Using Eysenck’s classic personality test, Tosun and Lajunen found that students who scored high on extraversion (agreeing with statements like ‘I am very talkative’) tended to use the Internet to extend their real-life relationships, whereas students who scored high on psychoticism (answering ‘yes’ to statements like ‘does your mood often go up and down?’ and ‘do you like movie scenes involving violence and torture?’) tended to use the Internet as a substitute for face-to-face relationships. Students who scored high on psychoticism were also likely to say that they found it easier to reveal their true selves online than in real life. The personality subscale of neuroticism (indicated by ‘yes’ answers to items like ‘Do things often seem hopeless to you?) was not associated with styles of Internet use.
If you had to plan a party/soiree with six historical people, who would you invite, what would you serve, and where would it be? -Vinh
i would serve a traditional southern new year’s day dinner- pork loin, black eyed peas, collard greens. the participants? jesus (because he would not eat all of the pork), ronald reagan (because he is a bad mother fucker), george carlin (because he would make me laugh and he and jesus would get along royally), king henry viii (so i wasn’t the biggest whore in the room), eleanor roosevelt (because her quotes are amazing) and gahndi (because he would just be floored by the whole experience…and again, not an overeater). hosted at my house. want to join?
i am actually a fan of the pain of a tattoo. but one has to be sure that they are getting what they want. tats are permanent. they aren’t like boyfriends, who you can get rid of at some point if you decide you don’t like the way they look on you anymore. and think of the care we take when selecting boyfriends. shouldn’t body art be given the same consideration?
“The last part of your body to recover from alcoholism is the middle finger on your left hand.”—
via My Dad
(note: Why the left hand? That’s the one that you put out the window while driving in the USA. UK alcoholics may find it’s the other hand. The larger point being that alcoholics are often using alcohol to suppress emotions, in his case, anger.)
love is powerful and crippling. deadly and life inducing. it makes grown men sleep with teddy bears. it changes you. fundamentally. makes you everything you didn’t want to be. and you hate love for it. and love love for it. you forgive it. because love really can’t help itself.
Andy’s dogs have lived in a pen out back for the last 14 years or so. Just the two of them. Limited in their freedom, their interactions, the affection they could receive. Only periodically barking at fire trucks and deer that wander through the yard. Well, the deer wander through the yard, the fire trucks go down the road but don’t interrupt me I’m trying to make a point….
3 weeks ago, Bailey died. That left one.
Today, for the first time in the four years I have been here, he had the other one out. She is wandering around the yard, enjoying this brief moment of freedom. She followed me into the garage earlier. Sniffed around. Saw a mirror, and for I am sure the first time in at least 14 years, stared into her own eyes. Seeing herself for the first time.
I think if I try to explain it I will fuck it up. Lately, I am a dog released from my pen after 14 years…..looking into a mirror. The only thing I’m not sure about is whether I will wag my tail or bare my teeth at what I see.
*(brian’s note- 1/2/10) you won’t get the title, so don’t even try. this is an old blog that i wrote about 15 months ago. shortly after The Breakup. i came across it today and thought i would repost it here. i know you don’t have the attention span to read it all. i’m not judging. (end note)*
It isn’t the lack of things that makes me unhappy. It isn’t lack. It’s desire. I want. I can’t really help it, and you can’t really blame me. I grew up without a father, as a result I always was jealous of those that had one. Consequently I desired having a father of my own. That desire made me sad. That desire fueled the jealously. It caused rifts at times as I would get close to the male figures in my life because I craved the fatherly influence. That would drive friends away because they saw me trying to take their dad from them. Desire brings pain.
Look at it. The desire for happiness makes me discontent with my situation. The desire to be thin makes me feel fat. The desire for money makes me feel poor. The desire for more money when I have enough makes me feel greedy. The desire to be young, look young, makes me feel old. The desire to be balanced makes me feel out of kilter. The desire for more business at work makes me feel stressed about the economy. The desire to be with someone else makes me feel lonely. Desire fuels the “negative” feelings in our lives.
I could argue that the seven deadly sins are fueled by desire. Envy? Definitely. Greed? Certainly. Lust? You can’t argue with me there. wrath? Duh. Gluttony? Um-hm. Pride and sloth are the only two you can even come close to debating. I would highly discourage you from it because I would tear you apart, but you can try if you’d like.
See, even my desire to be right (pride anyone?) creates pain. Maybe you want to defend your position that desire is a beautiful thing, and contend with me that your point is more valid than mine. Maybe we argue. Pain comes from your desire to be right. And my desire to be right. Desire caused us pain.
So what is the answer? Being content? Maybe, but I fear content because it lives next door to complacency. As I rolled this through my mind this morning I decided that content is not the answer. I have to somehow temper my desire with not being discontent. In a perfect world the two would balance each other out. But we all know life isn’t perfect.
So I start my Thursday wanting to be less discontent. That desire? Yeah, it’s making my head hurt. Pain.
“there was something in her, something that was…Pure Horror. Everything your were supposed to watch out for. Heights, fire, shards of glass, snakes. Everything that his mom tried so hard to keep him safe from”—Let The Right One In by John Ajvide Lindquist