deerdairy.

This past June 12, 9009 television towers in the United States stopped broadcasting in analog. That red spool of electrical wire used to receive static-y episodes of Gossip Girl will no longer suffice. This change brings to mind my first television memories; rainbows, unicorns and puffy clouds – in millions and millions of snowy analog colors. Like many, those rainbows and unicorns were the fidelity tests for color televisions and analog broadcasts. Cassette tapes, boom boxes, 80’s Oldsmobiles and other relics of Reganomics should be remembered now.

The television commercials warned us to be prepared for the analog to digital conversion. As if a simple shift from analog broadcast to digital broadcast would harness skills learned in girl scouts. My video engineering lessons reminded me of the pros and cons of analog and digital. Digital looses fidelity to resolution, think Low Res to LoFi, High Res to HiFi. In the early days of digital, there was a battle between fidelity and resolution. As predicted, once resolution exceeded fidelity the discussion ceased to exist.

What is fidelity? What is its definition in the post analog age? From Merriam Webster:

* Main Entry: fi·del·i·ty
* Pronunciation: \fə-ˈde-lə-tē, fī-\
* Function: noun
* Inflected Form(s): plural fi·del·i·ties
* Etymology: Middle English fidelite, from Middle French & Latin; Middle French fidelité, from Latin fidelitat-, fidelitas, from fidelis faithful, from fides faith, from fidere to trust — more at bide
* Date: 15th century

1 a : the quality or state of being faithful b : accuracy in details : exactness
2 : the degree to which an electronic device (as a record player, radio, or television) accurately reproduces its effect (as sound or picture)

The passing of the King Michael and the slew of other celebrities dropping like flies makes me wonder if this conversion isn’t more complicated than buying a new TV antenna. Is the push to keep digitizing life pushing others into an analog grave? The proliferation of real life online – images, status and location updates – shows us we are becoming more comfortable with slowly digitizing our analog existence. As witnessed during the Iranian election, another portion of the world experienced the “digitization of revolt” New Yorker’s experience during the 2004 Republican National Convention.

The analog to digital conversion is complete for me. It is just starting for others. HIFI-VE

Volume number two coming soon. In the meantime—

Some music.

14. Robot migratory birds sit. Detectors stir. Follow me. West. I won’t follow you back. #lust #rejection #acceptance #follow

13. He: Cats don’t like Oreos. SHE: Try one, they look like you, black fur and a squishy carebear belly. HE: Crunch #kittycarebear #monsterbaby

12. I will pick the cooled tar, From your tar and feathered face. Sorry about the tar. XOXO #pillowfight #tarandfeathered #unrequited

11. You are so vain. I bet you think this blog is about you. #vain #rejection

10. @swoon @mbarney Lovers speak, Through images, words and actions. Hanging delicately, They weave seduction into their lines. #globaloveaffair

9. @newyork You drove me up a wall, Put a frame around me. Now look at me, I’m a piece of work. #art #frame

8. RT: @pastself Windmills are pleasant. Can I go home now? #shadow #presentself

7. @armsroundworld I’m having, A global love affair, With everyone else. #me #you #everybodyelse

6. @newyork RT: @sbeibin (via FB) California is nice, If you are an orange. #apples #oranges

5. RT: @Hungryghoast If i had a Native American name it might be Speaks In Hyperlinks. #stuck #in #tag #cloud

4. RT: @avflox Oh, transient dreams, immortalized in time. #dream #in #blogsphere

3. RT: @dnavaro Prefers a piece of technology between him and the rest of the world. #technology #everybodyelse

2. Time keeps on ticking, Into the future. #found #wake #work #lunch #break #drink #relax #tvprogramming #lost

1. Sometimes being included in a global rejection letter, Is almost like not being rejected at all. » link to Inhuman Resources: Twitter Exposes 186 Job Applicants #rejection #opps

FOLLOW ME.
- Exquisite Twit

My twittertation (Twitter masturbation) about love and rejection, all in 140 characters or less. Some made up, some retweeted and some just happened.

Written on the train.

