Last week was the budget. This week is the leftovers.
There are two novels that can change a bookish fourteen-year old's life: The Lord of the Rings and Atlas Shrugged. One is a childish fantasy that often engenders a lifelong obsession with its unbelievable heroes, leading to an emotionally stunted, socially crippled adulthood, unable to deal with the real world. The other, of course, involves orcs.
Scare y'all quicker than a mean ol' goblin.
And popping with Ryan:
It may be hard for non-musicians--or even non-loopers--to understand how big a deal Mobius can be. You have to understand that, much more than other effects (and I've tried my share), looping is like learning a whole new instrument, and each looper brings its own set of constraints to the table that you have to learn to work around. For years, the gold standard was the Gibson EDP, but it was A) expensive, and B) discontinued. Then along comes some guy with a complete software emulation that anyone with a decent soundcard can use for free. Oh, and it's scriptable, so you can rewire the ins and outs to your heart's content (I made mine control like my beloved Line 6 DL-4). That's no small matter. Every now and then, I almost talk myself into picking up a netbook just to run Mobius and a few pedal VSTs again, it's that good.
The tags your tags could link like.
I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize to the users of NPR's Android application, whose playlists crashed after last week's update. That was my fault--I wrote a 2 where there should have been a 3, or maybe a < where there should have been a <=. Either way, I'm sorry I broke your application, and a fix is on the way.
I'd also like to apologize to baby freezes. Lately I have been leaving them out of my breaking runs, and if they had feelings, I bet they'd be hurt. But I can explain! See, if you mess up a shoulder freeze (the only other footwork freeze I know), it's an big, dramatic mistake. It looks difficult--you're balancing upside-down on your shoulder! In theory, you're not supposed to get credit for tough moves you don't land, but I find that people (particularly non-dancers) can respect them. Whereas, if you mess up a baby freeze, it just looks like you curled up in a ball and fell over. From a risk management perspective, it's a no brainer. Sorry, baby freezes.
While I'm at it, I'd like to apologize to Stieg Larsson, whose book "The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets Nest" I was unable to finish because there's only so much Swedish hospital intrigue a man can take. Also, there are about 700 billion characters, and they all have ridiculous Swedish names like Torsten Edklinth and Gunnar Bjork (only with an umlaut, a punctuation mark that I find personally offensive and for which I will not bother to look up the HTML entity, no matter what the New Yorker says). Unfortunately, Mr. Larsson is deceased, and cannot accept my apologies, but that's never stopped me before.
Finally, I'd like to apologize to the general public for the Twilight series, both the books and the movies. I'm not responsible for them in any way, of course. But someone needs to apologize, and nobody actually involved with the production of these glitter-drenched grotesques seems likely to do so. It might as well be me.
Look, I'm not saying George Clooney's character from Up in the Air is right about wanting to unload all personal relationships. I don't have that many to spare, after all. But getting my worldly possessions down to a backpack (and then ditching the backpack)? Reducing my carbon footprint, my level of mindless consumerism, and my reliance on cheap, over-designed crap created by underpaid factory labor? Great. Let's do it.
..in theory, at least. In practice, it is tough to get rid of stuff. Learning to live frugally is a multi-step process.
Belle started with a simple rule for our apartment: if you bring something in, something else of equivalent size has to go out. This is a great rule, if for no other reason than that the apartment is very, very small and we can't stuff anything else into it without learning to stack the pets like Tetris blocks. And it incentivizes sustainability by making it easier to use trading/swap services than to buy new books/games/movies.
The second step has been learning to embrace digital media. I still buy a few CDs and paper books, but not nearly as many as I used to, and usually only if they're something I'll want to loan out, or if they're not available online. And we almost never buy DVDs--Netflix has that covered. While it has taken some time to get used to not 'owning' my music or movies, maybe that's the point--'ownership' shouldn't be the defining characteristic of cultural engagement.
Next up is learning to be happy with last year's model. This is not easy to do, especially given the constant deluge of electronic follow-up that companies can leverage these days. Most recently, for example, TiVo sent out messages offering new versions of their DVR box to subscribers at a discount. That's tempting: we've still got the old Series 2 box, the one that came out in 2006, and it doesn't do HD, or Netflix streaming, or... well, lots of neat features. But do we need that? I mean, we don't have HD cable anyway, and it doesn't really bother us. We've got the XBox for streaming, and we'd have plenty of space on the current TiVo if we'd stop using it to store whole seasons of Damages. There's nothing wrong with it to justify a replacement, so we'll stick with what we've got.
At some point, I want to start simplifying--giving away, selling, or (as a last resort) trashing the objects that I only keep out of habit. You know what I mean: old purchases that you don't use anymore, but you keep just in case it comes in handy somewhere down the road. Ruthlessness is the key--you're never going to turn that old Super NES on again, and you know it--but I probably lack the outright willpower. So instead I think I'll get a roll of those little green dot stickers, the ones they use to mark prices at flea markets, and put them on anything I haven't touched in a while. If it actually gets used, I'll take the sticker off. Anything with a sticker still on it at the end of the year has got to go.
Which brings us to the toughest part: our book collection. Already, heavy boxes of books books are the moving experience we dread most. But paper texts have another type of inertia, a weight derived more from their intellectual and emotional impact than their actual mass. Especially if you love books--and we do--it's hard to discard them. It's like throwing away knowledge! And yet we'll never read many of them again, and some of them we bought and may never read in the first place. Everyone would be better off if they were donated to the library or recycled. Of all the steps for reducing our material footprint, cutting the number of books sitting around on our shelves will no doubt be the most painful, but it may have the biggest impact.
Belle and I will probably never get our lives down to the point that they can fit in a backpack, or even an overhead luggage compartment. In reality, we probably don't actually want to get there--we're not monks or masochists, after all. Yet just as the best essay can benefit from judicious editing, I think it's appropriate to take a critical scalpel to our lifestyles from time to time. There's a lot of pressure out there to accumulate, to the point that "consumer" has too often become synonymous with "citizen" or "person." That pressure has consequences, in the labor system, in the environment, and in our financial stability. It may be true, as Slate's Farhad Manjoo insists, that we can't actually opt out from American materialism, but maybe we owe it to ourselves to try.