For reasons I can’t fully articulate tonight, this image almost perfectly encapsulates the past few years. Wild German romanticism combined with a perfectly timed message to the media. Things that don’t go, but somehow share a spirit.
Even the cropping (vs the original painting) somehow works in this context.
Ah, the human body.
It’s a wonderland, it’s a toxic waste dump.
Mine has gone through some major changes in the last few years. Fighting SIBO. Quitting all prescription drugs. Switching to an all-meat diet.
Everything that I know about biology I’ve learned ad hoc because it was functional information to me at the time.
I’ve cobbled together this incomplete constellation of biological knowledge—just enough to get me through but definitely not enough to help me solve some of the finer conundrums of my experience with excess bacteria.
Such as: if SIBO exists in the gut, why did so much of the bacteria (or remains of dead bacteria) get excreted through my skin?
The thing about dealing with a thing like SIBO is that there’s very little sanctioned scientific research about it. When it’s not even acknowledged by most medical providers, it’s not going to be on some scientist’s research bench.
Which means you have to observe what happens and come to conclusions on your own. And that process is much easier with the knowledge of biology.
I’m satisfied with the trajectory that my health has taken (UP!) but it still amuses me that I’ve done it all without the luxury of even a high school biology course.
Ima rectify that situation soon (though through reading, not a high school course) because I have some questions that Dr Google is not answering to my satisfaction.
Macrophages, yo.
Now, there’s an academic controversy mildly storming on higher ed news sites about English Professors and how English departments are terrible at interdisciplinary work or something. I haven’t been paying attention to the details.
That’s not what interests me.
In a rebuttal, the original author uses an analogy that exemplifies a certain type of person:
Some English professors appear to feel about interdisciplinary work the way I feel about chocolate. I am among those who are skeptical that the category of bad chocolate exists. When I offer someone a bite of my Hershey’s bar, and they say they don’t like bad chocolate, I suspect they don’t really like chocolate at all.
Is it possible to have an entire category that is so good that we are unable to distinguish quality within that category? Doubtful.
Yet many people in this world act like “doing something” is the same as “doing something well.” Just like Hershey’s chocolate is the same super-refined, dense, rich, hand-milled chocolate. (Which it’s not.)
The girl who wears sloppy eye makeup, rather than the girl who build up her wrist strength blending her eyeshadow to perfection.
The music producer who slaps three notes over a beat and rhyme the same word five times, rather than Kanye or Dynamic Duo who actually produce music that is thoughtful and interesting.
The guy who add a fedora (excuse me, trilby) to an outfit with the expectation that it makes them dressed-up, rather than the guy who take the time to work out and find clothes that fits his style and his body.
These people are everywhere.
And to be fair, whenever we start something new it can be really difficult to skip directly from “doing it badly” to “high quality.” Quality is something that takes refinement, which does not come automatically.
I’ve recently gotten back in the gym, and I’m the person who barely squeaks through my reps rather than the person who finishes each set like a dancer. That’s okay. I’m learning, and I’ll get better as I get stronger.
The problem comes when you stay that way.
Always strive to get better at what you do.
Interdisciplinary studies is all well and good, but there is a difference between cross-referencing a literary work with neuroscience and half-assing research because there’s nobody to call you on your BS.
“I am among those who are skeptical that the category of bad k-pop exists. When I offer someone a headphone to listen to BTS, and they say they don’t like bad k-pop, I suspect they don’t really like k-pop at all.”
I’ll keep this short, because to go long risks the review being longer than the book.
This is not a book of persuasion techniques. If you want to learn how to be a PUA or a bomb-ass copywriter, this is not going to teach you any “tips and tricks.”
Instead, you’ll find 10 lessons that teach you (or remind you), of the successful frame from which a villain operates.
Becoming a villain doesn’t actually require any villainy, no lawbreaking, no nefarious deeds—you just have to be the kind of person who most people say “that guy is a selfish asshole,” who upon further inspection is a good-hearted dude with a backbone and little patience for fools.
If you are the type of person who wants to forge strong relationships but hates “hanging out,” this is a book for you.
This is the “Little Golden Books” of pocket motivation. Pull it out for a refresher every couple of months.
Persuasion Secrets of the World’s Most Charismatic & Influential Villains is available on Amazon.
BTW, this is a good heuristic: if a lot of people (especially online hate mobs or liberals) say that someone is an “asshole,” go check them out. I guarantee you there will be something real underneath the persona.
