#I'm doing my best when it feels like internet culture changes every two hours now
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So I only occasionally look at my tumblr activity, yknow, see if anyone thought anything I reblogged was cool enough to comment on, and I get to one post I reblogged where OP took a screenshot of all my "proship/antiship" tags and said "The equivalent of watching the neighborhood kid chuck rocks at a beehive."
First of all, it just felt... kind of rude? I could be reading WAY too deep into it though. That is absolutely not impossible on my part. I dunno, unless someone is being especially stupid, cruel, or ignorant (or it's a funny addition deserving of praise), I've never understood the culture of screenshots and callouts on tumblr posts. This was like, the emotional opposite of "how dare you hide this in the tags."
Second, if someone were to search for those tags I use in Tumblr's search, my reblog of that post wouldn't even come up; those were tags on a reblog, not an original post. AFAIK, tumblr tag searches only bring up original posts. My usage (or overuse) of tags on a reblog would have minimal bearing on people finding me, unless they're the kind of person to look into a post's notes commonly (which, I don't, unless I'm using a post for a blocklist-- usually for TERFs. Is that a normal thing? Do people commonly look in the notes of any post?).
Third, I use all those tags specifically so I cover all my bases for things people want to blacklist, and maybe I'll tag something someone already has blacklisted so they don't have to add another one in the first place. It's like how some people will tag every variation of "blood" or "trigger warning: blood" that they can think of, hoping to be able to spare any new blog viewers from something they've already decided they don't want to see.
Fourth, and finally, all those tags are the equivalent of the bright colors on a poisonous creature. "Don't eat me, it won't be pleasant for either of us." People who use their brains will at worst be mildly annoyed by it; people who think that murdering a character equates to irl murderous predispositions will likely run screaming-- if the post content itself wasn't enough.
#maybe I have an extreme misunderstanding of the tags system after all this time#i don't know#but that was just a really unfortunate thing to see when I use all those tags in an attempt to benefit others#it felt unnecessarily snarky and jeering#like 'look at this bozo using all these tags they're so stupid'#if it had been my own original post I would have understood more because to me that seems more like throwing rocks at a metaphorical beehiv#THAT would show up in search results#and I get it the proship/antiship argument is so far blown out of proportion and dumb#but that's the language people are using to discuss most 'moral nuance' in stories these days#('moral nuance' is in quotes for a reason)#so that's how i tag those kinds of posts so people can find or ignore them#it's a shame because it was a really wonderful post but I would rather not have that as a reminder that OP apparently thinks I'm stupid#If I'm actually being stupid about this please politely educate me#I'm doing my best when it feels like internet culture changes every two hours now#dylawa rambles#dylawa rants#dylawa vents
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Dear Tumblr diary
I'm still scared of sleep and it's a hard act to do. My brother bullying me my entire childhood sadly still sticks with me I guess.
Brain fog sucks. I sometimes lose track of time and it's absolutely terrifying. I'm trying to adapt in my own way but the next time I see a doctor I guess I'll see if there's anything that can help. I don't like the realization of me missing time. I'm being a bit overdramatic as it only happens for short bursts but it's just awful as it is never consistent in how bad it is.
I don't understand why I write these as I don't even know if I want a response. I guess it's calming to send my thoughts into the empty void that is the Internet.
I wrote a letter to myself while delirious from sleep deprivation on how I can make a tech fairy outfit for cons and for fun. I don't remember what is in the letter I wrote two+ hours ago. I hope I was nice to myself in it, I think I was. If the outfit turns out bad or good I'll be happy, I deserve to fail or succeed at sewing, a thing I used to do as a wee lad. It'll be fun, period.
