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Addictions that have no spokesperson
Mar. 29th, 2006 12:06 amI'm a teeny, tiny bit known for my strange obsessions with objects and their use. Tiny bit. Teeniest tiny bit. Oh hell, even I can't find a way to gloss that one over. I'm obsessive: So much so, that the Witch Queen of the Silver Crescent Tradition likes to call me lazy as a joke, because I'm rather more well known as the antonym to lazy, as I've just about always have something new to obsess over and go nutty with misusing along the lines of the "not what the manufacturer originally intended" variety.
My mother claims the statement most heard in the household when I was growing up was "what does she have in her hands now?" And no, this has nothing to do with the multiple times I threw the cat in the dumbwaiter as a child. Well, not much to do with it, anyway. I will dink and putter around with an obsession for weeks, months even, then either use it in the barest minimum sense or ignore it for the rest of eternity, entirely. Finally giving it away to a friend who nonchalantly mentioned an interest in said object, only to find themselves saddled with a once expensive gift that is now years out of date. If you've been on the receiving end of one of these, my sincerest snicker is yours.
I could just about give you the chronology of my life in terms of what I was obsessed with. Seriously. In no particular order: Journals, typewriter, PDA, top-loading scanner, digital camera, darkroom, antique cameras, a Hitachi Wand (fun winter that, but my electric bill suffered horribly), a pigeon-hole camera I made from scratch, antique telephone I re-wired to work properly, my horse(s), my dog(s), iPod, iDog, Norbert (my old pc), Newbert (my new custom box build with these really cool)... sorry, I digress.
Not sure if there's such a thing as iTunes addiction, but if there is, I'm desperately guilty of it. Biblically guilty of it in the sense of Idolatry to the Golden Calf-degree.
( My computer has become a God )
One day we will find poor Trista hiding out in the backalleys of Silicon Valley, her hands clutching empty jewel cases, a fedora slouched over her glowing red eyes, her voice hoarse from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. And in the thinnest of whispers, she will ask in tones of heavy despair "got any mp3s you can spare?"
My mother claims the statement most heard in the household when I was growing up was "what does she have in her hands now?" And no, this has nothing to do with the multiple times I threw the cat in the dumbwaiter as a child. Well, not much to do with it, anyway. I will dink and putter around with an obsession for weeks, months even, then either use it in the barest minimum sense or ignore it for the rest of eternity, entirely. Finally giving it away to a friend who nonchalantly mentioned an interest in said object, only to find themselves saddled with a once expensive gift that is now years out of date. If you've been on the receiving end of one of these, my sincerest snicker is yours.
I could just about give you the chronology of my life in terms of what I was obsessed with. Seriously. In no particular order: Journals, typewriter, PDA, top-loading scanner, digital camera, darkroom, antique cameras, a Hitachi Wand (fun winter that, but my electric bill suffered horribly), a pigeon-hole camera I made from scratch, antique telephone I re-wired to work properly, my horse(s), my dog(s), iPod, iDog, Norbert (my old pc), Newbert (my new custom box build with these really cool)... sorry, I digress.
Not sure if there's such a thing as iTunes addiction, but if there is, I'm desperately guilty of it. Biblically guilty of it in the sense of Idolatry to the Golden Calf-degree.
( My computer has become a God )
One day we will find poor Trista hiding out in the backalleys of Silicon Valley, her hands clutching empty jewel cases, a fedora slouched over her glowing red eyes, her voice hoarse from too much caffeine and not enough sleep. And in the thinnest of whispers, she will ask in tones of heavy despair "got any mp3s you can spare?"
