Outliers

A few months ago, I read Malcolm Gladwell's book Outliers, and it changed my outlook on what it takes to be successful in today's world. In the book, Gladwell provides case studies - biographies, if you will - of a variety of succesful people, from lawyers to hockey players to Bill Gates. But rather than just charting their career histories, as would happen in a business case study, Gladwell probes beyond the surface to discover the hidden secrets or advantages certain people had. For example, Bill Gates is successful because he know computers. Okay. We all know that. He dropped out of Harvard to start Microsoft. He didn't need college anymore. Why? Well, by the time he started Microsoft, he'd spent almost 10 years working on computers full-time, not to mention studying them in school. He surrounded himself with computers, and even though he might've been frustrated with them at times, he was never bored. And by the time he quit school, he'd probably logged 10,000 hours working on computers. He'd been in the high school computer club (which his school had because he was from a wealthy neighbourhood), because computers were so new when he was in high school, him and his friends got jobs setting up networks for large companies arround Seattle. Then he bought a "make your own PC kit" from a magazine, and that was about that. 10,000 hours.
This is the secret, says Gladwell: if you do something for 10,000 hours, you become an expert in it. If you play hockey for 10,000 hours, you're probably really good at it... and you're probably in good shape, too. If you write for 10,000 hours, you're probably good at it as well.
So the other night I sat down and tried to calculate how many hours I've spent writing. I took my 12th birthday as the starting point, because that's when I started journalling, and calculated up till Saturday. I figured that, on average, I've spent 3 hours a week writing. Sometimes more, of course, but I've also gone months writing nothing except emails. And I came up with a figure. According to my calculations, I've spent approximately 2340 hours writing since the age of 12. That's well short of 10,000. It's possible this number could be higher or lower - I haven't really been keeping track - but it just goes to show that I have a LONG road ahead of me if I want to become an excellent writer.
And it also goes to show that our professors are right. The only way to become a better writer is to WRITE. Constantly. Even if you're writing shit, you have to put in the time.
If you write 20 hours a week for 52 weeks, that's 1040 hours. Do that for 10 years and you're past the 10,000 mark.
If I write 20 hours a week for 8 more years, I'll become an expert. Most likely I won't do that. So if I keep writing 3 hours per week, it will take me another 49 years to log 10,000 hours.
Look for my first book 2058!

So Mickey Rourke walks into a bar...

...and walks out with an open beer. Sorry, it was an Italian restaurant.
How is this news, people? I mean, really? I thought news was supposed to be about things the average person wouldn't do. I've done worse than that. I know someone who stole a complete set of cutlery from Earl's - they really liked the fork-spoon hybrid thing they had.
I mean, really. Isn't smoking a bigger crime than taking an open beer out of a restaurant? In Victoria it is. They'll confiscate your beer, but they'll fine you for smoking.

http://www2.canada.com/victoriatimescolonist/news/story.html?id=956d25ed-59d1-4c9b-875b-94bcb525a8ed&k=66036

Now, for the record, I quit smoking a while ago (and as far as my mother knows, I never started. Although there was this one time I was smoking a Camel Light out my bedroom window, and the dog started pawing at the carpet, trying to dig a hole through the floor and save me... mom came running up the stairs and asked me what was going on... she must have known, but ignored it. Like she ignored so many things for the sake of politeness. I wish I was able to be as demure as my mom sometimes. But anyways, I digress...)
And I think every smoker should quit, if only for the extra lung capacity. But I don't think the government should have so much control over where and when people do things they want to do. Smoking isn't the greatest thing in the world, but it's a choice people make. If the government is allowed to outlaw smoking, what next?

