and exciting. so maybe this is just the first step.
there are so many people that left me with gaping holes, with aches of various kinds, with yearning and wounds and so much reaching. perhaps when i find them, or when they find me, i expect the world as i know it to implode with great force. i expect flying limbs and flaming walls and general destruction.
maybe, when that doesn't happen, i feel, maybe, a little let down. or i feel, maybe, like they weren't as curious, or aching, or yearning for news of me.
i wish everyone would go back to pens and paper. that way i could just sit and wonder "what ever happened to them?"
what really freaks me out, though, is not that people keep popping back into my life, but the lack of any sort of effort to go beyond what myspace deems appropriate verbal intercourse. there is very little "i'm glad you're alive," a dearth of "good to see your face," absolutely no "do you still think that maybe you still hate me?" as i get older i want more resolution, and so many many more words, than most people on here are willing to strive towards.
or maybe that is not it. i have always been inappropriately verbose, except for when the situation demands it, so maybe i ask too much from such a site as this one. the few times i have met up with the long lost in person it has been enjoyable and exciting. so maybe this is just the first step.
there are so many people that left me with gaping holes, with aches of various kinds, with yearning and wounds and so much reaching. perhaps when i find them, or when they find me, i expect the world as i know it to implode with great force. i expect flying limbs and flaming walls and general destruction.
maybe, when that doesn't happen, i feel, maybe, a little let down. or i feel, maybe, like they weren't as curious, or aching, or yearning for news of me.
i wish everyone would go back to pens and paper. that way i could just sit and wonder "what ever happened to them?"
 | Currently listening: Blank Generation By Richard Hell & the Voidoids Release date: 1990-05-18 |
Sunday, July 20, 2008
erin go bragh
i'm in the midst of crazy times, finding out that my workplace is not as safe as i hoped when a couple electronic devices of mine were stolen last week. i'm not really used to having multiple electronic devices, but the last 6 months or so have seen such things introduced into my life with startling suddenness. i was thinking, mere days before the theft, that there were too many fancy things in my life. well, someone engineered to take them away and bring me back down to my accustomed level.
the next day, the day after, i spent an hour yelling at at&t because they broke my heart. i felt like thin glass, and was entirely sick of crying. i decided to go for a drive, as i am currently car-sitting and the idea of driving with very little idea of destination is a ridiculous luxury that makes me feel happy and a little bit icky at the same time. it was an escape hatch for my teenage self, when the massachusetts roads were long and dark, and gasoline was cheap and plentiful and not really thought about all that much. when i got to the foyer of my building, on my way to the car, there was suddenly a fedex door tag with my name on it where there hadn't been one a mere two hours before. that wouldn't be so mysterious if the time on the tag hadn't been two hours before that, even, which was before i came home. so, yeah, package from heaven. i found out later that my housemate had found it on the floor where it had fallen, and re-attached it so i would be sure not to miss it. at the time, though, it felt like a gift from out of thin air.
i grabbed it with wild imaginary scenarios whirling through my head. what if someone found my camera or phone and somehow knew exactly where to send them? no, no, that doesn't make any sense. well, what if it had all been a prank? some supposed friend had taken my things, only to send them to me later, to teach me a lesson. no, no. absolutely ridiculous. i studied the information on the door tag. signature needed. ok. last name misspelled. vaguely amusing. pick up after 6, before 8, at an address i wasn't sure i could pinpoint on a map. slightly annoying.
i had a very foggy idea of the exact location of fedex headquarters in san francisco. as i jumped in the car at ten after 7 in the gray dusk, i pointed the car towards that foggy idea. my idea matched the air around me as the night grew its usual murky. i stopped at a pay phone and rang the fedex number, hoping for a human voice to direct me. it seemed so important, somehow, that i get that package as soon as humanly possible. if i missed the 8 pm cut-off, the melancholy would get me, and i would spend the evening in my room, sad, staring at the wall and wondering where my cell phone could possibly be right NOW. there was only a mechanical voice to tell me what i already knew, that there was a package with my name on it, out there, somewhere.