I cried a lot thinking about games that sincerely changed my life today: The World Ends with You when I was a depressed teen that helped me relearn how to like other people and even be vulnerable with them. That game helped me to expand my world, appreciate others even if I don't know them or share any similarities with them and that the world truthfully does end with you. Then Hi-Fi Rush now which honestly helped me realize that it's ok to be a loser with low / no prospects or accomplishments, because living your best life and struggling towards a dream, any dream is important. If I get a tattoo I'm getting Mr Mew and 808 cause simply remembering those games makes me all emotional. I need to not feel like a failure just cause I'm still in college at 25 years old and still a loser, cause I have people who care about me, I have a lot of the world to learn from and listen to their noise, I can still let people in. Basically it's ok to be a loser and to fail.
I helped some med students get ready to draw blood today. My husband is going there as well, but he got all his arm pokes in so I was just there to make sure others got theirs in as well. I talked to a lot of them but I don't think people feel that comfortable when I'm so honest and forward with stating what I'm feeling. I used to use a mask for every social interaction, but now I try my hardest with everyone to make sure I'm being authentic, so I'll just flat out state that I'm grateful for talking to them, that I'm excited for them, that this or that thing of them is brave, that their clothing or mannerisms are cool. I try as hard as possible to be so overtly kind cause I don't want to "Fake" it anymore, I just want to be that way. To me, I know I mean it, but I worry if I'm coming off as not genuine. I don't need them to say "Oh thank you for being you" but I just don't want to be seen by others as a loser even if my outlook of myself is that. Side note but I'm extremely thankful for the students bringing home cooked, authentic food to the potluck as a thank you for friends and family getting poked. Some of it is clearly home recipes passed down in different cultures. I'm only regretting the fact I didn't question them for a history lesson on the food they made as I really want to know the story behind the food.
I do that online too and I don't know if people like it or get it. When I got that art commissioned I went out of my way to tell the artist repetitively how much it meant to be, and how pretty their art is, and I meant it 100%. They deserve to know that info and l, btw, think the model is practically perfect and I've never been so happy to see something that I could only describe in my brain be real. I need to change my profile pic on here and the blog title, but it feels different or wrong to do that at this moment. Similarly if I reblog your art with those types of compliments, please know I mean it. I don't want to lie and I want to be an honest man, and every single person deserves kindness and honesty from strangers.
I hate that US society is so dehumanizing and selfish centric. We ignore other cultures to an extreme, are extremely paranoid and it's always about me - me - me, but never we. I really wish I got to live in a society that's more level headed, a little more kind, and a little more stable. I often have to fight myself because of this: When I get real disillusioned at the state of things and can't see the good in people I just revert to edgy, suicidal teen me that views everyone and everything as a falsehood and a threat. Person walking their dog down the street? Will actually kill you for fun. Happy couple? Complete lie, happiness isn't real. That "Me" wasn't healthy and still isn't, but when I see how the US treats minorities , treats the poor it just kills my want to live and experience life. It's like I just want to become a hermit who experiences nothing. Thank goodness I was fortunate enough to be in a position for therapy, because I don't want that to be my outlook: I want to live in a world with hope and I want to believe good things will happen because I think they can and will, it just sadly takes time. That disillusionment has been happening more recently, but I try real hard to make sure I remember that good things can still happen and that I can be good for the people in my community, I can be their hope like they are mine. The strength of Trans people, Black people, Natives, women, progressives, etc, is awe inspiring to me and they're what gives me hope that things can be better. And if anyone not in the US is reading, you also give me hope, cause I can always look elsewhere and see good people doing good things just to do so.
I finished my classes this semester, my Python programming class I got over 100%. I should feel really accomplished but I just don't feel that. I love programming, don't get me wrong, but I still hit a roadblock daily on allowing myself to feel good about myself. I just remember things I've said to random strangers online or things I've done in person and I put myself at below where I would situate others: I can forgive people for those things, but I can't forgive myself. Maybe it's trauma from my bro, maybe it's my illogical brain, but I really should try to take pride and joy in doing good at things. If others deserve that, don't I as well?
