Start with the assumption that you, dear reader, are nothing but a mere lost soul in a great ocean of successful people and that the only light at the end of any tunnel is the crack under the door from your basement where you live to your parents’ house. Feeling trodden down yet? No, OK, I didn’t mean it quite that way. Lots of people are talking about things nobody cares about, not even their friends. For instance how this twitter search actually comes up with results – not only that, results keep being discharged by the collective rectum of the internet.
The point I’m trying to get across is that you are nothing. Nobody cares about you. The internet is full of drivel as it is, and nobody wants to talk to you unless they:

1. Want to feel better about themselves by smearing you
2. Want to have sex with you
3. Feel they have an overwhelming duty that they must carry out by talking to you

Wanting to avoid 1, and probably 2 (or just not being the object of number 2) there’s still number 3. There’s always a plan B… or C.

You may ask yourself, how come I don’t have such frequent debates with (most) people around me in the same way I do with the internet personalities that surround me? Could they all be internet superheroes? Of course not – the answer is simple: You can’t punch people on the internet.

I suppose protection from physical harm is what leads to these cans of worms be readily available for quick opening. So considering the alternatives, it’s a no-brainer. All gain for no risk and no cost, other than your reputation, sanity and oh look – a slippery slope. It’s the get rich quick scheme of attention (negative and otherwise), which leads me to my first lesson, maybe inspired by Colbert’s tips for a healthy marriage:

1. A smart poster knows how to post with at least some tact

But you know that one guy who religiously defends something, who stubbornly shoves it down your throat and feeds it to you on every damn occasion they get. Sometimes more gracefully than other times.

I, too, know a few people like that. First, an immigrant co-worker who (somewhat ironically) hates Arabs and finds annoying ways to say it sometimes and brings in a wide array of manners to express his right-wing views. Second, my cousin who is a staunch communist and would never miss an opportunity to tell us over family dinner how the government caused the recession on purpose, that phone manufacturers insert flaws into their devices on purpose. They’ll get… very emotional when anything opposes their extreme views. They don’t have that “poster tact” and won’t hesitate to get into a very heated discussion with you to defend their ideas.

Those exist in all walks of life, on the ‘nets as well. So, here, have another tip:

2. A smart poster knows to pick their battles

And what about when you have to? A sense of duty exists in us all, and I wouldn’t bother denying it personally (neither should you). We all have a soft spot in us when somebody mentions that one thing that ticks us off:

3. A smart poster has a second account/handle/username they can use to be everything I said they shouldn’t be without any risk

I guess the internet is a place full of cruel ironies.

So I will start by presenting the history of content and news. Not that I’ve seen them first hand, but think about the days before television. You got your “content” (entertainment, news, music, whatever) by listening to the radio and by reading newspapers. Other than that, there was buying LP records.

There were and still are people whose sole job was to go places to report news. So a newspaper or a radio station would hire these reporters to get news that otherwise they simply could not get.

Television wasn’t much different. It certainly added another dimension, namely a moving picture. That did not do much to change the format until the 1990s (as I recall) when camcorders gained popularity and ordinary folks would send in their UFO sightings or hurricane footage. Even then, let’s face it, the format is about the same – but it was a beginning of a sort.

Back to the present, the year is 2009. We have the Internet. I have a blog on a .org address on the internet where I post what I think, what I make and what I want to show. There is not much in that respect that differentiates me from online news agencies other than the type of content. As in, this is mostly opinions, theirs is mostly reporting.

So think of it this way, we all have our own column, our own galleries and if we wanted to our own channel or radio station.

It’s really that simple. It costs practically nothing – and often costs nothing at all. It’s available and in the year 2009 it’s also familiar.

This is not news to anyone, and neither is the statement that content is adopting a more free for all approach and not the traditional approach, in which there is a creator and viewers, and they are not separate in any way. There is no stage in our new world anymore.

And so with this shift to peer-created content, our old approach to journalism will inevitably change. And it is already now as we see already.

Let’s consider the very popular slashdot. Their content is and has always been for as far as I recall something along a very simple format. It contains a quote of a short synopsis if you will, which contain then contains a link or two to the actual content. Under that, a short opinion or question or something for debate added by I’m assuming the slashdot posters.

Slashdot posters don’t need to go anywhere to get their content because the content is already there.. The content is provided already, all I need to do is repackage it, put it on a site, citing the source and linking back and there I have it. A news site with no journalists. Just aggregated content.