so, i vehicularly wandered through the bayview for about 2 minutes before i found the street i needed. unfortunately, i found the end of the street, blocks and blocks from the address i was seeking. it's the sort of street that is cut up mercilessly by bridges and train tracks and dead ends. how to find the correct segment? there were wrong turns, and cul de sacs populated only by skateboarders showing off their cool for no one to see. i finally lucked out when i ended up turning down a street i knew well, and allowed my eyes to follow a bicyclist in front of me, who seemed intent on entering a street to the left that i had always thought was just another dead end. it was, but at the dead center of the end i spied the corner of a familiar purple and orange logo.
i rushed in with fifteen minutes to spare. by this time, i had no idea what the package could possibly be. all of my fanciful ideas evaporating with each moment of searching. i stood and listened to this exchange between the two men in the office with me, who were also waiting for packages. the first was the bicyclist who had led the way for my eyes:
"hey, do you have verizon?"
"yeah"
"is your phone working? i haven't had service for, like, two weeks."
"whoah. yeah, my service is fine. you should probably call them."
"yeah, i'll give them a call. it's kind of hard to do, though, when you have no phone!"
buddum-bum-tsh.
thankfully the woman came back with my package, checked my ID, and handed it to me. when i saw how thin it was, i abandoned the last shred of ridiculous hope that it had anything to do with what had recently been stolen from me. once i had it in my hand, i glanced at the address and suddenly none of that mattered. irish consulate. fuck.
go back 4 years. go back to a time when i had just recently moved back to san francisco. it was election day, i remember. and i picked up a package from a very different place, a package that said "open upon warning of early snowfall." inside i found a note from my sister, proclaiming that, because we were the grandchildren of a taciturn and angry lady who we barely knew, but who happened to have been born in ireland, we could claim irish citizenship, and therefore EU citizenship. we could live most anywhere in europe, and work, and be happy. also in the package were all the papers that proved that i was a direct descendent of Ms. Bridget Doyle, born in county Kerry in 1901. there was also a check for the amount required to get a US passport, the first step in the process. my sister had gotten all of these papers together as an early christmas present. it was a lot. it was overwhelming.
i sat on those papers for three years before i finally had the ability to gather the rest of what i needed -- before i finally had the US passport, and the fee, and the notarized copies of my identification, etc. -- to put in my application. i had a lawyer friend of mine attest to my identity in the middle of a dark bar, his signature the very last thing i needed before sending it all in to the irish consulate. i was told it could take a year and a half. that was what i was expecting.
a little over seven months later, i was handed a package in the fedex building in san francisco and i lost my mind, just a little bit. i was sure it was a rejection notice. i'm not sure they send out rejection notices, but there you go. i had just had so many other things taken from me, that i was certain this was going to be added to the list. when i opened the package and read"i am pleased to inform you that your name has now been entered as an irish citizen in the foreign births registry held here at the consulate" i started to sob. again. such good news in the midst of so much else bad.
this entry began as the first hello on this blog-type thing. it veered from there because mere minutes before registering here, i had been looking online for anything i might want to know about the irish passport application, my next step on this long, long journey. what i found was a whole lot of entrepreneurs attempting to sell their books, or guides, or advice to a populace desperate for options. become an irish citizen! send me money! i lucked out, in that my sister had advice from someone who had gone through the process, and she then shared everything with my brother and i. i can't imagine how desperate i might feel if i didn't know what to do, and there were all these vultures offering their help, for only $29.95 and up.
it is a confusing process, and i could understand going to someone for expensive help, out of desperation or frustration. but the process itself is pricey, so why add to that cost? i want to give free advice, if i can, since capitalizing on that frustration is a bit abhorrent to me. the very first advice that i have is to contact the irish consulate near you. it has to go through the consulate in your region, so make sure you are contacting the correct one. there is a list here: http://irelandnow.com/consulates.html.
my sister said the one in boston is kind of unsettling, and she had to hand her papers and application through bulletproof glass. here in san francisco, they really discourage bringing the application in in person, they prefer you to mail it. there is still that bulletproof glass, but with smiling, trusting faces behind it. so, things are different all over.
the next piece of advice i have is that i believe you really can't claim citizenship if your great-grandparents were born in ireland, UNLESS your parent claimed their citizenship from what would be their grandparent before you were born. it doesn't matter that your grandparent would then be a citizen because they were born to irish citizens, which was the case at the time, because they have to actually have been born on irish soil. if one of your grandparents was born on irish soil, you can start the process.
the third important thing is to ask a lot of questions. it turns out that my irish citizenship is through my father, who i have had absolutely no contact with for 21 years. (whoah, our estrangement is old enough to drink) i have no desire to make contact. one of the requirements is a copy of the current ID for the parent you are claiming citizenship through. i asked the kind lady at the consulate here if there was anything i could do to waive that requirement, as my father was a violent man who i was glad to be rid of. i explained as much of the situation as felt comfortable. she was very nice and told me to write a letter explaining the situation in lieu of the ID. i did, and it was accepted. so, yeah, ask questions.
as this country gets more and more repressive, and less and less of us have any idea where to start doing something about that, it's nice to know i have the option to get out and easily live and work anywhere in the EU. i highly recommend the long, hard process. it is worth it for that piece of mind.
the next day, the day after, i spent an hour yelling at at&t because they broke my heart. i felt like thin glass, and was entirely sick of crying. i decided to go for a drive, as i am currently car-sitting and the idea of driving with very little idea of destination is a ridiculous luxury that makes me feel happy and a little bit icky at the same time. it was an escape hatch for my teenage self, when the massachusetts roads were long and dark, and gasoline was cheap and plentiful and not really thought about all that much. when i got to the foyer of my building, on my way to the car, there was suddenly a fedex door tag with my name on it where there hadn't been one a mere two hours before. that wouldn't be so mysterious if the time on the tag hadn't been two hours before that, even, which was before i came home. so, yeah, package from heaven. i found out later that my housemate had found it on the floor where it had fallen, and re-attached it so i would be sure not to miss it. at the time, though, it felt like a gift from out of thin air.
i grabbed it with wild imaginary scenarios whirling through my head. what if someone found my camera or phone and somehow knew exactly where to send them? no, no, that doesn't make any sense. well, what if it had all been a prank? some supposed friend had taken my things, only to send them to me later, to teach me a lesson. no, no. absolutely ridiculous. i studied the information on the door tag. signature needed. ok. last name misspelled. vaguely amusing. pick up after 6, before 8, at an address i wasn't sure i could pinpoint on a map. slightly annoying.
i had a very foggy idea of the exact location of fedex headquarters in san francisco. as i jumped in the car at ten after 7 in the gray dusk, i pointed the car towards that foggy idea. my idea matched the air around me as the night grew its usual murky. i stopped at a pay phone and rang the fedex number, hoping for a human voice to direct me. it seemed so important, somehow, that i get that package as soon as humanly possible. if i missed the 8 pm cut-off, the melancholy would get me, and i would spend the evening in my room, sad, staring at the wall and wondering where my cell phone could possibly be right NOW. there was only a mechanical voice to tell me what i already knew, that there was a package with my name on it, out there, somewhere.
so, i vehicularly wandered through the bayview for about 2 minutes before i found the street i needed. unfortunately, i found the end of the street, blocks and blocks from the address i was seeking. it's the sort of street that is cut up mercilessly by bridges and train tracks and dead ends. how to find the correct segment? there were wrong turns, and cul de sacs populated only by skateboarders showing off their cool for no one to see. i finally lucked out when i ended up turning down a street i knew well, and allowed my eyes to follow a bicyclist in front of me, who seemed intent on entering a street to the left that i had always thought was just another dead end. it was, but at the dead center of the end i spied the corner of a familiar purple and orange logo.
i rushed in with fifteen minutes to spare. by this time, i had no idea what the package could possibly be. all of my fanciful ideas evaporating with each moment of searching. i stood and listened to this exchange between the two men in the office with me, who were also waiting for packages. the first was the bicyclist who had led the way for my eyes:
"hey, do you have verizon?"
"yeah"
"is your phone working? i haven't had service for, like, two weeks."
"whoah. yeah, my service is fine. you should probably call them."
