A day in the life of Marcus

Hello, good readers.

the long break is over and like a ...something I return to... something that something somethings reluctantly.
...Remember, practice makes perfect - or, at the very least, competence. I took a lot of videos and pictures with some cameras. It's a lot to screen through and edit. So I know I promised, but that stuff will take some time yet. Thanksgiving came and went leaving most Americans stuffed, somewhat ironically, with stuffed bird and holiday spirit. I traveled to my Dad's new home in Ohio for a brief sojourn with the family. Our schedule was somewhat inconsistant. Having time to arrive on Monday night and just enough time to leave Thursday morning. After driving all day Thursday on Friday, at work I had time for some reflection.

I am an adult now. Not just in age or temperament or sentencing. But in a fundamental way. The things I want are trumped by the things I need. I have a sense of personal accountablity (which, previously, was limited to my own actions) that includes the effects of working or not working. I am in charge of all that goes on at WOI during my shift and my paying or not paying taxes effects people and people look to me for social cues and people have very real expectations of me to meet (or not) and very real consequences for those expectations.

As part of growing up (and older) is suddenly caring about society and politics.

But thats a different story...

Something new

I'm looking from something new to do.
Lately, I've been praticing recording things in my life. Specifically I got a camera. in looking for something to use it for, I became interested in seeing what I do - how I am reflected through the camera.
I'd hoped to find interest in other actions, the things around me. I still plan to.
Maybe it's vain, but I think it's a good project to start with.

Look for a post tomorrow - a prelude to recording

A sudden thought on Hipsters

I'm not sure why, but I my thoughts were suddenly beset upon by sociology of those peskily labeled "Hipsters." I guess it's pase to talk about it, even trivial. Well, I did anyway. Or started, rather. You see, what follows is a tale of terrifying journey into a world of magic, mystery a- oh, excuse me, I'm stuck at Halloween. Mine was awesome. I trust yours as well. I went to Omaha zoo dressed like a wolf.  Anyway, below is a terrifying journey into my thoughts about the movement.

Above all else, things that are rare and hard to find, are valuable and obtained not easily.
Further, that which people presive as real have the effect of being real.
for example, if a group perceives knowledge as valuable, then that group will think that knowledge is hard to gain. This is only true if you perceive the first course as real.

I suspect that these two clauses are fundimentally at the core of anti-hipsterism. Undoubtedly started by hipsters, Anti-hipsterism is the systematic breaking down and margializing of the 'hipster'. The hipster trend comes from people who see aspects of their own culture mixed, quite abundantly, with others and the effect that mixing has on social redefining. Fashion has been a mainstay of counter-hipsterism. The critique and despisement of "thier" fashion is notable. "hipsters" borrow alot from other movements. Punk influances attire, Grudge can be seen in elements of behavior. A presived peevishness can be attributed from hip/hop. clearly the outward idolization of individualism relates very strongly with 80s/90s Yuppie.

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I think this is where Hipsters draw the most flack from other social cultures. Especially with those they mimic the most. Punk, or Counter-culture, is often considered with Hipster. Much debate follows the notion of Punk being a livid social culture. Today, Punk carries a certain fatigue in character - a shared idea amoung the communities that Punk, real punk solid and true, has Moved On. To paraphrase NOFX, Punk rock became too safe - it has been Plasticized. Broken down by the odd machina of capitalist economics and sold bit by bit back to society. Capitalism trives in niche market - as a movement grows and morphs into  a social culture, it becomes marketed but the consuming habits of it's group. To be come significant in society, it is marked with it's own social codes and expectations. For the Counter-Culture movement, this was a complete rejection of the dominant norms and (to a lesser degree) values. The exact manifestion of Punk is unimportant, suffice to say that it requires a multi-generational idealogy constructed by shared influence.

A social culture tells us about a population's work. For Marx, work/labor was paramount. Labor, work = value. Hipsters deny work - for the image is rooted in a laissez faire attitude. To act to something strongly invites critique, to some degree. Hispster culture expects the individual to deride that they feel as trival by acting towards it in grandiose style. This is seen most prevenletly is "making an ironic statement." (though, it should be noted that no Hipster would advertise their specific reasons.)

A day in the life of Marcus

Oct. 28 2010

Today I participated in a psychological study!
For this particular study involved an EEG. for those not in the know, EEG stands for electroencephalogram. Not being proficient in greek (or is it latin?) I looked it up and was surprised to find it means exactly what I expected: A tool that records and measures the electrical activity in the brain through carefully placed electrodes.
Despite how it looks, the EEG cap is, in fact, not very comfortable. In order for the electrodes to detect the minute, split-second actions of your synapses, a specialized goo is placed between the electrode and where it contacts your head. After having my head thoroughly slathered with dielectric grease, I got to sit in front of a computer monitor and be recorded as I "played" some "games." I mean to use ironic quotes, because the "games" consisted of counting  and "played" refers to typing one of four keys. But thats not important.