Green sprouts come early this year to celebrate global warming, in California at least. In NYC planes land in rivers balancing passengers on wings. The unusual warmth and skin cancer sunshine make the east coast freeze as foreign as terrorist attacks, blackouts and acute plane landings. Every traumatic event in the fine apple I witnessed from afar; 911 – Cali, blackout – Nebraska, plane landing – Cali, Dodgeball dying – Cali. Someone once said that I was the lucky card for NYC, if I left it would collapse. I called it quits exactly two months before the banks bailed out of the financial district and recession was decreed over the entire land. The deft skills of the pilot lead me to believe that NYC will learn how to manage without me and me without it, albeit with frost bitten feet.

In a fruitless attempt to reconcile my personal financial crisis I was shown a little park nestled on the Southeastern edge of San Francisco. The birds were chirping, the grass was greener and the merry lunch-ers wandered pensively for another drop of inspiration. For me every step was further into the past. The last time my feet pounded those pavement squares I was bursting with excitement, adventure and wanderlust. That day marked my last day in San Francisco and the eve of my first day in New York City. I was there to trade some media with a colleague outside the then only park cafe. He predicted, “You’ll be back.” Correct he was.

I may not be able to pick up where I left off, I wouldn’t want to completely, but can stand on the exact 4 X 4 square of pavement where I left. Everything would seem kismet if I weren’t unemployed and living in my mom’s living room.

2009 would have been my ninth NYE in NYC. On the television set I watched the ball drop in NY before heading into the streets of SF, really sensing the time difference between the two coasts. San Francisco was a blast. Everything went according to plan. I’m still in my New Year’s Evening attire, black leather, a light blue skirt, bright purple necklace and if you look closely you can see white porcelain antlers in my handbag. Funny, that security camera just told me that I looked GREAT TODAY.

Last year marked my first entry, happy one year to deerdairy.com. My way of answering the question, “Did I get stuck in the headlights or am I milking it?”

Predictions for the New Year.

Mine:
Cancer June 22 – July 22
Yes, there will be a period of adjustment, and yes, there will be a lot to accept, but don’t worry: By the end of the year, those antlers will seem commonplace.

I hope my new apartment has a large front door.

For the best effect open the links as they approach in the text and click back to continue reading as the music plays. 

New Years of 2008 was cut short by frustration and a lack of enthusiasm about the evening. I crashed out at 1:30 to be woken up at 6:30 or so to people coming home. A thought crossed through my head, maybe there is a breakfast somewhere that I could find. Called a car service, which took at least a half hour to arrive, got dressed in my party favorites and headed to Queens for more fun. It was in the car service that I saw the first person of 2008. (Person 1, cars 3, time 7:20.)

Found the building with promised morning treats, a locked door and an empty bottle of Champagne outside. The party was a bust but I was wide awake and ready for action, or taking the train home in this case. I took a long hard look around Long Island City, Queens and spotted no cars or people while I searched for the Q train entrance. A warm mist blanketed the city in quiet and the absence of noise was uncharacteristically New York. There weren’t any people lingering or accidental human encounters, just me on Queens Blvd., walking to the subway entrance. The tracks were vacant. Emptiness and silence consumed me as I held onto the sound of the approaching train. Once it arrived I sat across from two other individuals. (Persons 2 and 3, time 8:10.)

Took the G(hoast) train to the Lorimer stop thinking that I would walk the rest of the way and pick up some breakfast. Topside there was one person on the street. Stopped at the only open establishment of 2008, a small coffee shop that had just unlocked the front door. Ordered a panini. There was one person eating in the shop and the other person made my sandwich. As I left two men walked in. (Persons 4 through 8, time 8:55.)

I began to walk to home. The mist become heavier and held the sounds even closer to the ground until perspiration began to fall in sheets of heavy rain. I would have caught a cab but there were none in sight. My fuzzy blue jacket, think the cookie monster, was no match for the water and my boots were soaked through. My hair was drenched and the paper bag that contained my sandwich began to dissolve. I was a drowned blue rat wondering which race I had missed. It was 9:30 by the time I made it home, ate half of the sandwich and saved the other half for later. The first half tasted better than the second half. (Cars 0, time 9:30.)

