Jared Diamond Collapse
Jonathan Haidt The Happiness Hypothesis
Charles Dickens Great Expectations
Slavoj Zizek Welcome to the Desert of the Real
Sophocles (trans J.E. Thomas) Antigone
Steven Pinker The Language Instinct
Ayn Rand We the Living Atlas Shrugged
John Steinbeck The Winter of Our Discontent
David Foster Wallace Infinite Jest
Daniel Quinn Ishmael
Roberto Bolano (trans Natasha Wimmer) The Savage Detectives
and hopefully within the year:
Herman Melville Moby Dick
Roberto Bolano (trans Natasha Wimmer) 2666
It's not making money or learning things or being happy
It's been almost two weeks of nothing. This afternoon I felt some kind of relief. There are two possible explanations. I realized that my purpose doesn't have to be myself. I also maybe took enough insulin, which can usually help. So, I'm looking for something great to give myself away to.
But the IJ wave seems like a good one
Well, I quit the textbook job so I could read my novel more. Don't know if I have the constitution to work in an office. Max says maybe I identify too much with whatever my job is. He might be right; most people in the world just work for money. I've been frustrated by the last two jobs where I've paid because I know English even while I generate little or no value because of the structural limitations on my role. I may just not be so good at surfing the colonialist wave.
Hey I got/kept the job anyways, so what?
So this house and job thing is an experiment which I'm not sure will really make me happy. I guess the idea of this is that it will make a healthy platform from which, with my few remaining hours, I can moderately pursue and enjoy my 'interests' I have to say I'm skeptical; but don't think I'm just setting myself up for failiure, I am actually curious to see if this can work. I'm pretty sure I can always go back to doing whatever the fuck I want to without regard for other people's sensibilities; I get more exercise that way.
The things I'm not supposed to say
I have a new room with Max in a shared apartment. It is small, with a loft that makes it like two tiny rooms. I am up on the loft where the three tiny screenless windows are. Even when I keep them closed, a couple mosquitoes come in at night, which really sucks. It is a bit sticky even on moderately cool days so I imagine it will be an intolerable sweatbox on real hot summer days, which could happen any time. The rent, which we're splitting, is US$300 a month. The landlord, turns out, actually lives here, so I still feel like a guest in someone else's home. He has forced me to buy new laundry soap because the one I had didn't say 'matic' on it. Also, we don't feel comfortable drying our clothes in the common area because of him. Cleaning ladies come twice a week. We have to find a new place next month because this is untenable. Still, this is the first time since we left Boston in February that I've arrived someplace knowing I'll be able to stay there for a whole month (and actually only the second time I will live in the same house for that long).
In October I made about $430 working at the English camps; same in November. Even though I didn't have a place in November, I still managed to spend $180 in cash and $100 more on my credit card. The rest of my October wages just went to rent, hopefully Max is getting paid tomorrow because we have about $10 in cash. Max could use his ATM card if we needed it; I can't because mine was stolen and I haven't activated the replacement yet. Fortunately or not, I can shop at chain groceries with my credit card. I can also shop at Burger King with my credit card, which is disgusting and I only did it twice.
Having just paid the minimum US$15 on my credit card, my current balance is $290 while the positive balance in my checking account is $405, so I am technically in the black still, though it's starting to scrape. I have to pay $100 for my replacement passport, for which I finally have all the documentation ready. But I am still going to collect November wages of $430, so I guess I'm not too hard up.
Most of my purchases in November were impulse food buys, which are unhealthy in so many ways. I realized two days ago, when the only thing I could buy was food, because I only had a credit card, that I felt like food was my only creative outlet. I wanted to cook because I didn't have anything else to do; and I wanted to eat so I wouldn't have to think about how I didn't have anything else to do.
Anyways, now I do have something else to do. Starting tomorrow I'm editing English grammar in math textbook solutions full time. My new boss asked me to call him first, so that he could tell me that at my interview I appeared 'extremely disheveled' and 'some of the girls noticed' my body odor. I guess he didn't notice my new, $60 shoes I bought specifically for the purpose of not looking extremely disheveled. Anyways, for $580 a month, I'll shower before going in, but I will not spray chemicals under my arms, sorry.
