there is nothing wrong with making fun your life goal.
pozele astea sint doar de simbata 17 pina duminica 25. proof ca orientarea mea e corecta:)))
my orientation towards fun gets me messages like the one i got last week:
Just wanted u to know ca m-am mutat Ma rog, you probably know at this point si voiam sa va spun mai devreme numai ca am tot amanat asta But still, I feel like you’ve been one of the greatest teachers I’ve ever had and I feel really grateful for the fact that I had the opportunity to spend a year and a half with you!!
whenever in doubt about my fun-oriented orientation, i look at the diamond-milliondollar smile al acestui kitchen boy,si trec din nou prin poveste cu el. si la sfirsit rid si-l iubec, si mi-aduc aminte ca daca orientarea ta e sa faci chestii care sa le demostreze celor din jur ca esti om serios si in nici un caz penibil sau doamne fereste imatur, chances are that u will end up living a pretty miserable sorry life and that you will miss out on so much... fun:)
povestea din cantec e asa: baiatul asta e soup boy, adica munceste in bucataria unui restaurant., si intro zi vede in restaurantul unde munceste el o gagica (alba) cum se uita la el cu maxim dispret in timp ce soarbe plictisita (dar cu eleganta si distinctie etc) din paharul cu vin. si soup boy asta ii zice 'why this kolaveri di?'- adica de ce atita raceala si dispret, gorgeous? (multumiri lui ovidiu care, indragostindu-se de cantec si zimbet la fel de mult ca mine, a facut umpic de research si mi-a explicat care e povestea acum vreo doi (trei?!) ani.)
this boy is having a go, cand il decopera niste produceri. cintecul e trist de fapt,but he's having fun with it. la final nu-ti ramine nici un aftertaste de amaraciune, doamne-fereste hatereala.
i bet you most days he finds something to have a go at, just. for. the. love. of. fun.
making fun your life goal nu inseamna sa te doara la basca, sa cauti 'distractii' in disperare, sa dai ochii peste cap cind apare o chestie importanta.
in anii 90 foloseam 'sexy' pe post de 'misto'. toata lumea ridea umpic asa, cu un aer de 'vai roxana esti incorigibila' - dar eu ziceam sexy pur si simplu pe post de misto, si atit. nici macar nu cred ca-mi venise mie ideea, cred ca auzisem/vazusem asta intr-un film, and i totally got it. e sexy sa zici sexy when u mean misto. would be nice if more people tried it, i bet you we would have way less tabooization of sex if people could say sexy without the notion off fucking even remotely crossing their mind.
anyways, back to what fun is.
this soup boy who does kolaveri is fun.
the lgbt football championship.
all the social and political theatre shows i catch - love replika and macaz for eveeeeeeer!
married marian and gabriel are fun - a fucking riot, actually!
coaching ilici is fun.
talking to a lesbian high school student about her maybe doing a gig with DoR is fun.
putting together a fundraiser with popeasca so he can piss off to denmark sooner - where he can present himself as himself without the risk of being attacked, judged, or taken by his mom to a shrink who is, ofc, un crestinopat.
this book about addiction is fun - anitza, it's actually GOOOOLD, u the beeeeeeeeeeeest <3
cant wait to do this passage at school with the kids next week:
I believe that the disease idea is wrong, and that its wrongness is compounded by a biased view of the neural data—and by doctors’ and scientists’ habit of ignoring the personal. It’s an idea that can be replaced, not by shunning the biology of addiction but by examining it more closely, and then connecting it back to lived experience. Medical researchers are correct that the brain changes with
addiction. But the way it changes has to do with learning and development— not disease. Addiction can therefore be seen as a developmental cascade, often foreshadowed by difficulties in childhood,
always boosted by the narrowing of perspective with recurrent cycles of acquisition and loss. Like other developmental outcomes, addiction isn’t easy to reverse, because it rides on the restructuring
of the brain. Like other developmental outcomes, it arises from neural plasticity, but its net effect is a reduction of further plasticity, at least for a while. Addiction is a habit, which, like many other habits,
gets entrenched through a decrease in self-control. Addiction is definitely bad news for the addict and all those within range. But the severe consequences of addiction don’t make it a disease, any more than the consequences of violence make violence a disease, or the consequences of racism make racism a disease, or the folly of loving thy neighbour’s wife makes infidelity a disease. What they make it is a very bad habit.