This post keeps getting longer but I just have more of my guts to spill I guess. I really dislike the feeling that the body I always wanted is pretty much permanently out of reach and was never in reach to begin with. It's dysphoria but I'll never be a thin shouldered Twink and that's ok. I like my beard, I don't mind balding at 25, i think my wide shoulders and heavy weight are tactical advantages. Still, I hate being 250~ pounds permanently. My weight hasn't changed for such a long time and my build has always been the same. It doesn't matter what diet I try or what years long lifestyle changes I make, shedding down the pounds might as well be impossible. Other than my fibromyalgia and post COVID brain fog I'm healthy as an ox so I'm very grateful for that. I'm also thankful for that doctor and therapist who aided me with my eating disorder crap, without them I might be dead and that's no good. Maybe that's why I'm a furry? Who knows.
The other day I got to call a beekeeper to come and save a swarm of bees. It's was very exciting and I got to learn a lot about the process as I saw her vacuum up the whole swarm. A junior beekeper tagged along and brought her kid. The daughters name started with a T, she has her 13th birthday and she was having trouble with her Spanish teacher who is really busy business focused, likes gymnastics and her favorite insect is the honey bee with her least favorite insect being the killer bee. I talked to her and hopefully helped her to not take out her frustrations with her teacher on the idea of learning / speaking Spanish. From what I gathered I think she understood it. To me, language is extremely precious and unique, with any and every single one being worthy of preservation and respect so I'm glad it seems like she won't let one stern teacher stop her from learning Spanish. I am very grateful I got to see a kid be very excited about bees. Side note but if my situation was better / more stable I'd love to adopt, it's a travesty that many kids just get tossed around the foster system and don't get a loving home. And if I do adopt, I really won't be picky as all kids deserve a loving home. If we adopt a Black kid or Native kid I'll have to figure out how to make sure they aren't denied that cultural heritage as those are extremely important things, and perhaps the right answer is not too cause I'm not a white savior so to speak? It's honestly a complex moral question to me.
I feel at odds with my close friend group. In my eyes, their family and come first but I think I'm viewed more as an afterthought. Regardless of that I still need to remember to send them love. When it isn't 3 in the morning I'll make sure to send them a nice message on discord as they deserve it. Is a cat meme too cliche?
My cat is a little space heater, and even though he annoys the crap out of me he cares for me to such an extreme degree that I should always remember him for being there to watch my back, to comfort me when I cry like a baby, and the fact that he basically discusses things with me.
I still don't understand blogging but I don't think I want too. Similarly I don't understand mutuals but I'm glad people have them on here. Closing message is to remember to be kind to yourselves, that you don't need a reason to live past being alive, and that you have value innately. You matter.
(Why did I even write this for an hour?)
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Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.
(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)
I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)
Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.
Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!
I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.
On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!
They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.
I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.
Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.
I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.
Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.
After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.
Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.
I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.
Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.
The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.
I'm SO excited to get started!!
I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!
Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.
Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.
Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.
Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!
I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.
We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.
I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.
Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.
Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.
It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."
sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/
(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)
I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.
I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!
Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.
I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.
The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.
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I'm giving up podcasts to save my brain and soul from overload
In an era when there's so much information — so much content — that we can never, ever be bored, I've come to a breaking point: I'm giving up podcasts.
My brain is melted from an onslaught of news and takes. I've come to realize that I'm overwhelmed and the only way to catch my breath is to cut something out. So I've cracked open my podcast app for the last time for the foreseeable future.
SEE ALSO: Spotify bets big on podcasts with acquisition of Gimlet and Anchor
That's not to say I'm giving up on listening to things on my commutes or my many, many walks with an overactive dog. There's more music available at my fingertips than I could ever hope to listen to, and I'm also taking up audiobooks as a way to help pass these cold, windy strolls through the Ohio winter.
My farewell to podcasts didn't come easily. After all, they are extremely interesting and entertaining, like a personalized talk radio station that shuffles through topics that speaks directly to my soul. But the time has come to give my soul (and my mind) a break. I need to reclaim those hours and spend it doing something other than trying to stuff even more information into an already overpacked brain.
Information Overload
Here's the real problem: I could listen to podcasts, on double speed, for every waking minute of my week and still not come close to chipping away at the stack of all of the episodes piling up in my queue. It's the result of something good: my enthusiasm for so many things. But somewhere along the line it's taken a bad turn.