I remember the first time I had a cigarette. I was 11 years old, in seventh grade. My friend Jess snuck some DuMaurier Lights from her mother's purse, and we stood outside my apartment building, right next to the intercom. I lived in this strange multi-building complex on a hill. Next to us was an empty parking lot, and beyond that, an abadoned pool. The pool had been dry since we'd moved into the building. The buildings were labelled A, B, C, D, and each was named after a kind of tree. We lived in the Cedar building. Once I found human feces in the stairwell. But anyways, I digress. Again.
My mom was still at work, and I was in seventh grade. I'd skipped a grade so I was younger than everyone, and even though seventh grade is like desperation in a can, I was extra desperate becase I was younger. I'd changed schools the year before because the girls in class picked on me - I was younger than them but had boobs, and they didn't. They wouldn't let me join the "special girls" club, where they all talked about "growing up" and getting their peiods and having boyfriends and french kissing. They said I was too young. Even though, like I said before, I was the only one with boobs. And house keys.
And once again, I digress. Jess and I are standing outside, in front of the intercom. Bushes hide us from view of the cars that, if they drove by, would be parking in the abandoned parking lot. Ghosts froliced in the empty swimming pool. Jess was extremely short, and she wore big glasses. She kinda looked like Velma from Scooby Doo, except she was 12. And she hated her life. Then again, what kid in grade 7 doesn't hate their life? Jess was so desperate to be in what she perceived to be the "popular" group, which at our school consisted of pretty much everyone. There was the one girl who was, like, the head of the group, and we'd all meet up before school and walk to her house and meet her, then walk to school - there was a group of, like, five of us that would do this. She only lived a block away from school, though. Anyways, she was the queen, and anything she said was gold. She said it was cooler to smoke filterless cigarettes, so Jess snapped the filters off the DuMauriers she'd stolen from her mom's purse and threw them into the bushes.
"It's cooler to smoke them without the filter," she said, as though she was telling me something I hadn't heard before.
She'd stolen a lighter, too, although lighters weren't hard to come by. Everyone in my class had a lighter, although we only used them to light schoolbooks on fire or to burn illicit, filterless cigarettes, as Jess and I were doing.
It took a few tries to light the thing, although eventually the smoke filled our little orb of secrecy. It smelled, to my nose, like grandfathers. And like when my mom would come home from the bar and kiss me goodnight. And Jess's house. What it didn't smell like was coolness.
Jess smoked first, of course, since she's the one who stole them from her mom's purse. She put it to her lips and sucked in the weird-smelling smoke, quickly, as if gasping. Then she blew it out right away. Her saliva soaked into the paper, turning it from white to dirty grey. She handed the cigarette to me. I took it and, following Jess's lead, inhaled quickly. The paper felt wet, and wrong, against my lips.
"If this is smoking," I thought, "then I don't like it."

In high school, everyone smoked. They stood outside at lunch time, across the street from school grounds, and smoked like there was no tomorrow. The cool kids, the weird kids, the stoners. Everyone smoked at one time or another. It intimidated me. I wanted to hang out with the punks, but I didn't have access to cigarettes. I didn't have anything to offer them. My best friend smoked, her best friend smoked too. Seriously, the only one who didn't was me. I was even in a movie, "The Politics of Saturday Night," holding a lit cigarette but not inhaling. The voice-over said "look at me, I'm cool. I smoke. Really I do. I do. I'm cool."
One friend, Angela, was so addicted that she'd scour public ashtrays for butts, collect the tobacco into little piles, and roll her own. She became an expert at peeling the foil from the back of the paper in the cigarette pack. In the morning, on the way to school she found a whole cigarette on the ground. It was a bit wet from the rain, but whatever. It was part of her persona, though; part of what made her so endearing. She was a slave to her bad habits. But she could laugh about it. It was a great joke she'd tell to her friends, you know, yesterday she went to the pool just to dig through the ashtrays.
Then we were all 19, all old enough to buy our own cigarettes. And alcohol. I started smoking when I got drunk, "bumming" them off friends, saying I'd pay them back but never actually doing it. My favourite were Benson & Hedges, because they sounded British. Classy. I smoked "Black", which in Port Alberni was known as "Black and Gold." Why? Because that's what the guys smoked, and if I smoked it too, there was a good chance a guy would ask me for one and that means they'd have to talk to me. But on special occasions, like birthdays and picnics, we'd all split a pack of Camel Lights. Why? I don't know. It was a tradition that I stumbled into when it was already in full-swing, but it's something I did even just a few months ago. Even if I wasn't going to smoke them, it somehow seemed important to have a pack of Camel Lights.
Cigarettes were good, especially for someone like me who isn't really a "party girl", to make conversation with strangers. I knew if ever a scene got to be too much, I could escape outside with a cigarette and make small-talk with someone. Everyone wanted a cigarette at some point or another, you know?
My first serious boyfriend and I bonded over cigarettes. Vanilla cigarettes. I have an empty package of them somewhere, and it still smells like... those times. Like losing my virginity. Like standing on the veranda, him holding me from behind, cooing sweet (though overly intense) nothings in my ear. Like his family home, which in it's former life had been a slaughterhouse, but at the time made me feel serene. I could see the Alps from every window in the house, I could smell cigarettes from every room, and I felt comfortable. Like being in Austria in 9/11, imagining that the whole world could explode and I wouldn't even notice.