and all of these things have a serious, sometimes painful or risky, understratum.
and you ask yourself 'okay so what do i do about this now?'
and you answer yourself 'what the hell do i know? lets just have some fun'
so you do.
in loc de ruth ozeki (n-am terminat-o, o legumesc cum faci cu cartile alea care iti plac mult mult), un entry about last night.
aseara am fost la arthub, la lectura publica a textului spaghete cu paine, scris (si citit) de fifea.
ma tin de mult sa-mi notez asta aici: mie fifea mi se pare un tip super true.
omu' nu se fabrica/incearca sa se prezinte/ambaleze ca ceva ce nu e, indiferent cit de greu ii e sa supravietuiasca. are stive de talent, si stive de omenie, cu tot ce inseamna asa: farmec, forta, lene, egoism, incapatanare, perseverenta, slabiciune umana. tandrete, smecherie, draci, spontaneitate, (i)responsabilitate.
fifea e in egala masura rara avis si figura tipica a actorului/artistului din zona de teatru social, politic si independent. e unic si special pentru ca nu-i mai e frica de cuvinte (cum singur zice) - iar asta (zic eu) e pentru ca nu-i mai e frica de jenibilul precaritatii materiale cu care, (si) ca artist independent in rominia, dormi in pat si umbli de mina pe strada, mereu cu ochii la ea, like she was your fucking sugar mama or something.
fifea are un flavour care miroase in egala masura a coaie, disperare si ceva bun-bun-de-tot care te loveste cind ti-e lumea mai draga - si cind te loveste ori te caci pe tine ris in timp ce iti stergi pe furis o lacrima, ori ramii mut. incremenit de pietate in fata celei mai monumentale si umile umanitati.
fifea e un samurai care din cind in cind isi pune costum de clovn ca sa mai scoata un ban de-o paine. uneori isi pune costumul asta chiar in timp ce face o treaba de samurai - gen, fix cind iti vine tie gindul asta in cap - mama ce samurai e asta, coae - pac! se intrerupe transmisiunea cu un scurt numar de clovnerie marca 'stati ca stiu si bancuri' sau 'ficat fortificat cu fikatfortifikat', scurt asa, max juma' de minut - dupa care pac! in fata ta apare iar samuraiul care te ucide te face praf te da prin toate bubele si mucii si mizeriile pe care le ai pitite prin cap, chiloti, inima - si dupa aia te ia si te curata si te face gigea inapoi si te pupa pe frunte. si dupa aia sinteti frati de respiratie de povara de ris si de plins si de bagat pula si de luat de la capat.
l-am rugat acu' pe fb sa-mi trimita si mie cind ajunge la un calculator o bucatica din textul de aseara, adica din urmatorul one-man show marca fifea - sa-l pun aici, sa ma-ntorc la el cind vreau sa-mi aduc aminte cum e gustu' de samurai-clovn.
Sunt țigări la bucată, sunt vinul vărsat luat din piață, sunt berea fără nume de la Mega Image, sunt telefonul Xuawei cu prelungirea abonamentului pe încă doi ani, sunt țigările fără timbru luate de pe stradă. Sunt o pereche de Uggshi pâna la prima ninsoare, sunt pâinea de 70 de bani, sunt pastele cu aromă de ou, pot conține urme de lapte, sunt plasticul în care parinții tăi înveleau telecomanda, canapeaua_stil, preșul de la intrare, viatza.
citesc o carte misto de ruth ozeki. imi aduce aminte stilul lui tim - cu care am avut acum vreo 10 ani conversatia de mai jos. din cind in cind ma intorc la ea, ca sa mi-aduc aminte ce-am invatat atunci.
o pun la pastrare aici, in jurnal, sa-mi fie mai la indemina cind oi avea nevoie.
data viitoare a taste of ruth ozeki.
domnule, may i have an autograph?
i really need one, im depressed. and you're clearly on your way to becoming a world-acclaimed author.