A huge part of the problem is that I've been trying to stay up on all the political news I can in a particularly volatile environment. I recently wrote for this very site about the political podcasts I listened, so there's always something in the queue. Everything from the analytical banter of the FiveThirtyEight politics podcast to the Associated Press's deeply reported "Ground Game."
These feel like must-listens that kept me up-to-date on everything happening in the political world. And that's not including the new spate of daily news podcasts that break down everything that just happened, like the New York Times' popular "The Daily" podcast and the Washington Post's "Post Reports.
There's only so much I can really take in, though. And I'm definitely not alone. It's an extension of a wider problem that many of us have been dealing wit. Burnout over bad news has been an issue for years, but it's even more prevalent now given the volatility of the news cycle we're living through — climate change, North Korea, Trump, you name it. It's also fed by how we consume the news in a never-ending stream of TV, radio, digital video, social media, and, yes, podcasts.
There's so much input that if you don't adjust, you just might drown in the tidal wave of information. As someone who lives and writes on the internet all day, it's something I'm hyper aware of and — at least for me — one of the easiest ways to alleviate some of the flow is to, well, cut out the podcasts.
Podcast overload has been an issue people have explored, especially as podcasts have become more popular. In August 2017, The Ringer looked at why listening to your podcasts on hyper-speed (like, ahem, I do) doesn't really help. And in October 2017, Sirena Bergman of The Cut explored the pros and cons of cramming all these podcasts into your head in any given week.
None of the suggestions I've found for finding balance have worked for me. I've tried to listen to many podcasts on double-speed and fewer podcasts on regular speed and neither has offered the solution I'm searching for. Even cutting back a significant amount hasn't done the trick: I just keep going back for more. So I decided that the best thing for me is to simply quit cold turkey.
Not Necessarily the News
News and politics aren't the only thingsI've been piping through my earbuds. I've been a huge fan of music podcasts for years now, specifically for my favorite jam bands: the Grateful Dead-focused "Brokedown Podcast" and three Phish-related podcasts. Throw in "Pod Dylan," which analyzes a different Bob Dylan song every episode, and I've got hours of great material every week.
You can also add to the pile the countless sports podcasts I'm subscribed to. There are the three different Chicago Cubs podcasts and then there a half-dozen other baseball podcasts. On top of that there's the odd football podcast like the "(New Orleans) Saints Happy Hour Podcast," and then the ESPN "30 for 30" podcast series. Put it all together and you've got a stack of podcasts that piles up like back issues of the New Yorker.
That's another problem: These podcasts are supposed to be informative, but they're also supposed to be fun. Hearing hosts blow off steam about, say, a terrible Super Bowl-altering no call or a deep analysis of a terrific run of Phish shows is meant to help reduce the stress that builds up in my brain from everything else.
Instead, seeing the episodes pile up and knowing I'm never going to get to them only ups the pressure in my head. And how many more sponsored messages can I really listen to before I break down and get my own meal kit subscription?
I'm surprised no one thanked Boll & Branch, Me Undies or Casper Mattresses this #Oscars Then, again, perhaps I listen to one too many podcasts.
— GettingCookedWithCraig (@GettingCooked) February 25, 2019
I want to stay informed. I want to hear the latest analysis of up-and-coming baseball prospects or what, exactly, an obscure Bob Dylan B-side means, because it genuinely interests me. But even when I made myself stop listening to every episode and got more picky, listening only to the episodes I really wanted to check out, the stress didn't really subside.
At a certain point, the anxiety of missing out on something, anything, became greater than the excitement of listening to a new episode of any podcast. Every episode I skipped could be a golden nugget I'd never hear. Was there a terrific anecdote about Phish's latest Madison Square Garden run or a life-changing revelation about a 1972 Dead show in one of the episodes I missed?
This overpowering fear of missing out (FOMO) became my biggest hurdle to both listening to and ultimately giving up podcasts.