What am I trying to say? I don't smoke anymore, and surprisingly, I haven't even felt tempted to. But I don't fault anyone who DOES smoke. There is so much attached to the act of smoking, in our culture, over and above the health issues. Smoking, for me, marked quite a few rites of passage, and I don't feel bad about that. If people want to smoke, it's their choice, and the government shouldn't be able to regulate rites of passage.

Update:
http://www.avclub.com/articles/quit-smoking-or-theyll-abandon-this-kid,26109/

Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick

I'm trying to write this stupid piece for stupid writing class. No no, class is not stupid. But my idea for this piece, perhaps, is. So I thought "okay, I can't just write this thing, my ideas are too jumbled." So I made a graph. I did a brainstorming session, with the little work-bubbles and all that, like we used to do in elementary school. I've only done that one other time since starting University, for a short story about Nanaimo. It was a bad story. Some of you have read it. Anyways, I did it for this piece, which means my mind's going in all directions, and I have no idea where to begin. So I thought maybe if I wrote them down here, they'd fall into order. Hopefully this will work.
So here's the idea. I can't stand heavy metal. No, really. It drives me crazy, and it always has. I just don't get it. But, you know, my luck, I married a metal fan. He likes to play it loud. He likes to watch metal videos on Youtube. He doesn't think it's funny when a guy dresses up head-to-toe in studded leather and paints his face to look like Skeletor. My husband seriously thinks that's cool. So, because I'm a good wife, I've tried to deal with it: I've listened to metal in the car (but only when he's driving), I've gone to some shows with him, I even brought metal into the bedroom for a while. I even, one year for Halloween, did corpse paint on hubby's face. But... I still... I just don't get it.
Here's what I don't get: guys talk about these dudes in metal bands, they talk about the "hard core" things they've done, like MURDER, like BURNING DOWN ANCIENT CHURCHES, like DRINKING BLOOD, like CUTTING THEMSELVES ON STAGE, like kicking the shit out of fans for no reason, like turning into f'ing berzerkers, like all these things are COOL. Like "wow, dude, that's so hardcore." What's the appeal in that? Is it a macho thing?
That's my theory - heavy metal is popular because it's macho. Metal is all a big dick-slapping competition.
How? Well, one, all the violence. Two, what are most metal songs about? War - whether about mythology, history, Nazis, the government, or anything else, most metal songs are about fighting. Not "rise above", but "I'm going to cover myself in your blood."
Two, who are the most respected names in metal? The ones with the most technical skill, be it nimble fingers on the guitar, an extremely fast drum beat, or a voice that can wail & growl with equal intensity. It's not about fluid creativity, or even originality. It's about who can play the hardest and fastest.
And that's why you don't see many women in metal. Most of us can't play as hard or fast as the guys. And when we CAN, like Lita Ford, we have to be sexed-up. We have to be turned into objects. Men get respect, women get objectified. Because metal is a macho dick-slapping competition.
What's the most important part of a metalhead's outfit? The tshirt. Why? It's like a dick. The more violent and obscure the tshirt, the bigger the dick.
But back to me. I don't like metal because:
1) I can't relate to the lyrics. I'm a writing student, lyrics are very important to me.
2) Not to mention, I can't understand what anyone's saying with all that growling and screeching.
3) Go to any metal show, and you'll see, the ratio of men to women is 10 to 1. I went to this one show a few months ago with some friends. We were the only table with more women than men. I think I counted maybe 20 chicks, and the place was full to capacity. (I'm not counting the wait staff who were, of course, all female)
4) Technical skill doesn't impress me as much as creativity. In the bedroom or otherwise.
YES! That's what it is! The essay isn't about heavy metal, it's about sex. It's about sex, gender, the differences between men and women. And the spark was my dislike of metal.
I wanted to write this essay to understand my husband a little better, so last night I kinda sort interviewed him while I was washing dishes (and he was playing Warcraft). Here's what I remember:
The difference between death metal and black metal is that in death metal they growl, while in black metal they screech. Cradle of Filth (one of the only metal bands I can stand) is black metal.
First metal album that struck him: "The Number of the Beast" by Iron Maiden. Also, he thinks, probably the first metal album he bought. And also possibly the BEST one he ever bought. (So I have to listen to that this weekend, I guess.)
What are metal songs about? Mythology, demons, war, etc. Depending on the type of metal and where the band comes from.
Metal helps him release agression without breaking stuff.

