Seeking Failure

This is my next goal: I want to fail. A lot. Frequently. To challenge, court, invite, and risk failure.

When one exercises one's muscles with heavy weights, one learns to work to failure to test how far the body can go to learn how to become stronger. Failure is the inability to do even one more repetition, even if offered a million dollars as a reward. When you know where failure is, you have a sense of where to begin and where your goals lie—how progress can and should be measured.

I hate failing. I avoid failure. I avoid doing anything I cannot do extremely well. I avoid anything that I know makes me look imperfect (and I worry over all the things that make me look imperfect that I do not see).

Still, I know that avoiding failure is itself failure. I avoid doing things I do not do well so that other people will think more highly of me. By avoiding these things, I make it impossible for other people to connect with me in any but the most superficial ways and so I fail in worse ways than I had feared.

So I am going to hunt down failure. I am going to learn to delight in failure. I already hate failure. I will develop a taste for it, as though it were a particularly fine cheese, or a strongly flavored liquor. I will become drunk with the success of failure. And then it will take more failure and more failure before I can fail. And I will grow stronger, and failure will become strength.

things the magazines won't tell you

you don't need a microwave to pop popcorn.
(no, you don't need a lumberjack to pour your milk, either.)
suggesting that overweight women/women struggling with weight issues might consider switching from "regular" microwave popcorn to "reduced fat" microwave popcorn is just sneaky marketing.
telling fellow readers that just such a switch  helped to turn you into a weight-loss success story is revealing and sad: giving up one food product for another is not a success.

How to Make Popcorn:
Pour about 1 tablespoon of oil (grapeseed, corn, safflower, or peanut would be good; olive works but you'll have more unpopped seeds) into a 2-4 qt saucepan. Make sure this pan has a lid. Add 2 tablespoons of popcorn kernals. I like white, blue, or red ones. Yellow ones are tasteless and less crispy.

Place pan on a burner on the stove and turn the burner on. Medium heat.

Keep the pan on the burner until the popping slows down considerably. Shake popcorn into a bowl. Salt. Eat.

Homemade Microwave Popcorn (if the thought of popping on the stove is too terrifying for words):
Place popcorn kernels into a paper bag. Fold the bag shut (tiny folds: you want as much space as possible). Microwave 2-5 minutes. 

Cheap. No "butter flavor." No added coloring. No preservatives. No artificial sweeteners. No TBHQ or partially hydrogenated anything. Less packaging. Less waste. More flavor.

If popcorn is the one thing standing between you and your skinny jeans, you might want to rethink things in general though.

I, on the other hand, am the one so irritated by the magazine copy that I have devoted an entire blog post to it. So I might need to rethink some things too...

Letter to the Sartorialist and his readers

(it's a short letter)

I am a curvy size 0-2.

I am very small. But I have some lovely curves. Really.

Thank you very much.

The Philosophotarian

Xtreme Thr!ft

This project is going better than anticipated. I see that I could cut back even further, particularly in my food budget.

I've filled and emptied my Sephora shopping cart three times. I can't wait for March 1.

I've tried on 2 rounds of glasses and will order (for free!) more try-on frames soon.

I'll get an airtight coffee canister and probably some new scanties. Maybe a haircut.

I'll probably let myself go to Metropolis for coffee on the weekends so I can get out of the house while I write. I haven't written anything yet this month.

Cutting back has been easier than I thought. I'll probably keep recording my daily expenditures. Days when I spend no money are rarer than I had thought they would have been, but they make me happier than I could have imagined.

The Month of Extreme Thrift

That is the name of this month's main project. Extreme thrift is not nearly as cheap as I thought! Okay, it is more accurate to say that my budget is a leaky sieve and stopping up half the holes makes it easier to see just how much cash I leak all the time.

I've been making my coffee at home and eating oatmeal for breakfast. I've been bringing sandwiches to work for lunch and eating apples and oranges for snacks. I've not bought a single e-book for my kindle, nor even looked at eBay for skirts or shirts for spring.

Still, I've already spent $90 on groceries this month. I paid the cobbler the $35 balance on the boots and shoes I had repaired. I bought (inexpensive) dinner out on the night of the Literacy Center Benefit Gala. I'll buy an Amtrak ticket ($22) for Sunday and a gift ($?) for my mother in honor of her birthday. I'm not sure I'll have time this month, but if I do, I'll go see As You Like It for $20.

Wow! Already I can see that this was a necessary project. I think I'll do a Month of Extreme Thrift every three months in an effort to better control my budget and my spending. Learning to defer gratification will be useful when I go into Exile.

preparation for resolutions

How do those of you without children, dogs, real jobs, roommates, live-in partners, medication schedules, yoga/spin/expensive class of choice get out of bed at a reasonable hour of the morning?

Is there anyone other than me who fits that category?

breaking up is hard to do

Dear Wine,

you are no good for me and I don't think we should see each other any more. I think it's best if this is a clean break--don't call or write or text or email. I know how that will go: you'll say "let's just get together for a few minutes, just for one glass." Next thing I know, I've drunk you all up. Honestly, if I'm going to lose control like that, I'd rather do it with chocolate or cheese.

love,

the philosophotarian.

ps. I mean it. I mean it super hard.

Books I must read soon

Either/Or
Works of Love
Anna Karenina
The Princess Casamassima
Fear and Trembling
Discourse on Method
Phaedrus

Pie!!!

I got to practice my pie-making skills last night. I don't make pie very often. I think my last attempt at pie crust involved a box of Jiffy mix (don't judge me too harshly!). While making this dough, I was convinced it wouldn't come together. Not having made a good dough before, I wasn't sure what to look for, or what my goals were. Still, I followed the instructions reasonably well and the result is both lovely and delicious!

Happy Thanksgiving!

my platform

Philosophotarian, if elected to goddesshood, will even entertain other peoples' conundrums right here on this blog. That's right folks. Philosophotarian will, if asked to do so, open her big mouth and dispense advice.

2011 campaign

I'm running for goddesshood next year, so you should plan to vote for me.
I will thwart evil and reward goodness.
I will have a particular fondness for the brilliant, witty, and wise.
Best of all, I will provide practical advice in real time to those who ask for it.
I make very good points and I am very often correct.

So vote for me! Add me to the pantheon! philosophotarian for goddesshood 2011!

*I'm not running for capital-G divinity. I don't have to be the best of the best. No, no. There's room enough for many. A parliament, not a monarchy.

clearly not learning from Aristotle

When I do work in earnest I am quickly shown how little I work in general, how lazy I am most of the time. If I used my time better, I could be so much more accomplished. I am, as it is, so very far behind. When I do see clearly how undisciplined and lazy I’ve been, I become very disappointed in myself and quite ashamed of myself. When I am not working, although I recognize that I am not working, I do not take a measure of work left undone. When I begin to work again, I remember how quickly (and slowly) I do work, and am able to take better account of just how much work I have not done, just how much more work I have made for myself, just how much longer it will take before I can even begin to catch up.

This is a very ugly habit. It has deleterious effects upon my character. I grow resentful and envious of those who are better disciplined and more accomplished. I grow angrier and angrier with myself. Moreover, I despair. I grow discouraged. Petulant. I become so disappointed in myself that it seems inconceivable to me that I am not a disappointment to everyone I love. How can anyone stand me? I am lazy, careless, weak, cowardly.

It becomes clear that no one but my own self has ever stood in the way of my success. When I am not working, it is easy to point to all the teachers who did not encourage me, even those who declined to offer guidance when asked for it. It is easy to point to the family from which I sometimes feel alienated. It is easy to point out that I meet few people with whom I can discuss philosophy in ways that are simple enough for me to understand without being trite or silly.

When I begin to do work again, I remember (why do I ever let myself forget?) that I never had to be brilliant. Never had to be the smartest person I know. I only ever have to (ever had to) work consistently to the best of my ability and always try to improve. That’s all. I don’t have to move at leaps and bounds. I will never be able to do so. Avoiding work because I cannot do everything at once is so foolish—and I know this, of course. There is not—there never was—any time limit. Had I kept plodding at my own very stupid pace, I would be so much further along than I am now.

And then I think of the ways in which I spend my time, the things with which I fill my head. If I’d spent half of the time I currently spend reading magazines reading texts in the history of ethics, I would be very well read. When I then remember that I reread these magazines, sometimes more than once, I am very ashamed. I could have written at least one conference paper. I could have read books that are much more edifying. I could have lost five pounds. I could have tried a dozen new recipes.

file under "not getting it"

Dear Sir,

Yes. I did give you my phone number last May. You asked for directions to Clark street (what don't you understand about a grid system?) and I gave them. We were both walking to Clark and you started talking to me. You were pleasant enough for a stranger. Fine. Then you suggested that we might hang out sometime. That surprised me and I probably responded something like "uh. maybe. sure." Then you asked for my phone number. I gave it.

You texted that evening or an evening or two later. I don't really remember. I apologized for having given you my phone number. Said I didn't have time for new friends--hardly had time for the friends I already had--and I was seeing someone and I wasn't available to hang out. I think you asked if it was okay if you hung onto my number in case I had time at some later date. I'm pretty sure I said I would not have time at some later date.

I don't remember if you actually texted at some point a few months later at which time I would have responded that I still did not have time. Then you said ok, you'd delete my phone number. At some point you did say you would just delete my phone number.

(keep in mind that we met once, briefly, on the street, strangers)

So why did you text me Sunday evening, after a year and a half, to ask if I remember having met you? "Hey. This is ------. We met a while back. Do you remember?" I believe that the event I remember is the last time I gave out my phone number to a boy. So I believe I am correct in thinking the text message I received Sunday is from that boy I met a year and a half ago. What don't you understand? I am not available. I will never be available.

I didn't respond. If you text again, ------, I will say "No. You must have the wrong number."

Zeus takes the scales in his hand

and weighs the fates of the champions. Just as Hector, beloved of Zeus, was fated to die, so must I write this evening. Fate is fate, regardless of desire. I have no desire to write, but fate does not care. (Neither does Zeus.) I will battle the wind to reach my home, pull on my heroine pants, make a big pot of tea, and continue writing.

I hope I don't have to be either Hector or Achilles. Hector never gets to finish the dissertation; Achilles never gets a job afterwards. Doom either way. I have to figure out how to be Aeneas.

I wonder what my metaphors will be when I move on to Middlemarch.

Dear Everyone,

It seems that many of you missed the memo, so here it is:

MEMORANDUM FOR ALL PERSONS

FROM: the philosophotarian

SUBJECT: leggings

Leggings are not pants. Leggings = undergarment. Alternatively, leggings (like flip-flops) = verboten. Do not wear leggings in place of pants, skirts, shorts, kilts, etc., unless you are a method actor in a production committed to historically accurate clothing. In which case, I expect to see codpieces.

Heroines need pants to wear for heroic activities

This heroine has 11 pages. Villains everywhere are perking up, ready lure the heroine away from her heroic activities. Stop, villains. It will not do. I will not submit to your villainy. I will pull on my new coffee-colored, petite-length, super-soft writing pants and thwart you. Yes. Thwart. I expect to reach 24 pages by the end of the weekend.