The journalists become bloggers, photographers, or anyone with content online. They’re just linking to it and adding their own little bits here and there.

Not everybody’s happy, but this is just where the Internet has been going and still is. For now. It is unstoppable once it became available. Get ready to change your understanding of “news” very soon.

Why are we so willing to feed the internet content machine? I have that coming up in a post some time in the future.

Organization is not a learned “skill.” It’s not a “skill” to begin with. It’s about spending time dealing with bureaucracy and the paper-hell in advance. In my experience, it saves practically no time whatsoever.

Unfortunately, I seem to have this self destructive tendency to work great under pressure. If Dushkin works great under pressure, Dushkin will try to push self to edge, Dushkin will create stress for Dushkin to finish work. In other words, I procrastinate on purpose.

“Know thyself” my ass. It’s obviously self-destructive, and mazochistic. One of my incompatible wishes somewhere down in my id, to only work under pressure.

Organization detached me from the rest of the world. You start reading self improvement books, working on things in pieces, and the next thing you know, there’s a distance between you and the rest of the world and you just can’t do anything about it. A thin membrane will seperate you from your peers, parents, “community” and friends. “Sorry, can’t talk now, I’m busy.”

By decompressing your work, you leave yourself practically no time to do other things which are, probably, more important. When you do have the time, you will realize that your “friends” have already gotten into the habbit of not inviting you to social gatherings (of whatever nature.)

Reversing the situation is theoretically impossible. For instance, my birthday “party.” I invited various people, out of which two people came, and one uninvited guest, another one arrived an hour and a half late and insisted on leavingbecome midnight for a total of about 1 hour of actually doing anything. The other three decided it’ll be a great idea to go smoke pot, although I made it very clear that I have no interest in it. The whole thing ended at around 11:40 pm.

I timed it, phoned all the parties that needed to be phoned, passed emails around, begged, and wrote everything down. When it came to the practical stage, nothing went as planned.

It crossed a certain line when I began planning social interaction and trying to make sense of my world using the calendar. After two very long phone calls with BlueCoffee, I finally began to snap out of this organization-overdrive.

There is, I would say, no correlation between organization and saving time. Some of us just work slower, some are less able to isolate themselves from their environment.

It basically became very clear to me what I really wanted to do with myself and how to stop this organization madness. Unfortunately, without it, my grades are starting to slip. I might be a “better person”. I do find myself facing my incompatible wishes and slowly my super-ego dissolving and making less descisions. The former view, which accepted self-help books, now rejects standards, ideas, laws and roles and substitutes it with something else.

At the same time, I can’t convince myself of all sorts of things. The result of less self discipline. I also find it much harder to read, listen to records all the way through and stick to a single task.

My advice, don’t “get organized”! Your superiors are going to go nuts, but at least you don’t sell yourself to the whole bureaucracy.

Actually, I’m quite sick of organization. All I really want is just to run around aimlessly in grassy meadows and not think about anything. Society is all about normalization. Not very pleasant.

In the past I was pretty mean to my neighbors. I had mentioned earlier that I do not regret it, and yet, now I feel as if I might be regretting doing so, and yet, I still don’t regret it.

Why? Well, at the time, it was a perfectly valid judgement. My logic had no apparent, perceivable flaws, no apparent design faults. It was a smooth elegant plan, justified for its purpose and cause. True. It might have been somewhat stirring, and possibly immoral, but it worked. It worked and fulfilled its purpose down to the last goal. It was, in the scope of the problem in itself, reasonable.

Why might I be regretting it? Possibly due to, first of all, ruining the fun. She probably had a good talk with her mother, evidently – no parties in months. Every now and then, some friends might come over, but there was no more smoking in the hallway, no more yelling and no more doors opening and closing for every group of four noisy teens wanting to get a few puffs of their cigarettes. But then again, she was now being restricted. Who am I to tell her what to do, that’s one thing, but I don’t want to chop her wings off.

I was informed at around 6:00 PM that day, the party had started about three hours afterwards. During those three hours, I went around the house in a daze considering whether I should go or not.

She sure didn’t like me, I thought. After what I’ve done to her, putting the gag on her parties. Trying would be superfluous, unneeded, and unwelcome

My social transformation. I can’t stop it, just yet. I’m filling out the percentages slowly, but with great certainty, and might just reach the (mostly undefinable) goal of gaining a “place within the social structure.” Stopping now would be pointless. It was just the beginning. It’s like a pet. Even if you do feel like killing it, you’re not going to be able to get yourself to, instead, you’ll just wait for it to die on its own, so you don’t have to feel guilty for terminating the poor creature. Not making an attempt was in fact, not an option.