Then I cooked dinner and we watched LOST. Sawyer and the doctor lady are a couple? WTF?

I've read a couple books on metal now - one a sociology book about "tshirt culture" where one of the interview subjects, wearing a Slayer tshirt, claims "everyone knows this stuff is fake, it's all just image, you know?" But DO they? Because one guy really did go to prison for murder, and another one really did burn down some ancient churches. They went to prison. But their fans still think it's cool.
Maybe it's, like, "yeah they're totally hard core, they're not faking it for money or fame, they're the real deal." If they do it, other people don't have to. It could also be, like, male posturing. "I'm more of a man than you because I killed someone." I don't know.
Hokay. Those are my thoughts. Now I have to try and write this essay.

Obama Day

8:43 am: I'm watching CNN. Obama is walking towards the crowd, head held high, smile broad. The crowd hasn't seen him yet, they're still quiet and anxiously waiting. But here he is, on camera, walking towards the future. Why does this make me cry?

8:49 am: A while ago, someone on CNN interviewed John Cusack. Cusack has been an Obama supporter since he ran for Senate. If Cusack is in, then so am I.

8:58 am: Biden has quite the tan, hey?

9:08 am: "My fellow citizens", not "my fellow Americans."

10:30 am: So what is it about Obama that makes me cry? Why do I, a Canadian, care so much? I think it's because I LIKE him. Okay, I've never met him, but I can relate to him, as most people can. He's been the weird kid, he's been the outsider, and we can all relate to that.

This Hour is 22 Minutes Too Long

Canadian comedy is not funny. Why? Because it's fucking cheesy, that's why. I think perhaps Canadian comedy is only funny to those under the age of 10, and over the age of 55. Take Air Farce for example - does anyone actually laugh at those lame-ass jokes?
And Henrik, being the masochist that he is (it's one of the reasons I love him), has a tendency to linger on TV shows that he can't stand. I think he keeps hoping that, one day, he'll stumble upon some actual comedy.
Does anyone actually like Canadian comedy? If so, why? Please explain it to me...

drunk!