In a city with a population of 8,274,527 and a population density of 26,403.8, I saw eight in 3.3 miles. Everyone was silent. Everything was silent. People were speaking in whispers trying to keep the other eight million two hundred and seventy four thousand five hundred and nineteen asleep, for just a little while longer. That morning I met the buildings, the tunnels, the streets and the rest of the infrastructure that would continue to operate if all of the humans disappeared. I felt the last woman on earth seeing New Years Eve as some ginormous blue monster that ate the people and left the city untouched.

This eve I look forward to an enthusiastic celebration followed by a warm and ample breakfast in a new city with a population of 799,183 and a density of 16,632.4.

There was a moment right before my dad grabbed me by the back of the neck, right after I pushed myself off of the bottom of the pool and right after I resurfaced to gasp for another breath where I looked around and thought. “Ya know it isn’t so bad here if I just relax.” At that moment when the therapeutic mineral water licked my eye balls, I looked through the blurry of water and realized it was nice in the middle, warm and comforting. I thought, “I can get used to this.”  Then like a force of nature, the hand reached into the water and pulled me out. At that moment, in the warm hot springs, I learned how to swim.

My journey back to Idaho and Utah reminded me of two distinct events in my life. The previous lesson in water and my first surgery. I had acute appendicitis, when I was seven, from scavenging horse food found in various places on the ranch. It was a great snack for taking on the go and a little horse food never hurt anyone, I thought. Alas, I was misguided and the surgery proved reason why humans and horses don’t eat the same diet. Read the rest of this entry »

Saints Crossing is the translation for Santa Cruz, a city on the coast of California. I knew that I needed to make a voyage to Santa Cruz to complete my return to California. I was there primarily to get a burrito at Tacos Morenos, reconnect with Santa Cruz individuals and visit the ocean. During the night I rubbed the corner of my temple and felt an optic nerve release. For a few moments I saw the optical nerves firing into my eye ball like little bolts of white lightening. I knew then that I had hit the button that would either start the game or end the game, either way I could see the algorithm.

I woke up in the morning refreshed but with a small muscle spasm at the top of my left eye lid. It subsided but would return if I got nervous or excited about something. A bit of a keep your cool monitor. I got that burrito I’d been phantom tasting for the past few years and the sudden news the game had turned into a political drama. On the cool brisk Santa Cruz shore, I was notified of the assassination of a fellow performer’s brother in Pakistan.

Digesting what he said, I followed a path, found a fork and promptly picked it up, not knowing when I would be hungry again. With fork in hand, I began to devour my work history, world views and relationship with the middle east for clues on how to best dissect the news of the brother’s untimely demise. I spit it out as I remembered that his brother has died before, will die again and the wake is always an open bar. I ventured onto San Francisco, with fork in hand and a postcard from the edge of the Pacific Ocean.

The next day was a celebration of all things internet TV, YouTube Live. In light of the loss of a great visionary, it was meaningful to find myself watching the show even though I had to trade twenty dollars cleverly disguised in a BART ticket envelope. Without his role in the early days of internet, there wouldn’t have been guitar heroes battling real guitar players, dance routines and funny skits at YouTube live. Insert link to viral YouTube video here. I grew exhausted waiting for Disney stars who never showed up and weren’t invited. (Miley you know who you are.) Realized that I wore my “Thursday shirt” again, or put on the same outfit, for the same caliber of event, without noticing. My internet professional uniform grew repeated. I remembered the game again and began to adding up experience points wondering if it would be enough to get me new cyber armor for a generation that doesn’t remember that cyber and punk and technology were once synonymous. Read the rest of this entry »

While we do have a new president who encourages us to believe, I’m not convinced. I’ve still got a lump on my head from that ever-so-graceful encounter with pavement. I try to put the blind spot in the upper left-hand corner of my eye out of mind while I gather resources to re-enter the work force. (Maybe it’s HOPE that I can’t see and I get it confused with BLIND.) I thought it would be healed by now, it’s been almost five months. The bump did teach me a couple of things, who I can drink with and who is most likely to slip something into my drink. Good luck with the new job, BTW. Hope your future is brighter than my left eye. I’ll stay out of the way from now on, LOL.

