The Selfie

It amazes me what we chose to document.

Since the beginning of time  it has largely been the same.
We make pictures,
of animals,
of gods and creation,
of significant events,
of the lands around us,
 but most of all we make images of our selves.

In what will be called "The age of the Selfie" the act of capturing the self is nothing new.

For centuries the upper classes documented themselves in oil paintings that covered the walls of castles and chateaus. These paintings are how we know so much of the lives of the wealthy before the skills of reading and writing were common. They might not have had enough money to write their memoirs. But they could try to capture their entire lives in a single portrait.

Painted portraits were the only way to capture a physical image other than sculpture until the the late 19th century. Thousands of years of human faces only captured in paint. Now we live in a world where your face will exist for an eternity in thousands of forms on the internet. We all have the power to capture our face and put it out for all to see thanks to platforms like Facebook and Instagram.

Imagine trying to capture the sum of your life in a selfie. Would your friends and family be involved, would you be using a bathroom mirror, on a beach or in a city, would you be able to see the background at all or just your face...

Things to think about on a sunday night.

Im back: Not that I ever left...

So I haven't posted anything on here in several months.

Its not that I haven't written anything, i've written plenty. But its not all happy fluffy stuff ready for the world.

I write a lot, on a bi weekly basis I spend time recording my thoughts and reflections. I write a lot about my childhood. I write about my family and my artwork. Sometimes I write about my relationships and world events. But mostly about my childhood, and I don't post it.

I keep it in the "vault" as a professor of mine would say...

Its not that I'm ashamed of my words, Its just that, how do you know when it is time to let things go. I was a happy kid I guess. I know there are millions of children who had much worse childhoods than me. And maybe thats why I don't post it. Maybe I feel like I'm whining. But I always tell people,

No matter what your feelings are they are valid

but then I have always had a hard time telling people how I feel. Logically, feelings are irrelevant I tell my self, especially when I have to make tough decisions. But my job has tuned me in to the real world fact that feelings are not irrelevant. Feelings start revolutions and they are able to unite people who have nothing else in common. Feelings make people travel thousands of miles to rebuild the homes of strangers, feelings are what push people to enter into life threatening careers. As essential as feelings are to the human condition, I'm still bad at them. I ruin things because I have such a hard time vocalizing them. Thats what a lot of my art is about to me. Its about pent up feelings and words that logic has shunned away.  Maybe thats why I don't share all of my writing. A part of me says that acknowledging those feelings will not force a positive outcome so logically its not worth the effort.

But if thats true why do I write them down. They are not the kinds of stories id ever read to any future children. They don't really express any universal truism that will shatter the current process of thought, if they were id share them. But they do express how I feel about times in my my life that were particularly painful and difficult for me. And whats the point in sharing that. I mean I'm not a comedy writer nobody reads this for laughs. But don't you just hate reading depressing things.

Sure Schindler's List was depressing, but at least there was an ultimate greater good served. Like Water For Chocolate is really sad too but all is well at the end. Maybe im just waiting for my happy ending, as much of a cliche as that is. Maybe I'm just waiting for a time in my life when I can look back and see how my experiences shaped me into the glowing example of human triumph and success. I might just be waiting for the day when I can talk about such experiences and not feel like I'm whining despite my privilege. Or I just don't think its worth the social recoil i'd get, humph whatever... we'll all just have to wait and see.

My Life as a Cat Slave

How I know its time to go to bed.

1. One of my cats scratches at the door, usually the little one who likes to sleep with me whom I call Kitty Princess.
2. She makes the rounds then sits at the foot of my chair and meows until I put her on my lap.
3. I hit up the ususals of my internet browsing, email, Facebook, National Geographic, then the never ending Tumblr. 
4. After 20-30 minutes of that its off of my lap then a flurry of fur sprints to the bathroom where I follow and confirm that there is food and water as I had confirmed for her a few hours earlier.
5. While she munches I brush my teeth wash my face and glasses then get into bed.
6. Just as I am falling asleep she leaps up onto my chest. 
7. Purring loudly for the next few hours she stays there and keeps me quite toasty.

How I wake up.

1. Little Kitty Princess as I call her, sleeps peacefully on my chest.
2. One of my other cats, usually the one my mom calls Blackie scratches on the screen outside my door, at 2 am.
3. She proceeds to do this until I let her in, Blackie takes about 5 tv minutes to make the three foot trip. She wants to look out for the other cat Big Whiney as she will hit her in the face if she can.
4. Once she is in I can go back to sleep, for a while.
5. 20 minutes later Kitty Princess decides once again I am the optimum sleeping perch and I am awoken by a pounce on the chest.
6. Then my mom wakes me up at 9 with "Why are you still in bed," with Kitty Princess still sleeping on my chest...

ehh its vacation im not going to complain that much...