In October I made about $430 working at the English camps; same in November. Even though I didn't have a place in November, I still managed to spend $180 in cash and $100 more on my credit card. The rest of my October wages just went to rent, hopefully Max is getting paid tomorrow because we have about $10 in cash. Max could use his ATM card if we needed it; I can't because mine was stolen and I haven't activated the replacement yet. Fortunately or not, I can shop at chain groceries with my credit card. I can also shop at Burger King with my credit card, which is disgusting and I only did it twice.
Having just paid the minimum US$15 on my credit card, my current balance is $290 while the positive balance in my checking account is $405, so I am technically in the black still, though it's starting to scrape. I have to pay $100 for my replacement passport, for which I finally have all the documentation ready. But I am still going to collect November wages of $430, so I guess I'm not too hard up.
Most of my purchases in November were impulse food buys, which are unhealthy in so many ways. I realized two days ago, when the only thing I could buy was food, because I only had a credit card, that I felt like food was my only creative outlet. I wanted to cook because I didn't have anything else to do; and I wanted to eat so I wouldn't have to think about how I didn't have anything else to do.
Anyways, now I do have something else to do. Starting tomorrow I'm editing English grammar in math textbook solutions full time. My new boss asked me to call him first, so that he could tell me that at my interview I appeared 'extremely disheveled' and 'some of the girls noticed' my body odor. I guess he didn't notice my new, $60 shoes I bought specifically for the purpose of not looking extremely disheveled. Anyways, for $580 a month, I'll shower before going in, but I will not spray chemicals under my arms, sorry.
Fwd: The smell of Colonias
This was sent to everyone, but I'm pretty sure it was for me:
From: fernando.carro@ecolonias.com
Subject: The smell of Colonias
Date: Thu, 10 Sep 2009 14:43:44 -0300
From: fernando.carro@ecolonias.com
Subject: The smell of Colonias
Date: Thu, 10 Sep 2009 14:43:44 -0300
Dear Guys,
This is a secondary issue, but it requires our attention.
Looking tidy and smelling well should be something you do as part of your job. I don't mind that a lot. However, teachers do.
I would appreciate if you could make sure you bring toiletries, shave, look and smell clean. We are running around, sweating a lot and, of course, smelling accordingly.
Ecolonias could sponsor the effort by buying some deodorant.
Thanks for understanding,
Fernando
COLONIAS DE INMERSION AL IDIOMA
Creating educational adventures since 1988
And then in November, he told me he'd received another complaint. I'm glad he didn't 'sponsor the effort' though, because that shit is odious.
Proceeding with another exercise in shamelessness
In August, Max checked in with good old TMV from Cagalandia, this is what he said:
But then again, I wrote this in June:
Although I didn't send it to him, maybe I should.
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: thomas verster <globetrottter@hotmail.com>
Date: Thu, Sep 17, 2009 at 5:45 PM
Subject: RE: Greetings From Max
To: max hartshorn <max.hartshorn@gmail.com>
Hi Max, you were the good guy , but matthew was a headache
From: thomas verster <globetrottter@hotmail.com>
Date: Thu, Sep 17, 2009 at 5:45 PM
Subject: RE: Greetings From Max
To: max hartshorn <max.hartshorn@gmail.com>
Hi Max, you were the good guy , but matthew was a headache
I don´t think i will ever more allow that kind of situation to develop ....
As a group you broke 3 axes directly and one was screwed up by matthew
is already cracking and in return you all were not able to produce a single replacem,ent .
I have fixed them all now .....I can operate fine alone ..
I also would like to know if Matthew took an axe along and left it ....on the path he was supposedly going to make to the seaside ......i have no idea .
i found Matthew.s improvised tent and all the materials he took without ever asking me
as also food became self service
The only one i could appreciate is YOU ....you were actually willing to help and run over and lend a hand
so to you THANKS , Matthew never again please
I do need to find someone to take care of my land from Dec to Feb 2010
You are welcome as you did not impose like matthey , but matthew , no kidding
never again . Some french girls came afterwards ....they were a complete contrast ....
so kind and helpful ....then i realized the difference was like night and day .-
So anyway have fun ......learn a lot ......if you want to come again some day , you are welcome but only with the guarantee that matthew stays far away
OK smile , i have to be honest about this
ciao
Thomas
But then again, I wrote this in June:
While I was making my money in Japan selling tsoskies on the street, they had a saying in Japanese:
"Every grody old man who made his money selling tsoskis on the street deserves a perfect little Japansese girl to be his wife and servant forever."