Fighting FOMO
I want to keep up. In an age where information moves impossibly fast, I want to be on that leading edge. Plus there's also the not-insignificant fear of being left out of the cultural conversation.
A few years ago, I was able to keep up with the "Serial" zeitgeist, devouring every episode as soon as it dropped. In 2019, there are so many of these podcasts that I can't possibly keep track. "S-Town"? I fell off after several episodes and never caught back up. Same with "Dirty John" and "Slow Burn."
But I agonized over it, still downloading the episodes and telling myself that, yes, tomorrow was TOTALLY the day I'd dive in and catch up to what everyone was talking about on Twitter.
What peer-induced FOMO podcast should I be listening to?
— Derek Hiebert (@derekhiebert) February 19, 2019
The more these episodes piled up, the more stressed I became. But there just aren't enough hours in the day. And the truth is that I've got a pretty bad memory. I've probably forgotten more of the fascinating anecdotes and revelations I've been seeking than I've remembered. So what am I really missing in the end?
I'm find leaving one Stone unturned
There comes a breaking point for everyone, and I finally reached mine not long after the new year, when the lighter load of the holidays fell away and the news cycle cranked up again. When Roger Stone was finally indicted as part of the Mueller investigation, the exhaustion hit me just as the news cycle exploded, including a barrage of "emergency podcasts" on the topic.
In the days that followed, I watched the deluge of reactionary podcasts roll in, but I found the urge to click "play" was fading. Between the news I was already gleaning from social media and stories I read, that fear of missing something wasn't nearly as strong as it had been before.
Maybe it was Trump overload, maybe it was something about Stone himself — a truly repulsive charlatan — that turned me off. Either way, as the days ticked by, I didn't feel that same pull to learn more. The hold was broken, and it was easier to let other podcasts keep slipping by until I realized I wasn't really missing anything at all.
So long, happy trails
When I mentioned my podcast sabbatical to a friend, they asked why I was going cold turkey instead of, say, just cutting back? I get that it seems extreme but it's a mix of two things: the need to give my brain full break each day and the hope of a fresh start.
And I plan to stick to it. I've already mowed through a few audiobooks and have downloaded another half-dozen from my local library and have no desire to give up the calmer, more cohesive experience of listening to these books for a return to chaotic world of podcasts.
Will something ever happen to draw me back? Maybe. If and when the Mueller Report finally drops, I can see dipping a toe back into the pool for an episode or two of analysis. Same goes for some sort of major move by one of my sports teams. (Say, the Cubs suddenly signing free agent star Bryce Harper.)
SEE ALSO: Podcasts were my friends when I had none
But, for now, I'm done. Maybe getting my brain smoothed back out over the coming months will put me in a better place to come back to a slimmed down input of podcasts in time for, say, the 2020 presidential election.
Even then, I'll need to wade slowly into the shallow end. If I do come back, I know I'll feel a lot better about managing the overload and being picky, making sure that what I choose to take in will be truly beneficial for me and something I can truly value. FOMO, be damned.
WATCH: Will Ferrell brings back Ron Burgundy for iHeartRadio podcast
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HISTORIAN - Cloaking of Identity
Historian
noun
noun: historian; plural noun: historians
an expert in or student of history, especially that of a particular period, geographical region, or social phenomenon."a military historian"
synonyms: chronicler, annalist, archivist, recorder, biographer, historiographer, palaeographer, antiquarian, chronologist
We visited BMAG museum and that's where my idea generating started. We each had to pick an object and I decided to go with the Egyptian Death Mask. In ancient Egypt, masks were primarily used for two purposes: as death masks and as ritual masks.
Ancient Egyptians believed that it is very important to preserve a body of the dead because the soul has to have a place where to dwell after the death. Preservation of the dead body was done by mummification - a process that involved removing of the internal organs and placing it in canopic jars, wrapping body in linen and embalming. It was also considered very important for the soul to be able to recognize the body so it can return to it.