The election was fun for me. Between Facebook, Twitter and CNN, I was more than entertained. Cable- not such a bad idea. Fellow Facebook members drove the excitement of the election while I carefully choose my candidate. (I used this poll to decide. It tells me that I’m not just a liberal, but a Libertarian.) Twitter was the best. During the first two debates, the non-stop stream of comments both constructive and de-constructive were wonderful, albeit transitory. CNN for election night was a complete package of fun; holograms, touch screens and ticker tape. So many contraptions! I guess the election (and the Olympics) only happen once every four years- time to roll out the new stuff. The hologram was the best overuse of technology. The illusion of the political correspondent standing on the CNN floor wasn’t at all necessary. Why was it so important for us to see the thick white line down the back of her boxy jumpsuit? Oh! it was a trial run! Silly parlor tricks at work. (Will.I.Am, the last interviewee, is from the Black Eyed Peas. In case you didn’t know, he did this video.)

The election reminds me of an earlier post regarding the Oscars and the election. I didn’t need to write the meta-data this time, someone compiled it for me. As if they had read this post, the Republicans nominated Juno’s mother for the VP candidate spot. The nation did indeed think that this is “No Country For Old Men,” ‘cuz Obama won by a landslide. But my take on the Oscars was a bit deeper than the movie title, free-will was the larger theme and I feel that it won once again. Both McCain and Pallin performed one of the greatest games of charades that I have ever seen, pure entertainment. I guess if you can’t win, you win can a spot in history. They both won a spot in mine.

I’m looking forward to next year’s Oscars, a month after the inauguration. What does Hollywood have to offer us this holiday season? How will the popular films of 2008 speak to the election results? Escapist or political? I smell a mash-up here, voting demographics with box office polls. Someone should make it before I’m forced to dabble my nails in code again.

Pelts is one of the finest horror movies made by Dario Argento. The story of a man, Meatloaf, who acquires a coat from a haunted range where a witch’s curse causes the raccoon coat’s owner to mutilate their own flesh. The last scene involves Meatloaf cutting and de-skinning his flesh in a coat-like strips. Great movie, and for some reason, on repeat in my apartment the two weeks prior to Halloween 2007. All I remember of October of last year were raccoon pelts. The very sight of fur caused me to become slightly mad with sensuously envy, or cold, or both.

Post Halloween, while voting, I was given a pelt of fur. It was for warmth, somewhat like wolf, but closer to raccoon. I voted “yes,” of course, and walked away wearing the coat. This began my year long love affair with the pelt. Once I had the coat, I gave away my keys, my identity, my plastic money, my change of shoes, but most of all, I had the PELT. I found myself at home, dazed and key-less, nothing mattered. I had IT. I curled up in the fur outside my door. Some stroke of genius found a trap door into my apartment and I curled up on my bed wrapped in PELT. I left if for moments and the little furies [cats] took care of it, gently stroking its fur and sometimes giving it little baths when necessary. Since it was the perfect match for theirs; black, white, grey and a bit of brown- they couldn’t decide – was it was their mom, their dad or both?

After a few days I locked it up in a trunk. I brought it out every few months when I needed an escort. We would find ourselves walking alone through the bad parts of town in the wee morning hours, wishing otherwise. I always returned with IT.

Then I moved. Aside from the three cats and the snake, I had IT… It took up half of the seat on the plane next to me and weighted more than my carry on. I carried it on travels, it was checked as cargo. Then one night, someone convinced me to give it away to someone colder and more in need of a big, heavy weight on top of them. I wasn’t cold at the moment and had become too accustom to the weight across my shoulders. It was ripped from my hands, while I shed a single tear. On this Halloween evening I wonder what has become of it.