Just to be sure, I put about eight Bacardi Breezer, my favorite “alcohol soft-drink” (I guess you could put it that way) as of today, inside a supermarket bag. It would be harder to refuse when you’re brining something over.

I put on my newly baught cologne which I’d realized after a while that I simply put too much of, since my eyes began to sore slightly, but I sure did smell good. I got out o the house, and went towards the next door.

For a minute, I was just standing in front of the door, considering, until I heard, all of a sudden, the bell ringing.

Similarly to apartment where I live, you can’t tell the front door from the apartment’s door. It’s the same ring. Same sound. No difference.

She heard the doorbell. So did I, which meant that I could do one of two things, either I’ll just get a sudden burst of sheepishness and run away, or, just use it as a sort of a way to combat that problem – a catalyst analogous to someone putting a hand on your shoulder when you’re about to do something stupid enough to get you in prison. I chose the latter.

She ran to the door in heavy steps in those loud shoes that she wore, and opened the door. I didn’t recognize her, mostly because I never had a good look at her face.. There I was, standing in front of her.

“Hi. Would it be alright if I joined, I’m your next door neighbor,” I started, “I brought some drinks too, and got some more at home, I mean..”

She wore a black dress of some interesting semi-formal design, of some material resambling velvet, and at the same time simple cotton. Smooth hair, unnatural blond as far as I could tell, perfectly combed with a little white line, revealing her scalp, on the left side of her head. Interestingly revealing the dress was, and more interesting was why she wore it, but it sure wasn’t because her breast was exceptionally interesting – below average, nothing interesting enough to show in a display case. Not a work of art, but she just had it. Imperfect in a good old human way.

“Well, you see. It’s only for close friends.” Her accent was unmistakably foreign, but she was exceptionally good for a second language. It was that common universal American-like accent.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just for my close friends…”

She knew how to come up with excuses on the fly. But she was good at it, good enough to make me understand that she just won’t let me join, and pressure won’t help. The least I could do, was be nice to her. “By the way, happy birthday. October 23rd, right?”

“Right. You too,” she smiled, “I heard you had yours not so long ago too.” And indeed, my birthday was two weeks ago, four days before hers. She didn’t hate me.

“The next time you’re having a party or something don’t hesitate to invite me over, I’m really bored out of my mind on weekends, usually, and I’d be happy if you had invited me to one of your parties, you know.” Squeezing the last couple of drops before you throw something in the bin is always a good idea.

She gave me a general interjection, as if to agree, substituting a nod.

“Goodbye, then.” I said and started going towards my door, keys in one hand, supermarket bag in the other.

“Bye.” She said and slammed the door, exactly the way I was used to hear in my bedroom.

Rejection.

I believed her, and at the same time didn’t want to believe her. I’d much rather to think of her as a bitch than to think of myself as a loser.

Even if she did do it on purpose, I can’t blame her, you know what.

The only question is what excuse to use next.

There’s no point of you reading this if you haven’t watched/read Chobits, but be assured that it contains no spoilers.

The problem is simple. I haven’t actually watched the last couple of episodes. At first sight it might seem that protagonist being Motosuwa has a conflict – Yumi vs. Chii. There’s an obvious focus problem, since Chii is the character the reader is meant to focus on and empathize with. However Motosuwa gets that title instead.

Chii is pretty, carnal (due to limited knowledge about the social structure), ignorant, and absolutely subservient, not to mention that a relationship with her would be socially unacceptable within the scope of Chobits. On the other hand, Yumi, the real girl, thinks for herself (and demonstrates she can do just that), knows how to behave within the social structure and recognizes the fact that people tend to “go the wrong way” with Persocoms.

The audience simply empathizes with Yumi and Motosuwa, since they’re both going through something – Motosuwa’s frequent soliloquies, which every now and then are simply a cover up for something else that he means to say, but instead says in a different way and Yumi’s sudden sadness when someone talks about a persocom. Chii hardly reveals any feelings besides an occasional suggestion towards Motosuwa and maybe Asimov’s robot law. Chii is just a part of the background, I can’t relate nor empathize with her.

Nice drawings can’t cover up for a bad storyline.