The most famous one is the mask of the Tutankhamun. He is probably the most well-known Egyptian pharaoh. His mummy shows that he died at approximately 18 years old. He had the smallest royal tomb in the Valley of the Kings. He was burried in three coffins, which fitted one inside the other.The middle one was found to be second-hand. It had a different style and its face did not look similar to oned on the other two coffins. Two of his coffins were wooden and the third innermost coffin was made from thick sheets of gold. A coffin like that would today be worth well over £1m. In the process of mummification all internal organs except from the heart were removed. They left the heart in place, believing it to be the center of a person's being and intelligence and would be required in the afterlife. If it was accidently removed they would sew it back it. Tutankhamun, however, has no heart.There were two daggers discovered inside the mummy bandages, one gold and one iron - which was at the time very rare and precious metal.
I used the Egyptian Death Mask from the museum as my starting point. A mask is an object normally worn on the face, typically for protection, disguise, performance, or entertainment. I made a list of word associations and I somehow connected death mask with Death Eaters from Harry Potter since they were wearing masks in the movies.
I was doing reaserch about the Death Eaters and I came across an article stating that their costumes in a movie were inspired by KKK, which I found interesting. I tried to connect the two and after digging deeper I actually found similarities between not only Death Eaters and Ku Klux Klan, but also Hitler and Donald Trump. Trump wasn't the one killing 'the mudbloods' in the movie, but they did all have the same ideology and were killing/suppressing people who were different.
I'm a huge Harry Potter fan so I made this assignment quite fun for myself, but now that I look back on it I should really spend more time on actually making the book instead of reaserch. Even though it was very interesting I dug way too deep and ended up watching hour long youtube documentaries about KKK, looking up HP/Nazi memes, etc.)
DEATH EATERS
Death Eaters were Voldemorts most trusted followers, his inner circle. You had to really earn your place if you wanted to join. He had some requirements for people/wizards who wanted to be a part of his army: blood status, loyalty, talent, value.
'DARK MARK' → their symbol (a skull with a snake for its tongue / a skull biting snakes tail). The incantation for the dark mark is 'MORSMORDRE', which translates to 'to bite death'. Maybe in this case it's not the skull that represents death, but rather the snake. Voldemorts goal is immortality, they seek to destroy death → they eat death → they are Death Eaters.
Dark mark represents the Death Eaters. Voldemort would have seen a snake emerging from the mouth of a statue in the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwards, which was confirmation that he was the true heir of Salazar Slytherin. Basilisk itself represents death (a giant, fanged snake trying to kill you). It resides inside the statue of Salazar Slytherin and enters and exits through the mouth.
SYMBOLISM
THE OUROBOROS (snake eating its own tail) was a symbol of immortality, which was the very thing Voldemort was after.
Ouroboros represents coming full circle. It is an ancient symbol depicting a serpent eating its own tail (usually a snake or a dragon). The name originates within Greek language. 'ouro' meaning tail and 'boros' meaning wating, thus 'he who eats the tail'.
The tail (the end that the skull bites) is not just a physical end of a snake, but also a metaphorical end of life.
I realised both dark mark and swastika symbols used to represent something positive and the meaning was changed later on. The ouroborus symbolised the cyclic nature of the universe: creation out of destruction, life out of death. The snake eats its own tail to sustain its life in an eternal cycle of renewal. Before Hitler 'stole it' swastika was used by many cultures to represent life, sun, power, strenght and goodluck.
Groups whose central belief is that theirs is the one true race and that all others are inferior. While the KKK are known for their negative (to say the least) views on people of colour, especially African Americans, the Death Eaters have a similar opinion on Muggles, or non-magic folk. The terror that the the Death Eaters inflicted upon the magical community during Voldemort’s heyday can be seen as a microcosm of the KKK’s chokehold on the southern US. Both believed in ethnic cleansing and the inherent power of being a pure-blooded wizard/white, and used murder, riots and general evil to achieve their ends.
Many parallels can also be drawn with Nazism and WWII Germany; the goal of eliminating Muggle-borns and half-bloods from the wizarding community was ultimate, but the execution of this goal was undertaken gradually, somewhat like the Holocaust and the rampant antisemitism under Nazi Germany. It’s also not very difficult to compare Voldemort to Adolf Hitler.