I just have to say things when I see them. One thing is that none of you is a Japanese girl.
I don't know where you got the idea that you could just come here and eat my food and work on my land. Maybe it's because I said on various websites that you could, and reinforced this impression in subsequent emails and by transporting you, and food for you to eat, to my land.
But I everything would be much easier and faster if I did it alone. It's only for strategic reasons that I allow you people to be here and take tea with milk and learn about Awareness with me:
First, your human smell helps keep away Puma.
Second, I'm a lonely, grody, crazy old man who wants to be dicking a young, lithe, obedient Japanese girl. But it would be awkward for me to say that only little Japanese girls can come to my land.
I think if I said that then nobody except the theiving Latin fisherman of Raul Marin would come to my land, and then only while I'm away in Japan for three months every year looking for a wife.
...or at least a fucking cum dumpster. That Megumi sat here and let rats eat my tools for three months, and then she leaves the day after I return without even considering an opportunity for pleasure.
I am so tired of my own right hand. When you do it in the same, optimal way every three days for twenty-five years it can be extremely dangerous.
Listen: you need to hold it like this, with this finger on this nerve, here, and the thumb back here to provide opposing pressure.
But Look: look at these bloody callouses, these are why I need a little Japanese girl. I've considered changing my grip but this is the only right way; it's just that my fingers have too much force and are hard as Luma.
I doubt you could even achieve orgasm with any other technique, I've never heard of it.
If I ever again get a little Japanese girl to do me, instead of some discusting Latin, here in my sleeping bags--this isn't a hotel you know I have to wash them! I'm going to teach her this way to hold me first.
Then, when she can bring me off in thirty seconds, just as I do for myself at nine o'clock in the evening every three days, only then will I submit myself to her tiny Japanese box.
Hopefully she can learn to flex her kiegle muscles into the same, optimal grip; and also maybe she will orgasm with me in thirty seconds at nine o'clock in the evening every three days. But if not, I'm sure I can teach her to.
"Every grody old man who made his money selling tsoskis on the street deserves a perfect little Japansese girl to be his wife and servant forever."
I just have to say things when I see them. One thing is that none of you is a Japanese girl.
I don't know where you got the idea that you could just come here and eat my food and work on my land. Maybe it's because I said on various websites that you could, and reinforced this impression in subsequent emails and by transporting you, and food for you to eat, to my land.
But I everything would be much easier and faster if I did it alone. It's only for strategic reasons that I allow you people to be here and take tea with milk and learn about Awareness with me:
First, your human smell helps keep away Puma.
Second, I'm a lonely, grody, crazy old man who wants to be dicking a young, lithe, obedient Japanese girl. But it would be awkward for me to say that only little Japanese girls can come to my land.
I think if I said that then nobody except the theiving Latin fisherman of Raul Marin would come to my land, and then only while I'm away in Japan for three months every year looking for a wife.
...or at least a fucking cum dumpster. That Megumi sat here and let rats eat my tools for three months, and then she leaves the day after I return without even considering an opportunity for pleasure.
I am so tired of my own right hand. When you do it in the same, optimal way every three days for twenty-five years it can be extremely dangerous.
Listen: you need to hold it like this, with this finger on this nerve, here, and the thumb back here to provide opposing pressure.
But Look: look at these bloody callouses, these are why I need a little Japanese girl. I've considered changing my grip but this is the only right way; it's just that my fingers have too much force and are hard as Luma.
I doubt you could even achieve orgasm with any other technique, I've never heard of it.
If I ever again get a little Japanese girl to do me, instead of some discusting Latin, here in my sleeping bags--this isn't a hotel you know I have to wash them! I'm going to teach her this way to hold me first.
Then, when she can bring me off in thirty seconds, just as I do for myself at nine o'clock in the evening every three days, only then will I submit myself to her tiny Japanese box.
Hopefully she can learn to flex her kiegle muscles into the same, optimal grip; and also maybe she will orgasm with me in thirty seconds at nine o'clock in the evening every three days. But if not, I'm sure I can teach her to.
Although I didn't send it to him, maybe I should.
um, more later
I went to an RC gathering today for the first time in ten months- good to discharge and make connections. I'm staying at the unfriendly hostel until we move to barrio Once on Monday. I have this weird physical feeling of exhaustion- it might be the skin infection flaring again, but fortunately I can take showers as much as I want this time. I very well may start full time editing textbook solutions next week, in addition to having an apartment- I hope I can just zone into it in the air-conditioned office and make pesos. I think my bg is low actually- I wonder if it was the same thing last night. I am working on doing research instead of just passing time.
chicken
Just had thanksgiving for reals you guys. Don't worry about me too hard there, Max and I are also appearently moving into a room with a loft on Monday. Worked three camps in a row and there's only one more this season, mid december. Might have a job but need a computer for it: I am thinking ecc with a full keyboard to plug in.
I feel connected, I like the people I work with at colonias and the people I know in the world in general. I may eat and drink too much, and discharge quite infrequently, but it seems I will just be ok. I don't miss home, I'm glad not to be there, based on Mom's description. Having bought into life here for a while longer, I am feeling ready to set things up rather than just slip day to day. We'll see what happens.
I feel connected, I like the people I work with at colonias and the people I know in the world in general. I may eat and drink too much, and discharge quite infrequently, but it seems I will just be ok. I don't miss home, I'm glad not to be there, based on Mom's description. Having bought into life here for a while longer, I am feeling ready to set things up rather than just slip day to day. We'll see what happens.
camping
Just got back from my second camp in a row, leaving for the third in 10 hours! We really did a shit job on this last one I think, but on the bus home I heard a girl saying it was the best camp ever. Who can say. I do really like the people I work with.
Max probably found us a place, so, maybe my homeless time is ending. I hope so. Also, I didn't get the job editing math textbooks, but hell, I wasn't clear I wanted it. I am not clear what I want in specific. When people ask, I produce these generalities: I want to use my body; I want to have strong, lifelong relationships with people I love; well, there are more that I will add later.
problems
So one hour before we're scheduled to leave town this evening for a camp starting tomorrow, I recieve word that we're not going until 6:00 tomorrow morning. What am I supposed to do with that? I guess I could go back to the unfriendly hostel and pay my twelve dollars for six hours in bed, maybe that would be the reasonable thing to do; I'm certainly not saving any money being homeless this week, I've been laying out left and right for marathon internet stints and compulsive foodstuffs. I went to the hostel but found that Max isn't there tonight so I walked away: I just hate the way the proprietress looks at me.
The truth, I think, is that I still desperately want someone to rescue me. Someone to tell me it's alright, to take my life in hand for a minute and remove this overwhelming responsiblility of self-determination. My dad offered to help me buy a ticket home, though I do have enough credit to buy it myself. But I have no idea what I'd do there, except sink into lethargic rescuedness. I remember getting into town from a camp three weeks ago and calling my couchsurfing host for that week; he unexpectedly offered to meet me at the bus station, and I didn't tell him that I knew my way around and would be perfectly capable of finding his place on my own. As I waited for him to come rescue me, I felt a dimming of my peripheral vision, a surrender to helplessness which lasted for the entire four days of my visit. I wanted Max to rescue me tonight, even though I don't know what he could really do: let me stay for free surrupticiously?
I need somewhere to go back to each night where I don't feel bad, plaza del congresso doesn't fit the bill, neither does the internet cafe in Once, neither does the hostel, neither does this internet place. I hope I get the textbook solution editorial job I interviewed for today, because then I could afford a room. Maybe I really do have to live alone to get over this helpless shit. As I told the pretty, drunk girls at the hostel last night: I would be happy to paint your nails and bake you bread all day. As I didn't continue: as long as you can tell me where to live and what to do with my life right now.
The truth, I think, is that I still desperately want someone to rescue me. Someone to tell me it's alright, to take my life in hand for a minute and remove this overwhelming responsiblility of self-determination. My dad offered to help me buy a ticket home, though I do have enough credit to buy it myself. But I have no idea what I'd do there, except sink into lethargic rescuedness. I remember getting into town from a camp three weeks ago and calling my couchsurfing host for that week; he unexpectedly offered to meet me at the bus station, and I didn't tell him that I knew my way around and would be perfectly capable of finding his place on my own. As I waited for him to come rescue me, I felt a dimming of my peripheral vision, a surrender to helplessness which lasted for the entire four days of my visit. I wanted Max to rescue me tonight, even though I don't know what he could really do: let me stay for free surrupticiously?
I need somewhere to go back to each night where I don't feel bad, plaza del congresso doesn't fit the bill, neither does the internet cafe in Once, neither does the hostel, neither does this internet place. I hope I get the textbook solution editorial job I interviewed for today, because then I could afford a room. Maybe I really do have to live alone to get over this helpless shit. As I told the pretty, drunk girls at the hostel last night: I would be happy to paint your nails and bake you bread all day. As I didn't continue: as long as you can tell me where to live and what to do with my life right now.
I don't know if things are going well
Once again, it's all in my head. I had a pretty good job interview, but I felt real nervous afterwards. They kind of need/say they want me to have a laptop and I don't. Anyways, I have continued my week of rash spending on chocolate and cream and this dollar-an-hour internet place. I've resoponded to a bunch of rooms posted so Max and I can get a place, but I haven't heard anything yet, obviously people prefer singles to doubles when it comes to roomates.
This afternoon, I feel like I want to go home again. Up till last night, I was on a high, sure that everything here was working out. My head is a tough read these days. I'm going to camp again tonight... if stability is what I'm needing, it has not yet arrived.
After being mildly discusted by the tenedor libre in Once, I cooked for myself yesterday and was pleased witht the result for the first time in a while. Browned onions and acelga, added late a bit of garlic, alot of ginger, a little salt and, get this: two peeled, chopped nectarines right at the end, dominating the dish with delicious, sweet tanginess. Served over brown rice, had to serve twice.
Mood swiNG
I stuffed my face at the veggie buffet last night and then came and sat down here, been at this computer for just about 16 hours now. Spent most of the night simultaneously playing minesweeper and watching professional starcraft match replays to keep myself awake (no sleeping allowed in the internet cafe).
Woke up from my numbing haze a few hours ago because I saw I have a job interview tomorrow to work on editing an English math textbook being adapted by an outsourcing company down here. Now I need to buy shoes and get lots of sleep, so I'm headed back to the unfriendly hostel to sack out as soon as possible (suddenly there are so many things to do).
My mood is really tied up in food and work (and blood sugar level, right now 152). SURVIVAL: the truth is that we evolved for it, occasional rationality is a fringe benefit.
Woke up from my numbing haze a few hours ago because I saw I have a job interview tomorrow to work on editing an English math textbook being adapted by an outsourcing company down here. Now I need to buy shoes and get lots of sleep, so I'm headed back to the unfriendly hostel to sack out as soon as possible (suddenly there are so many things to do).
My mood is really tied up in food and work (and blood sugar level, right now 152). SURVIVAL: the truth is that we evolved for it, occasional rationality is a fringe benefit.
Good another morning
I woke up on the sidewalk this morning, a few blocks from the internet
cafe. The cool, damp breeze blowing over my cheek, sucking away my
warmth, aroused a strange mixture of hunger and anger in me. Since
writing yesterday, I'd only eaten two more chocolate bars and half a
pack of crackers; maybe today is the day for pan-asian buffet. It's
possible that, three nights out, the discomfort of this situating is
starting to get to me. I thought about how nice it would be to have
my sleeping bag, but then I though about how that woud double the
weight and volume I'm carrying. My legs were cold, my jacket took
care of the rest. Blood sugar 271.
cafe. The cool, damp breeze blowing over my cheek, sucking away my
warmth, aroused a strange mixture of hunger and anger in me. Since
writing yesterday, I'd only eaten two more chocolate bars and half a
pack of crackers; maybe today is the day for pan-asian buffet. It's
possible that, three nights out, the discomfort of this situating is
starting to get to me. I thought about how nice it would be to have
my sleeping bag, but then I though about how that woud double the
weight and volume I'm carrying. My legs were cold, my jacket took
care of the rest. Blood sugar 271.
I spent 14 hours straight at the 24hr internet cafe yesterday, I was
just dicking around some of the time, but I got motivated to rewrite
my resume to apply for math textbook editing, so I did that. I had
actually arranged to hang out with Max at his unfriendly hostel and
then shower and sleep at my friend's happy community house nearby, but
as the evening progressed I just didn't feel like dealing with the
social implications of either encounter. I also didn't feel like
interrupting my resume project, so I ended up cancelling both. One of
the things about bathing is that then I have to put back on the same
dirty clothes, which makes it feel pointless. I carry laundry soap
with me and can wash stuff pretty quick in the sink, but then I need a
place to dry it.
I concluded long ago the comfort, convenience, and efficiency are not
valid ends in themselves, though they can be empowering in reaching
other goals. Thus I may be deciding to stay here even though the
summer promises to be oppressively hot and humid. Thus I decided to
sleep out last night.
Good morning
I slept outside amongst some pallets of bricks last night after signing off at 2245hrs. I woke up at 0550hrs because it was full sunlight and trains were going past and I was worried the supply yard would open; I see why daylight savings time is done, even if it's a logistical pain. I found a bench on the sidewalk and lay there for an hour. I walked about fifteen blocks, bought and ate a package of alfahors, but not because I was hungry, got on the subway but got off after three stops because it was hot and I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I wanted to use my credit card to buy food so I walked until I found a grocery store and bought five chocolate bars and a liter of milk. I ate one and drank the milk on a small retaining wall on the sidewalk in the shade around the corner.
I thought about a plan for returning to Boston. My dad found a cheap ticket I could by to New York. I could finish my bachelors in ath at UMass Boston; I could work(?) and live in Dorchester again.
I thought about a plan for staying here. Max and I found a cheap apartment available 1 December. I have a wad of sweaty, under-the-table cash with which I was partially compensated for my work in October yesterday so I could put down the deposit anytime. I could keep working, maybe get a job as a real English teacher, stay in better contact with folks I now know in this city.
I felt itchy. I though about a plan for today and this week. I coud go check into the unfriendly hostel and shower and wash my clothing. The secret weekly price is competitive (the nightly price is exorbitant). I could make it a point to go out alot anyways.
The climate for the next three months here is going to be uncomfortably hot and wet. The climate for the next three months in Boston is going to be uncomfortably cold and wet. I thought about a plan for going back to El Bolson for the summer. I could do physical labor and eat vegetables and be outside and spend very little.
I realized I was happy for the moment to lie on the cool, macroscopically clean sidewalk at 1000hrs as the day started. The camping store on the frontage I occupied was opened by a clean, rugged-looking young man.
I thought about money. How much I'd spent unnecessarilly in the day and a half since I got back into town, simply for not having anything to do. Maybe if I dan't finished my novel, I would have spent, and eaten, less.
I thought about the things I'd had stolen. How I needed a new insulated, refigerable container for my insulin, a new headlight, a new wearable container for my cards and cash, and a new shoulder bag to put this stuff in.
I walked to the same old internet cafe because I had some vague reason to go there and no reason to go anywhere else.
I thought about a plan for returning to Boston. My dad found a cheap ticket I could by to New York. I could finish my bachelors in ath at UMass Boston; I could work(?) and live in Dorchester again.
I thought about a plan for staying here. Max and I found a cheap apartment available 1 December. I have a wad of sweaty, under-the-table cash with which I was partially compensated for my work in October yesterday so I could put down the deposit anytime. I could keep working, maybe get a job as a real English teacher, stay in better contact with folks I now know in this city.
I felt itchy. I though about a plan for today and this week. I coud go check into the unfriendly hostel and shower and wash my clothing. The secret weekly price is competitive (the nightly price is exorbitant). I could make it a point to go out alot anyways.
The climate for the next three months here is going to be uncomfortably hot and wet. The climate for the next three months in Boston is going to be uncomfortably cold and wet. I thought about a plan for going back to El Bolson for the summer. I could do physical labor and eat vegetables and be outside and spend very little.
I realized I was happy for the moment to lie on the cool, macroscopically clean sidewalk at 1000hrs as the day started. The camping store on the frontage I occupied was opened by a clean, rugged-looking young man.
I thought about money. How much I'd spent unnecessarilly in the day and a half since I got back into town, simply for not having anything to do. Maybe if I dan't finished my novel, I would have spent, and eaten, less.
I thought about the things I'd had stolen. How I needed a new insulated, refigerable container for my insulin, a new headlight, a new wearable container for my cards and cash, and a new shoulder bag to put this stuff in.
I walked to the same old internet cafe because I had some vague reason to go there and no reason to go anywhere else.
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