Then Job answered and said:
“I have heard many such things;
miserable comforters are you all.
Shall windy words have an end?
Or what provokes you that you answer?
I also could speak as you do,
if you were in my place;
I could join words together against you
and shake my head at you.
I could strengthen you with my mouth,
and the solace of my lips would assuage your pain.
“If I speak, my pain is not assuaged,
and if I forbear, how much of it leaves me?
Surely now God has worn me out;
he has made desolate all my company.
And he has shriveled me up,
which is a witness against me,
and my leanness has risen up against me;
it testifies to my face.
He has torn me in his wrath and hated me;
he has gnashed his teeth at me;
my adversary sharpens his eyes against me.
Men have gaped at me with their mouth;
they have struck me insolently on the cheek;
they mass themselves together against me.
God gives me up to the ungodly
and casts me into the hands of the wicked.
I was at ease, and he broke me apart;
he seized me by the neck and dashed me to pieces;
he set me up as his target;
his archers surround me.
He slashes open my kidneys and does not spare;
he pours out my gall on the ground.
He breaks me with breach upon breach;
he runs upon me like a warrior.
I have sewed sackcloth upon my skin
and have laid my strength in the dust.
My face is red with weeping,
and on my eyelids is deep darkness,
although there is no violence in my hands,
and my prayer is pure.
“O earth, cover not my blood,
and let my cry find no resting place.
Even now, behold, my witness is in heaven,
and he who testifies for me is on high.
My friends scorn me;
my eye pours out tears to God,
that he would argue the case of a man with God,
as a son of man does with his neighbor.
For when a few years have come
I shall go the way from which I shall not return.
—Job 16
I have no idea who took this photo but it’s already a “classic”
» Do not waste one more second:
One way or another, the end is coming. But if you truly, deeply engage here, you can live more life in a week than most people live in an entire lifetime. By that I do not mean that you can have more experiences, I just mean that you can experience far more moments with far more depth and clarity than someone who’s just drifting through life on autopilot. One week fully and consciously appreciated contains more lived life than an entire stay in this world from cradle to grave when it is taken for granted.
» How to level up in the culture war
» The world’s most depressing overview of Ulcerative Colitis
» Luxury fashion brands don’t control their own conversation anymore
According to Tribe Dynamics, the top influencer driving the conversation on luxury products is the popular — and controversial — singer-songwriter, model and make-up artist Jeffree Star, who has over 500 million views on YouTube and almost five million followers on Instagram. “[Star] is talking not just about the beauty brands, but also the fashion apparel and accessories products,” says Begley, recalling a meeting in which representatives from one luxury house told him they didn’t want to be associated with Star, although he was already driving more conversation about the brand than anyone else.
“[Star] is shaping the perceived messaging. [Luxury houses] don’t have to make him the face of their brand, but this is a new wave of publishers that you have to manage and work with….Think about this as PR,” he continues. “How have you treated editors in the past? You got product into their hands pre-release. You built relationships with these people and created experiences that shaped their view of the brand.”
» On that note, Why nobody sympathizes with the media
» The Jake Paul story never ends. Good at sales, or just manipulative? Knowing that Gary Vaynerchuk is an investor in the Jake Paul brand changes the story quite a bit, for me at least. Listening to Shane Dawson talking to him about “how he doesn’t know what he’s doing is wrong” is like watching a rabbit explain to a shark how eating grass is better than snacking on surfers.
Not saying that Jake Paul is right, necessarily, but the discrepancy in worldview is large. Shane “I FINALLY HAVE MERCH!” Dawson comes from an entirely different place from Jake “yo” Paul.
To answer my question, yes magazines are propaganda. They are glamour. They exist in the space between “what is” and “what we hope for” (and frankly, they wallow in and widen that space).
The problem is they do not necessarily help us get from where we are to where we want to be.
This article (“Start a 1-acre, Self-Sufficient Homestead“) is republished by Mother Earth News 2+ times per year, and has been for a decade or more.
Why?
Because the dirty little secret of how-to magazines is that they are not instruction guides, they are tools for guided dreaming.
I’ve advertised in them (when I read http://Smartflix.com ), and talked to their ad sales people
They’re very forthright, and explain that their readers are “aspirational”.
There’s an argument that the reason that people play the lottery is not rational expectations, but buying an opportunity to dream.
Related, the reason people buy Mother Earth News and all the other homesteading magazines is because it gives them enough data to give their dreams a patina of realism. Same reason Lucas Films puts greebles and exhaust marks on spaceships.