The one difference between the Nazis and the KKK that I feel really draws more of a similarity to the Death Eaters is the use of masks. To me, this brands the KKK and the Death Eaters as more secretive and private in that as much as they may be fervent supporters of their cause, there is a clear line drawn between their private lives and public activities. A Nazi is a Nazi and the swastika was a symbol worn with pride, whereas the use of masks by Death Eaters and the KKK evokes a sort of cowardice, an aversion to the world being able to put a face to the acts they commit.
Sure, you might know the names of every Death Eater or member of the KKK there ever was (or currently is), but what difference would it make if you walked past one in the street if you didn’t know their face? This distinction is vital.
I started thinking about how I could show all of that in pictures. Some of the pictures I took from the internet and some of them I drew myself with the help of Photoshop, Adobe Illustrator and Procreate.
For example I found similar pictures of KKK and Death Eaters wearing robes with pointy hats and made a silhouette drawing of both of them to make the resemblance more noticable.
DESIGH & PHYSICAL BOOK
https://vimeo.com/311950521 (in case the gif isn’t working)
When I started thinking about how the actual book is going to look like I knew I wanted to make it look quite simple and dark. I like the contrast of black and white and I thought it suited the theme.
I made the page layouts in Adobe InDesign. This is where i hit an obstacle. I realised that every picture had a different shade of black (or should I say dark grey?) and it didn't match the background. I didn't have enough time to colour correct everything so i decided I'm gonna cut out individual pictures and glue them on 160gsm black paper along with the text. I cut down the paper to an A5 format, glued everything in and went to Kall Kwik print store where they did the spiral binding for me. I wanted it to be spiral bound so it's easier to flip through the pages and also the paper is quite thick so I thought it was the best option.
If I could change one thing I would definitely took a bit more time and fix the colours on pictures so I could stick with my original plan of just printing out a finished pdf and avoid the cutting and gluing part. It would also definitely make it look a lot more neat and professional.
When we all finished our artist books we had to curate our own exhibition.
We had a lot of books to display and not many stands so we had to be smart about using the space. We decided to divide books in different categories. We tried out a few different options and decided on fiction, non-fiction and somewhere in-between.
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Wiebe: World Cups changed my life, and in 2026 one happens here - I'm ready
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June 15, 20188:31PM EDT
What a different eight years makes.
In 2010, I was living in Kansas City. I know exactly where I was – The 810 Zone on the Plaza, if you must know – on the morning of December 2 when Qatar was awarded the 2022 World Cup at the United States’ expense. I can still feel the pit in my stomach and the mouthful of proverbial sand that rendered me speechless when Sepp Blatter triumphantly raised the card aloft.
This Wednesday, eight years later, I was in lying in bed when United 2026 brought the world’s biggest sporting event back to North America. My 7-month-old son lay next to me, alternating between jamming the leg of his stuffed giraffe down his gullet, attempting to yank out handfuls of his dad’s hair and bee-lining for the edge of the bed whenever my attention was elsewhere.
I checked my phone and let out a whoop. He looked up, gave me a no-teeth grin and went back to baby business, too young to grasp what Wednesday morning meant, for him and millions of others in Canada, the US and Mexico. I knew then that my own World Cup experience had come full circle.
Best part about #United2026? This guy is gonna be eight years old, same age I was in 1994. Can’t wait to experience the tournament with my son by my side. He’ll be one of the millions of beneficiaries of everything the World Cup will do for our collective soccer culture. pic.twitter.com/sesaeCni9l
— Andrew Wiebe (@andrew_wiebe) June 13, 2018
When the US national team failed in Couva and missed the tournament that will captivate us all for the next month, I mourned the immediate loss, the World Cup that would go on without us, but it was the long-term repercussions stuck with me.