"yeah, i'll give them a call. it's kind of hard to do, though, when you have no phone!"
buddum-bum-tsh.
thankfully the woman came back with my package, checked my ID, and handed it to me. when i saw how thin it was, i abandoned the last shred of ridiculous hope that it had anything to do with what had recently been stolen from me. once i had it in my hand, i glanced at the address and suddenly none of that mattered. irish consulate. fuck.
go back 4 years. go back to a time when i had just recently moved back to san francisco. it was election day, i remember. and i picked up a package from a very different place, a package that said "open upon warning of early snowfall." inside i found a note from my sister, proclaiming that, because we were the grandchildren of a taciturn and angry lady who we barely knew, but who happened to have been born in ireland, we could claim irish citizenship, and therefore EU citizenship. we could live most anywhere in europe, and work, and be happy. also in the package were all the papers that proved that i was a direct descendent of Ms. Bridget Doyle, born in county Kerry in 1901. there was also a check for the amount required to get a US passport, the first step in the process. my sister had gotten all of these papers together as an early christmas present. it was a lot. it was overwhelming.
i sat on those papers for three years before i finally had the ability to gather the rest of what i needed -- before i finally had the US passport, and the fee, and the notarized copies of my identification, etc. -- to put in my application. i had a lawyer friend of mine attest to my identity in the middle of a dark bar, his signature the very last thing i needed before sending it all in to the irish consulate. i was told it could take a year and a half. that was what i was expecting.
a little over seven months later, i was handed a package in the fedex building in san francisco and i lost my mind, just a little bit. i was sure it was a rejection notice. i'm not sure they send out rejection notices, but there you go. i had just had so many other things taken from me, that i was certain this was going to be added to the list. when i opened the package and read"i am pleased to inform you that your name has now been entered as an irish citizen in the foreign births registry held here at the consulate" i started to sob. again. such good news in the midst of so much else bad.
this entry began as the first hello on this blog-type thing. it veered from there because mere minutes before registering here, i had been looking online for anything i might want to know about the irish passport application, my next step on this long, long journey. what i found was a whole lot of entrepreneurs attempting to sell their books, or guides, or advice to a populace desperate for options. become an irish citizen! send me money! i lucked out, in that my sister had advice from someone who had gone through the process, and she then shared everything with my brother and i. i can't imagine how desperate i might feel if i didn't know what to do, and there were all these vultures offering their help, for only $29.95 and up.
it is a confusing process, and i could understand going to someone for expensive help, out of desperation or frustration. but the process itself is pricey, so why add to that cost? i want to give free advice, if i can, since capitalizing on that frustration is a bit abhorrent to me. the very first advice that i have is to contact the irish consulate near you. it has to go through the consulate in your region, so make sure you are contacting the correct one. there is a list here: http://irelandnow.com/consulates.html.
my sister said the one in boston is kind of unsettling, and she had to hand her papers and application through bulletproof glass. here in san francisco, they really discourage bringing the application in in person, they prefer you to mail it. there is still that bulletproof glass, but with smiling, trusting faces behind it. so, things are different all over.
the next piece of advice i have is that i believe you really can't claim citizenship if your great-grandparents were born in ireland, UNLESS your parent claimed their citizenship from what would be their grandparent before you were born. it doesn't matter that your grandparent would then be a citizen because they were born to irish citizens, which was the case at the time, because they have to actually have been born on irish soil. if one of your grandparents was born on irish soil, you can start the process.
the third important thing is to ask a lot of questions. it turns out that my irish citizenship is through my father, who i have had absolutely no contact with for 21 years. (whoah, our estrangement is old enough to drink) i have no desire to make contact. one of the requirements is a copy of the current ID for the parent you are claiming citizenship through. i asked the kind lady at the consulate here if there was anything i could do to waive that requirement, as my father was a violent man who i was glad to be rid of. i explained as much of the situation as felt comfortable. she was very nice and told me to write a letter explaining the situation in lieu of the ID. i did, and it was accepted. so, yeah, ask questions.
as this country gets more and more repressive, and less and less of us have any idea where to start doing something about that, it's nice to know i have the option to get out and easily live and work anywhere in the EU. i highly recommend the long, hard process. it is worth it for that piece of mind.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
unsure ...
not sure if this is the thing for me, but i was talking to my housemate lee recently, and our conversation stumbled across the idea of blogs. it never occured to me, really, to take this sort of thing up, but somehow it suddenly seemed so appealing -- sending my words out into the aether to be gobbled up by whatever minds happen upon them. or rejected by whatever minds happen upon them. i've always kept journals, and this feels like a rather public extension of that necessity.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
the future is amazing
and somehow, there i was, actually staring at the new york times web page when the news came over the AP wire.
sigh.
it is sweet.
see you in hell, you right-wing bigot.
charlton heston (1924-2008)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