I hardly felt much during the test, though at times I felt ...lightheaded? no, like when you get a whole bunch of hair cut off after having a shaggy do for awhile. A lightness around my scalp but offset by the presence of the cap. It was how imagined it would feel to have your mind read. A numb probe at the threshold of your perception like an evasive thought playing hide-n-seek in your mind.

Later, after the tests, the researcher took me to a place where I could shampoo the gel out. A nice young lady. thick brown curls peeking out from her red knit Cyclone hat.  She wants to study Biological Psychology which she attempted to explain to me in too short a time in too brief a conversation. While we walked and talked I felt the presence of the gel more. To me, I felt like my cognitive abilities, my thoughts where more subdued than usual. A short, if you will. Perhaps it is my active imagination, but I think that gel was interfering with my thinking. I cleaned my head and walked home (actually I biked, but walking sounds better). Once cleared of goo, I felt normalized.

...until this evening. You see, I made the mistake of scheduling this participation on the same day as my Psych Exam. Fortunately, the two events were, like, 10 hours apart so... no worries. I only mention this because during my exam I felt a familiar pang. The jab of electrodes. This time hot like a fresh bruise. These pangs weren't accompanied with that numb, airy feeling. No. Now separated from the grease, the ghostly electrodes pushed tangibly against my cranium. It was very distracting.

thanks for reading
-W. Marcus Miranti

Sunday morning

here I am Writing this blog I sit in early morning hour.
The station echoes with it's endless broadcast.
It is mute with noise.

SeeSaw

what goes up and down and up and down and up and down and up?

That's, right, my blog posts.
If you guessed a teeter totter, you get partial credit.

I really wanted to scribble a tall tale. I started, and that was great; but I've pick this habit of editing and revising while working and that is slowing me down greatly. As such, I've been working off and on and off this story for, like a week now. Anyway, I left the older, unedited unfinished version up. For those interested, I posted the finalized story here.

Thank you, for your patience. I've been struggling with focus recently more than normal. Planning is hard. even harder is acting.

A Tale So Possible It's True

I have been melancholy of late. In an effort of affect my blues, I'd like to speak today of something close to my heart. wine.

Yes, wine. It may surprise you, but my familiarity with the beverage dates to my earliest adventures. I am credited with saving an entire year's vintage from ruination as a youth. In actuality, it was my prodigious steed who saved that year's wine. she was a beautiful creature. the color of ash and spotted snow-white, like the granite topped mountains of New England. She was just old enough to saddle and I was just aged enough to ride. It was a sparkling spring in the American colonies. Talk of taxes and governance pursed everyone's lips. But not us. Concord and I rode blissfully up and down mountainous passes, too youth too care for politics, too naive to think about rebellion.  Mr. Delacroix, to whom I was employed, a rotund man cheerfully mustachioed was the premier viner of New France (I'm told, today it's called Vermont). 

A brawny voice boomed over the rows of vines, "Foutre! The day, she is beautiful! Abruti, boy where are you?" Mr. Delcrioux's English warbled heavily with french slurs, "Le vin, we must check the wine!" 

I, as I was most often at dawn, was in the barn collecting eggs from the chickens when I heard  Delacroix shouts. I saddled Concord and, with the eggs in hand rode to meet him near the cellar. 

"He's always like this in the spring." I reasurred Concord as I dismounted.

The viner wobbled about the the cellar with a taster of tokay in one hand and a sloshing glass of his prized chardonnay in the other. his night gown swirled about his short legs. I tiptoed down the cold, stone stairs. He whirled about and i gave a starteld cry. Delacroix's excited face was wreathed in an wild corna of thick, black hair. The egg basket tumbled from my hands.

"Merde boy! don't frighten a man like that!" he cried, "le cervau d'un sandwich au fromage! eggs in the cellar? to the house with you." Delacroix sipped the tokay. "you have that horse of yours with?" he smiled. "hurry, quick for some breakfest, I have an important task for you, mon grand."

I found Delacroix on the porch after a quick meal of croissant and preserve. Delacriox sent me on errand to Newport. I was to find a group of exotic traders and give them a sealed letter and directions to the farm. giddily, we set our sights to Newport.

The trip to was hardly adventureous. But to an eager lad and best freind in hoof, it was a trail forged beyond tale. I spun tall fables and epic poems of my heroic consqest through the hills of New France. the bards would caterwaul my deeds was they did for ledgends past. 'Lo!' they would sing 'hear now the tale of the boy- no the man -  who carried the message for Delacroix Vinery!' High above, my daydreams soars in a cloudless sky. Beneath bows spurting youthful leafs Concord's trot drew a hyonotic beat. The midday sun painted green the rocky path.

We reached Newport late in the day without incident. The tavern was easy to find, it's lanterns already lit in the reddening light of dust. 

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