Gone was the opportunity to expose hundreds of millions of prospective fans to the best American soccer could offer. Gone was the opportunity to bring our soccer community, our soccer culture to the forefront of the mainstream conversation. Gone was a golden opportunity to see the game we love make the sort of every-four-years leap that the U.S. had grown accustomed to and took for granted.
youtube
Two of those momentous leaps, more than 20 years apart, changed the trajectory of my life.
I remember 1994 in snippets. Sitting alone on my grandparents’ couch as the US played Colombia on a tiny television with aluminum-foil wrapped rabbit ears. Alexi Lalas’ beard. Cobi Jones’ dreadlocks. The way Roberto Baggio’s head fell after he skied his penalty kick in the final.
I’d played soccer since I was 4 years old, first with foam balls on a gym floor at the YMCA then on AYSO teams, complete with halftime orange slices and a can of pop after the game. I went to Wichita Wings games at the Kansas Coliseum with my aunt and grandmother; it was the only professional soccer I knew. The nachos, people watching and postgame autographs stand out more than anything that happened on the field.
After 1994, I knew there was something much bigger that I was missing. There were players and leagues and tournaments happening that simply didn’t penetrate the sports pages and magazines I pored over obsessively.
I begged my parents for Baggio’s signature shoe, indoors so I could wear them to school, and wore the soles off them in a matter of months. Through an Italian youth coach, I learned about Diego Maradona, Johan Cruyff and their signature moves. Until plantar fasciitis wrecked my heels in middle school, soccer was my game of choice.
I remember 2006 more vividly. It was the summer after my freshman year of college. The U.S. didn’t make it out of their group, but the games were still thrilling. I woke up each morning to catch the action, and each afternoon the Internet sent me down rabbit hole after rabbit hole while I was supposed to be working at an internship.
Who was Clint Dempsey? Tomas Rosicky and Jan Koller? Jimmy Conrad? Michael Essien? Zinedine Zidane and Marco Materazzi? Where did these all these players come from? What had I missed in my Midwestern bubble when I decided baseball and soccer couldn’t co-exist? By the time I went back to college, I was spending hours each day reading transfer rumors on Eurosport and watching techno-laden highlight reels. My thirst for information was voracious.
I threw myself into Major League Soccer, too. I paid for FOX Soccer Channel with the little disposable income I earned from the campus bookstore. I bought a pair of crappy cleats, started playing in pickup games and signed up for men’s league. I changed my major from business to journalism and sold the sports editor of The University Daily Kansan on a soccer column.
I stuck with it, got a few big breaks and, a decade later, the game consumes my life, which brings us back to United 2026.
What will the World Cup mean to my son? To the millions of kids who play the game in North America or will in the years to come? To coaches, referees and administrators who spend their weeknights and weekends at the field? To our professional leagues? What will the world’s biggest sporting event do to our soccer culture?
There it is. #WorldCup2026 is coming to North America. By final count of 134-65, #United2026 bid tops #Morocco2026. #worldcup returns to U.S. for first time since picture below was taken. 1994 changed my life, hope 2026 will do same for boys and girls in 🇲🇽 🇨🇦 & 🇺🇸. pic.twitter.com/2H2K5lHxoS
— Sebastian Salazar (@SebiSalazarFUT) June 13, 2018
We don’t yet know, but we have the opportunity of a lifetime, a beacon to guide us as we attempt to right the ship after the failure of the past four years.
Right this second, there’s a 12-year-old somewhere trying to replicate Cristiano Ronaldo’s free kick against Spain. He or she could be the next Christian Pulisic or Mallory Pugh.
Right this second, there’s a youth coach working on tomorrow’s training session. He or she could help develop a player who takes the world by storm.
Right this second, there’s a young professional working on his game when nobody is looking. He’ll be in his prime when the World Cup comes to American soil.
For eight years we will work, so that eight years from now, lives, like mine, will be changed. Our sport will take over the continent, the entire world for that matter, for a month. We will make our own way, build on what’s already been accomplished while rooting out the inefficiencies that hold us back.
What a different eight years will make.
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Wiebe: World Cups changed my life, and in 2026 one happens here – I'm ready was originally published on 365 Football
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