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recalcitrant

Canada

Member Since 2004

Followers 5 Following 3

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Thursday Mar 10, 2005

Mar 9, 2005
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I'm afraid of realizing I'm comfortable.

It's amazing to me how much of ourselves we store in strange little packets in our living space. Today I came upon a post-it note on the stairs up from the parkade in my apartment complex. It had fallen off one thing or another and it was someone's note to themselves. It reads:

-pro-con row(illegible) (remarks?)
-Progress Payment
- Mike's Desk. holdback
-I'll handle
(and the letters "ot" scribbled out)

I can seemingly tell about the guy from his handwrighting. First, it's obviously a guy's handwriting. Each line is a pretty random size and a lot of it is pretty illegible (it seems to me, generally speaking, female writing is meant to look nice while male writing is meant only to remind him who wrote it...i.e., if he can vaguely understand it, it's served its purpose).

Secondly, he seems like a guy who needs to write lots of notes for himself, almost like he has to keep track of a lot of things he doesn't feel strongly enough about to remember intrinsically. "I'll handle" is specifically interesting there...I can't tell if he's talking about holding back on Mike's desk, which he will handle, or if it's a completely unrelated note that he'd handle something. It seems to me more logical to write down what it is you're handling as opposed to whether or not you're handling it. Strange.

It was a strangely satisfying thing to spy on a completely unknown person in this way. I have no idea who it is and the note completely lacks context (especially with his strange reminder system). It's an interesting objective to get in the headspace of a person who is writing a note to themselves; by its virtue it is meant to say a lot with saying very little...it's like poetry of the day to day life. It's also telling that people are so busy they can't possibly remember everything they have to deal with on a day to day basis. The daytimer and palm pilot culture is hilarious to me; it's not that I don't need help keeping track of things -- in fact I'm pretty terrible at it -- but that an entire culture needs it so badly as to invent commerical industries to take care of it. People devote their lives to designing better ways for us to keep notes so that we can keep track of a hopelessly complicated, hopelessly fast, hopelessly efficient existence. Thank god we're all enjoying ourselves at the same time, right?

We wouldn't want to be caught dead doing this in an existence which is completely devoid of absolute meaning, would we? I know it would be a damn shame to find out that "truth" is just our attempt at linguistic golf: meaning something is just aiming to hit some endpoint on a dualistic spectrum 180 yards away with an insipid little ball and a 7-iron. No wait, better make that my 6-iron.

And there's a drink cart, cuz man, it gets thirsty sometimes.

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