The Speed of 2010

time is a concept.

really. it's not a concrete thing.

it's fluid.

This year. This one, as in, the last 28 days (isn't that a movie about zombies? or is it rehab? curious that I chose the 28th day to blog) have been moving at two very distinct paces.

s. l. o. w.

and

fast

I started a new position at the job that I don't love. So, there's that. I'm now working 40 hours a week again. So I can worry less about being able to pay my rent. (I said less. I did not say stop worrying).

and I have some new friends. It's weird how different my social landscape has been since New Years eve. New adventures. New things. Newness.

I commented on Facebook and twitter, that the number #1 trending topic was itampon. (not ipad, itampon) and today it's Salinger. or at least this hour.

and that made me think about time. because yesterday afternoon everything was ipad. last night everything was the state of the union. this morning was Zinn. this afternoon Salinger.

spinning. trending changing by the hour.

time. see what I mean? fast.

and yet, when I'm on the elipitcal machine, time is s l o w.

and when I'm sitting in the office.

and...

something is in the works for me. maybe. a massively huge, possibly, gigantic change in my life. a move that, well, it's big.

and it all started Sunday night. and picked up momentum, until now. and the news, the officialness, the whatever, could take six weeks. and so, sunday until today, whole new world. new mind set, new possibilities, new anxiousness. newness.. and yet...sputter. stall.

wait.

and wait.

s l o w

A bizarre and disturbing reflection of me. (and my internet habits)

The google news recommended column cracks me up. There have been days when it was all Obama all the time with the occasional Hilary popping up for variety sake. Other times it has been all fluff and gossip with a random local Chicago story. I'd like to fancy myself intelligent and urbane. Someone who reads smart things and doesn't have time for foolishness. But really, I mean honestly, I love The Hills, Gossip Girl, Facebook, fashion magazines and even my news served with a touch of sugar and frivolilty. (considering my biggest source for news is Daily Intel) I read about foreign affairs, local politics and People's sexiest Man Alive. Witty, urbane, intelligent and frivilous. That's my Googlenews recommended section.

Gleeful disdain for perspective
There are those girls that whine "I'm so fat" just so that you will say, "No you're not." Or the friend that always complains about how much their life sucks when they are flush with money, have a great job, enviable partner and an apartment that makes you drool, while you are jobless, loveless, and stressed about real things. That's what how I felt about the Big Three autmomakers and their private jets. To be fair, the bailout would be for the guy on the factory floor, but it's hard to take them seriously when they are tooling around in $36 million private jets. Even Goldman Sachs is making sacrifices (although it strikes me as, well, not so much a sacrifice and more a DUH, of course your should give up your bonus. It is after all a BONUS and, in theory, a reward for a job well done not an entitlement. )

This weeks sweetness (with an overload of bittersweet)
Emily Bear, a seven year old piano prodigy wrote and performed a song as a wedding gift for Ellen. The song is titled "Once Upon A Wish" because Ellen's wish came true. Well, I cried through out the whole song watching Ellen try not to cry. It was so sweet and so sad.

I am not Helvetica

Following is an essay I wrote this summer and read at a reading:

I am not Helvetica. But my laptop thinks I am. My Macbook, if I’m being precise. It’s new. Semi new. Well, it’s five months old. But it doesn’t know me yet. It knows me a bit. The desktop picture is mine. The alert sounds are the sounds I chose. It tells me when I have new mail and knows to open my gmail with firefox. It knows what songs I play the most in iTunes. Tied for first are Colin Hay and The Postal Service. Second place is Neil Diamond. Only my Macbook knows this.
It knows my passwords, my online bank account, my web search history. When I begin to type in C - A - L, it offers up Calvin Marty. My new favorite musician and not so secret crush. It knows these things. And yet, when I open a document and begin to type, it starts in Helvetica.

I don’t know why Helvetica. Helvetica is a close suburb of Arial. It has the same shape to it’s A’s. The contemporary lack of pageantry with a stiffness. The letters straight, tight. Less foolishness, more content.

At one time I used Arial. Only Arial. Always. For everything. But somehow, at some point, I became Georgia. I don’t remember why or what prompted the change. But I do remember actively making the choice at some middle point of graduate school. A story had survived most of a semester and countless drafts in Arial. Then between advising appointments or before a workshop, it evolved into Georgia. And continued on as such through more drafts until my thesis.

Georgia, at times, was problematic. It was not as ubiquitous as other fonts. Not quite Mac compatible. Many of my professors and classmates had Macs and all the computers in the writing lounge (save one sad neglected PC) were Macs. When emailing something to my advisor, I would have to save a different draft in a different font. Usually Times New Roman, which is similar to Georgia. But Georgia is fuller, less ordinary. My copy was always Georgia.

My old laptop was an IBM. A thinkpad. It didn’t do much thinking, towards the end it did more crashing than anything. I’d had it for four years. Compared to the rapid shrinking of newer laptops, it felt heavier and clunkier over time. One day it just gave up. It simply never turned on again. Not even an attempted whirl from the fan, no blink of light. Just coldness. A black brick sitting on my coffee table.

I now have a Macbook. Light. Girly. A clean fresh white color. Hipster and cool. Fun. I like it. A lot. Friendly, easier. Modern. A Mac. But still, it doesn’t know me yet.

When I open new documents, it starts out in Helvetica. I type a sentence, maybe two. An inspired, I’m a writer-on-the-cusp-of-greatness feeling buzzing at my fingertips, except the letters in front of me are tall, straight, tight letters. Helvetica. I try to keep writing. The words don’t look like my words. My brilliance has to pause. My creative writerly flow halted when I have to change the font to Georgia.

I have tried to make Georgia the default font. But this laptop, this Macbook, it loves itself some Helvetica. Maybe it will always feel new. Maybe it will never completely know me. Or maybe it will some day. But, by then, will I have switched again? No longer Arial, no longer Georgia, could I possible become Palatino?