what is depression?
im turning 39 tomoro and im thinking that if i can crack a good answer to that question (i.e. an answer that identifies causes, mechanisms and solutions) then i can enjoy the festivities that my colleagues put on every year with much ado. i guess it's worth a full hour's thinking - because i have decided im taking a long reading bath at 6 and then im in bed at 8. yes, im that depressed.
so here we go:
but i cant do it.
i have been typing and deleting for 20 minutes and im not getting anywhere with this.
ill be back.
i cant decide between clark and maurice as my favourite. id have a one night stand with huffy.
sinziana is leaving on 3 august, keep fingers crossed all goes well with that, i really need it to, we all do.
miss am is covering for me at cosbuc and care, aint that somethin?
Those who merit paradise this day are happily employed.
OK, here’s an autograph.
Meanwhile, the best definition I ever heard of depression was that depression is when the person you are on the outside is not a true reflection of who you are on the inside, that you’ve become a fraud to the world and you’re afraid or ashamed to be yourself. And you don’t see the value in yourself and you’re convinced that no one would love you if they really knew you.
The one other thing I think you need to know about depression is that there is endogenous and exogenous depression. If you are convinced that your life would be fine if only [something] then you’re probably having exogenous depression and you’ll get over it. If you see everything as futile, nothing will help, yes, there’s lots could be fixed, but you’ll still feel bad, then maybe you’re having endogenous depression. Endogenous depression is really insidious. It feeds on itself and it eats you from the inside.
I was stuck in a depression once for more than two years. I took antidepressants, but they were an earlier generation of drugs, before this anti-serotonin uptake drugs (or whatever they are) that are so popular today. It seems today that an awful lot of people are on antidepressants. I think probably most of them shouldn’t be, and I think that most of them, once they start taking antidepressants, will never get off them. That, I think, is not good.
I got out of my depression by seeing a therapist, but I hesitate to recommend that to people. I don’t trust people easily. I especially don’t trust strangers easily. You have to have a therapist who is a stranger. Friends won’t do. You can’t tell your guilty secrets to a friend. You have to tell them to someone who you know won’t judge you, and, since you can’t know a stranger that well, it ends up having to be someone who don’t care if they will judge you. I was lucky. I hit, by sheer dumb luck, on a guy who was really right for me. I didn’t care what he thought of me, I told him all my guilty secrets, bit by bit, he didn’t judge me, but eventually I began to worry about what he thought of me. That is, when I started to make progress, it was because I was afraid of boring Henry. That is, one of the big problems with depression is that you get into loops. You obsess about the same things week after week, but until you start telling someone what’s on your mind, you don’t realize how banal and repetitive your thinking is. When you realize that you’re saying the same things week after week, you begin to rethink some things and you begin to get out of your rut.
So that’s what I know about depression.
Do you think Sinziana’s imminent leaving is part of this? It could be, but I’m guessing it’s not central. I agree that it’s important for Sinziana to do this. It will change her life, even if she hates it and returns to Romania with a vow never to leave again, it will open her eyes and change her life. I think she’ll do fine. She has good survival skills. But that’s the fear every parent has, isn’t it? Our babies have to leave before we are sure they are ready.
I’d like to help you with your depression if it continues. I’m not sure I know how. It ends up being healing that only the victim can do for herself.
‘Mambletoves’ really is based on a sentimental memory I have of my father going off to work when I was 2-3 years old. I would stand in the window and wave goodbye and call out ‘I love you and like you’ (somehow I knew those were different concepts) and he would turn and wave and repeat it back to me, then he’d turn and try to walk away and I would call out again, he’d turn and respond and turn away again, and he would sort of two step his way to the corner and disappear, leaving me frantically crying out ‘I love you and like you’ repeatedly hoping he’d respond again, but by then he was gone, and probably considered himself lucky at that.
Anyway, ‘mambletoves’ (or ‘marbletoes’) is a way to say ‘I love you and like you’ without going through all of that drama, but sometimes, you just have to say it:
Roxana, I love you and like you. And I know who you really are.
read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life,
re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book,
dismiss whatever insults your own soul,
--Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass