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![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) gaelotek | |
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I think that LinkedIn inspires, for me, a kind of rage most privacy-conscious citizens reserve for Facebook and Google. I understand, though I'd tell you I always did, what people must feel when they know that this entity is there scavenging through every morsel of information a person lets slip off their table. They must feel violated, even if they don't hold faith in the Internet only existing to betray customers (or commerce-enablers, given how income banks on the reader finding the supplied ads interesting) to cryptofacist governments. I feel that way when I'm looking at LinkedIn. To me Facebook provides a freedom of expression, I can place something embarassing or incriminating on a site for all to say, damn their employment opinion of me. If I place something there it is because I am proud of that something and I will not let even an employer take it away from me. (This is why I haven't joined my employer's facebook network, mind you, and why there's only one person from work I've facebook-friended.) LinkedIn is not a place I feel comfortable doing that. It is so geared towards appearing professional and sellable that I do not feel free or comfortable there. All I see on that site is a set of HTML voices demanding that commodization in active-false tenses. LinkedIn asks me not to brightly display my qualifications, but instead to strip myself of anything that is not a marketable bulletpoint. This makes me feel ashamed and objectified. But I can't deny that to not be on it is to be a career Luddite. I'll take to it slowly and carefully, and maybe one day I'll feel competent enough to demand that employers accept my natural presentation while promising that they shall be duly compensated. Current Music: Bob Dylan - Don't Look Back
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enigmaticdan | |
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Fanboy, fangirl - the worst things to be called in geek culture. "What you like is bad! Don't you know that it's bad?" But really, are we all approaching this the wrong way? Isn't it great someone can find joy out of a supposedly mediocre cultural object?
I suppose the problem is fanboys and fangirls visit forums, blogs, et cetera and proclaim how great their object of worship is, and if people don't see that, they're deliberately disliking it. They're anti-fanboys, which itself a kind of fanboyism, isn't it? Or fanboys of the alternative, lesser interpretation of the TV show, comic book, or film franchise in question.
The solution is simple: end all communication. Screw two-way media! Let's have companies jam all sorts of crap down our throats, I say! Throw everything to the wall and hope some of it sticks! We're either going to have to deal with the noise of bad culture producers or the noise of upset cultural consumers, and I'd rather have the professionalism of the former.
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enigmaticdan | |
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I finally got Nellwid, my tauren shaman, to level 68. As a result, I finally have two characters in Northrend. Technically I could have brought my Alliance character, a dwarf priest, to Northrend since Wrath began, but.. you know... Alliance. Eww.
Unfortunately, Nell hasn't gotten many gear upgrades in the Burning Crusade dungeons she ran, so survival is... problematic so far. I've looked up the quest rewards in Wowhead and hopefully we'll get her into some good greens soon.
It's nice being able to contrast healing as a priest and a shaman. In many ways, they're similar. Both classes provide a lot of buffs to their parties, and since I have a Holy Priest, they both excel at healing groups. To break up the monotony of healing, they both have other things to look out for (for Priests, it's Shackle Undead and Dispel Magic; for Shamans, it's Wind Shear and Purge). Although my reasoning may be based on the relative ease of Burning Crusade dungeons versus, say, Halls of Reflection, there are a number of things I like about shaman healing more than priest healing.
1) As the slogan for the Ron Popeil Rotisserie Grill says, as a shaman, you can just "set it and forget it". The shaman does a lot of set up before a fight. Is Earth Shield on the tank? Is Water Shield on me? Are the right totems up? If things go well, the rest of the fight is a matter of choosing between three spells. As a priest, I'm constantly thinking, "Is Prayer of Mending on cooldown? Do I have time for Greater Heal? Oh no, I stepped in the fire, Binding Heal! Oh, AoE damage, do I do Prayer of Healing or Circle of Healing? Is Renew still up on the tank?"
2) Totems make me sensitive to positioning that I never really acknowledged as a priest. Maybe I'm just a bad priest who walks out of range of his party all the time, but I find my desire to keep the right totem buffs on my party makes me aware of where I am and where I should be.
3) Hardly anyone ever competes for spellpower mail gear. However, this luxury isn't always true: just yesterday, I ran Escape from Durnholde Keep with a enhancement and an elemental shaman. Three shamans, one from each spec! What are the odds? I used to have a monopoly on cloth with spirit as a Holy Priest, but now mages and warlocks who are hit-capped want my stuff, too.
It's not all perfect. I miss Power Word: Shield a lot. And Guardian Spirit, too. They're both the key emergency spells for me. Nature's Swiftness is great, but it's practically a once-per-encounter thing.
Outside of healing, I just find the shaman has a lot more neat toys to play with. Earth Elemental Totem, for example. In contrast, as a priest, I just get to Smite a lot.
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gaelotek | |
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Spent New Year's Eve in West Galt (North Dumfries). Considered spending it in bed reading Gravity's Rainbow, but perhaps made the right decision. You know how I get when prepping for social endeavours. Was invited by housemate to her parents' place, supposedly surrounded by woodland and waterworks and such. Other housemates were going, as were mutual friends none of which I consider bad people. Was mulling the answer while listening to them play Beatles Rock Band, insult people they didn't like, and pour on massive hate for Fleetwood Mac. Stuck with it because it was the least sensical invitation, the most different from years before. -- The place was the kind of place horror movie dreams are made off, open-room cabins smelling of wood with scantly-lit pathways giving the illusion of neighbourly aid. The Kitchen alone was the size of half of our house. A spiral staircase sent up the middle of the living room to a bedroom which had chosen full-length windows for walls as private paths and ponds and woodland could be surveyed as one slept. Myself and S. made dinner, sweet potato quesedillas on his part and a sweet potato slash black bean stew on mine. With our combined leftovers we improvised a salsa, impressing ourselves with culinary lateral thinking (sort-of.) After using a nice set of knives, I want one of my own again (The name Misono comes to mind.) The same applies to gas stoves. I prever cluttered cramped living areas, however, they seem warmer and more livable. -- Glasses of Frangelico. C. devours all the shrimp and we cheerfully laugh at her about it. A. catches a few dozen peanuts in his mouth and pours himself Sambuka. Smoke-ring circles, first bongs then pipes. Tobacco is discussed, I suggest mixing in Djarum for next time. The stereo blares The Beatles, Elvis Costello, follows up with Oingo Boingo and Euromotion. Z. lowers her eyes at this musical history of her ex-housemate. I think of Dan (Fernando) and him suggesting that I'd enjoy Brian Eno. Nobody knows or understands Tangerine Dream, but they file the second-half of Phaedra away for next time. Scooter begins but is skipped as generic "DJ music". The Stones never come up at all. -- K. dances and talks about film archiving in UEA and cannot cannot keep a straight face in any picture. W. giggles and snorts and admits that she only allows people to yell things like "You're pretty" and "The bus you're waiting for is going to show in two minutes!" at random people on the street from her car. I am not going to pet a dog just because it's there, which is strange. As of this writing I have cajoled the cat George Michael onto the sunny spot on my bed where he sleeps, occasionally stared at when I'm thinking. We go outside and light a fire, fueled by Mike the Punk's Jimmy Buffet record sleeves and W.'s undergraduate career. One minute to midnight, we light sparklers and dance around. A., the only one completely blasted, is giggling and boistrous, giving advice to anyone that won't listen, running up hills and we all laugh at him before he slinks off to pass out on a couch in his suit and tie. Mike the Punk holds sixteen sparklers in each hand; Later, he tries to light a cigarette from the flames before deciding --at our urging-- that a pristine face isn't worth a small social reputation. Half-an-hour before the bell tolls I recieve an email message on a phone I forgot to turn off. It's nothing, just a message, but defines so much of what I did in 2009 and why I did them Just when I think I'm winning, When I've broken every door, The ghosts of my life, Blow wilder than before. I consider my 2009 satisfied, I smile despite myself, I leave off considering replies and enable airplane mode. More music and smoke and talking. Z. and J. hold each other, the first time I've seen the former happily affectionate. I'm wearing a black lite sweater and a handkerchief. Sometimes, depending on my mood, I wear it like a peasant scarf. I look in the mirror once and am surprised to feel attractive. W. asks me about my pre-Canadian life and I try to answer truthfully. Z. tells me, despite knowing that my veganism being only for seduction purposes, that she nonetheless considers me her best vegan baker. "For as your intentions drip with deliciuous sex, Gaelan, so do your baking results." We try watching the Yellow Submarine around four, but too many of us are tired and stoned and it's just too much so early in the year. We sleep on layers of blankets, none of us comfortable, a chorus of apnea. -- We wake, we make each other pancakes, we talk, we clean up, we laugh at A. He drives half of us to the Anslie bus terminal to ease his chauffer duties, I commute his guitar to allow more passenger room. We converge at my place eating Chinese. We talk about porn, and the rest of the story has been told. I have four resolutions, two easy, two extremely difficult. I have a dozen intentions, and no set future. Twenty Ten. Current Music: Elliott Smith - No Name No. 5 | Powered by Last.fm
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