Doesn’t make them real.
…but when you dream about living on a small self sufficient farm, and you can picture it with an old tractor that you’ve greased the zerk fittings on, it’s a BETTER, HIGHER QUALITY dream.
In 1970s and 1980s folks talked about Star Wars, Blade Runner as “lived in futures”
So Mother Earth News, etc. give you a “lived in future” for yourself. Instead of just thinking “in 10 years maybe we’ll live on a farm”, you think “in 10 years maybe we’ll live on a 3 acre farm with an old Ford tractor and some Buff Orppington chickens”.
Much more “real”.
But notice the difference between the PATINA of a lived in future, and an ACTUAL future.
The patina is painted on the surface, and it doesn’t need to actually work, it just needs to LOOK real, not BE real.
This creates selective pressure for the types of articles that are written and – PRAISE GNON! – this is the kind of article we get.
Which sells better? “Live debt free on 4 acres” or “Hobby farming is very hard and very expensive”?
You know the answer.
Now, with this in mind, go to the newsstand and look at all the farm LARP magazines. Every headline on the cover, & every article inside matches the template I just laid out.
(Go read the rest of the tweetstorm, especially if you’re a city person interested in starting a farm.)
This tells us two things. Probably more, but let’s focus on two.
I used to be a magazine addict. I loved magazines, especially fashion magazines, especially weird or foreign fashion magazines. One of the reasons that I quit buying them (other than money), is that I started to think about how little value they added to my life. Yes, the pictures were pretty and I enjoyed posting some on my wall, and I liked the entertainment factor—but in terms of actually advancing my life, nothing.
During this time, I found that it was more satisfying to look at super-high-end fashion—couture—than it was to look at “regular people” fashion. Couture I knew I would never be able to afford, so I just enjoyed looking at it for art’s sake. The “regular people” fashion presented clothes to me that I would fall in love with, but couldn’t quite afford. It always left a bad taste in my mouth, because I found the perfect bag/shoe/coat to no avail.
Both types of magazines left a gap between what I was looking at and my actual life. One was large and expansive, and 100% fantasy—fun. The other was small
So how can we turn this to our advantage? How can the dream-gap work for me instead of against me?
Dream with details. Details make everything more powerful. The more realistic something is, the more it sticks in your brain (think about cartoon violence vs live-action) and part of that is the details. You’ll always viscerally remember how something smelled, or a specific texture during a significant moment.
It always struck me that Tony Robbins corrects people who say you should think about your greatest moments as a way to create a positive vision for yourself. No, he said on a James Altucher podcast, you should relive that moment. Mentally put yourself back there and experience all the little details. That, more than anything, will wake up your brain and give you the feeling of success that you’re after.
If you’re going to dream “realistically,” actually take the actions to do the things you’re dreaming. Otherwise, dream insane and dream big. Then your dreams will never fail you.
And certainly don’t count on magazines to get you where you want to go.
(or is that nightmares?)
Pewdiepie’s dreams came true. Someone wore the Montcler x Pierpaolo Piccoli collection in the wild.
Because no event calls for a nun-Darth-Vader-puffer-jacket-Christmas-angel look like a Harry Potter movie premier. Looks like Ezra Whatshisface is determined to ascend to the next level of fame, yeah?
Dressing this way certainly gets you buzz. But it also makes you the weird goth kid who is super-pissed that he has to take family photos with the rest of the normals.
Priorities, I guess.
Some day in the future, I hope to log on to r/kpop and see the headline of my dreams: “SM Ent announcesMark, Haechan, and Taeil as next NCT subunit.”
Man that would be a great day. Let me tell you why.
courtesy NCT 127 Insta
Mark is the best rapper in SM Entertainment. He writes most of his own lyrics, and tends to play around with rhythm. His voice isn’t overly resonant, which is not as much of a problem as it sounds—helps him stand out against smooth vocals.
Haechan is not a rapper, even though he had a rap line in “We Go Up.” I used to describe his voice as fuzzy, but lately it’s not as rough—Haechan has refined his singing technique to a smooth velvety texture.
Taeil, on the other hand, has a smooth, piercing voice. If we continue the fabric metaphor, Taeil’s voice is a light, cool silk. He has tremendous flexibility and range.
I’l use the word “charisma” because it’s used so often in Korean-English translations. What I like about Mark, Haechan, and Taeil together is that like their voices, they bring a complimentary set of strengths to the table.
Mark I often describe as “workmanlike.” He has an incredible work ethic (literally been in all NCT comebacks with the exception of “Baby Don’t Stop” and songs with the vocal line only), and a drive to improve. In 2018, his dancing has gone from merely adequate to wait, is that Mark?. He once got a dance feature at an awards show, even though his official position in NCT has nothing to do with dance. He will make sure things get done.
Almost on the opposite side of the spectrum, Haechan is a performer. He will take any opportunity to make a joke or do something extra. You will always be entertained when he’s around. Where Mark can sometimes be overly serious and focused, Haechan lightens the mood—but he’s deadly serious about performing. Watching his slow transformation into Michael Jackson (1, 2) is fascinating, as he’s obviously studying and applying what he sees.
Because Taeil is so quiet, he’s harder to figure out. But given that he plays piano and guitar, and given that if he weren’t an idol he would have gone to University for music, I feel safe in saying that he is an artistry guy.
It may not be apparent when you first get to know NCT, because Taeil is so quiet in interviews, but all three dudes have a great sense of humor. Haechan (his stage name literally means “Full Sun”) is the most obvious, because he’s always the class clown. Taeil doesn’t often joke around on camera, but his playful sense of humor still shows through occasionally—like in his feature during promotions for “Touch.” Mark is less of an instigator, but is more than willing to play along with jokes and gives great reactions. My favorite example of this is Haechan and Mark’s surprise game of Rock Paper Scissors during promotions for “My First and My Last.” (Haechan’s reaction is real, btw.)
Now humor doesn’t often factor into a comeback song, but it is an indicator of how a team will perform together. Even based on these random Insta photos, these three work together just fine.
To sum up, a Mark/Haechan/Taeil subunit would be a winning combination of looks, musical balance, charisma, and teamwork. And they already have promo photos!
K-pop idols are already some weird combination of trading cards (for the stats and modular personalities) and paper dolls (for the fashion), so I don’t think it’s all that weird indulging in some fantasy football-inspired dreams here.
So if you’re a SM Entertainment rep randomly trolling the internet looking for ideas, consider this one.
The muscles lay, relaxed and warm, nestled between fluffy covers and a firm mattress. (They were, of course, firmly housed in a pair of legs.) It was early, so they tensed lengthened as their owner flexed her toes, slowly waking up.
Little did they know it was leg day.
Soon enough those muscles found themselves pressing down the gas pedal in the car. It was cold, made even colder by the chilly air that was blowing through the vent in a slow attempt to warm up. Maybe the muscles wished they could have been enclosed in full-length leggings instead of cropped leggings, but we’ll never know. Hey, they’re muscles—no brain needed.
After ripping out an impressive 57 mph on the highway, the muscles kicked into gear with an uphill walk from the parking lot to the gym. They trip-trapped down three flights of stairs to the locker room, and stood patiently while a gym bag was stowed in a locker.
Then, it was off to the weight room. The muscles still had no idea what was in store for them. They blissfully warmed up slowly during some time on the rowing machine, clenching just enough to get the feet in and out of the toe-holds. But what did they care, most of the work was being done by the back.
Then, it started. Goblet squats. With a newfound range of motion built up over a summer of calisthenics, the muscled tensed and flexed in perfect form. With weights, rather than with pure bodyweight, the muscles felt a different tension. It was urgent. This was serious.
During the next exercise—dumbbell-assist forward lunges—pain entered into the muscles. They were used to sticking together, one for all, but these new exercises were pushing them in new and different directions. They actually had to adapt to perform the movement they were asked to do.
After a relatively straightforward leg press and some situps (in which they were blissfully uninvolved), the muscles were rewarded with a nice warm shower back in the locker room.
As they walked the legs back down the hill from the gym, the muscles groaned and complained. They hadn’t been asked to do that much work in quite some time—it was unfair.
They couldn’t walk out or go on strike, so they decided to put up as much of a fuss as possible, starting that afternoon. They weren’t asked about going to the gym, but the sure could get their revenge.
That, my friends, is the story of why I’ve been walking like an old lady since Monday.
I got back in the gym this week. It’s been good, muscle complaints aside. This particular gym offered a 1-year package at a lump sum of $300. Each time I go, I’ll recalculate the price-per-visit. But that means my first visit was $300 per visit.
Now I’ve gone twice, so the price has dropped to $150 per visit.
What a bargain.
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