My husband is watching Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas on TV. I just read Thompson's piece about motorcycle gangs for my journalism class. Both of us are drunk, although I'm probably more drunk thank he is... 1 bottle of wine to 4 beers + 1 sambuca shot for both of us (mine on fire, his not) = me more drunk, correct? I just watched Pot Psychology on Jezebel.com, and I think they're funny but... ummm... not very informative...
I've also done some "research" for my (big moment here) [potentially] first music review to be published in an actual publication! not just internet stuff! by watching Youtube videos of the bands I'm going to be reviewing tomorrow - one Swedish death metal (thank god I married a Swede), one Montreal symphonic metal, one... well, I forgot to look them up :)
Husband has changed the channel - now he's watching "Manswers" because, of course, he's a normal guy, and "Manswers" appeals to normal [straight] guys. And I have big boobs. Hence why he married me. Ask him about it sometime... he'll admit [or at least he should] that he's a completely normal, red-blooded, although not necessarily red-necked man.
Amazing that I can spell so well after a bottle of wine and [at least] one shot.
My point is this: update about my current creative endeavours.
1) I'm writing my first concert review tomorrow, for a local "metal" publication, to help my photographer friend get her pictures published. It's all working towards a goal though: we want to do something about the Nine Inch Nails concert in Victoria on December 5th. That is the biggest thing to happen in Victoria since the Pixies played here in 2003.
2) I'm currently copying the video of Joey Chaos's latest concert onto DVD so he can post it on YouTube. If you haven't checked out Joey Chaos yet, you really should, because he's awesome. And honestly, I'd much rather be reviewing goth shows than metal shows. Because goth is a field of interest for me [and husband too... we fell in love at a Sisters of Mercy concert...] more than metal. I don't understand metal, but I'm trying... and hopefully I'll understand it before tomorrow :)
3) Tribal Machine played that last show too, and I filmed parts of it. It's their first show since last year (or maybe January?) and if you're into the band (which you probably are, if you're reading my blog) then you know that the show was a big deal. But more than the show being sort of historical, it was... how you say... calming. It was NICE. Everyone had a great time, everyone got along, everyone felt at ease. It was a great show, because they were confident in their abilites. But also because they were cohesive. I don't know if I'll post anything from the show, but rest assured that SOMEONE has footage of it. And they have a new drummer. And he fits.
I hope to eventually make a video for Tribal Machine - Sever and I were going to meet this summer, but it didn't happen, probably because we both got lost in our own heads. I know I did, anyways. I spent 2 months in the apartment, doing nothing, but waking up at 7:30am every day nonetheless.
Now husband is watching "Fear and Loathing" again, and I have to say, Benicio Del Toro is highly underrated. So is Javier Bardem. An Oscar means nothing; public opinion is all that matters.
Have you ever been to the casino in the Port Place mall in Nanaimo? If not, next time you're in Nanaimo, I suggest you make a stop. It's the only place that's ever made me feel like I exist in the world of Hunter S. Thompson.
Now he's changed the channel again: to MMM, and the Dr. Drew show Celebrity Rehab. Rodney King is on Celebrity Rehab. I think this is a great psychological study: how can somene cope when they've become more of a symbol than a human being? Answer: they can't. That's why he's on Celebrity Rehab.
Now to CNN: Larry King interviewing Maya Angelou. The first poet I ever recognized, the first book of poetry I ever bought, was by Maya Angelou. The first poem that ever struck me, despite the fact that I'm white, was Still I Rise. And now (!) she's reciting it on Larry King! You may write me down in history/ with your bitter, twisted lies / you may trod me in the very dirt / but still, like dust, I rise.
Larry King says "you know, you are a poet." Ummmm.... yeah. of course she is.
At the inaugural: "I shall be the tall black lady, smiling."

Media Reading

So, for one of my classes this term, I have to keep track of my "media reading habits", then write a paper on it. I thought "why not take it one step further" and turn my media reading habits into actual media?
So here's my first piece of observation about my own habits: I'm obsessed with Sarah Palin. Or, more to the point, I'm obsessed with bad news about Sarah Palin. Here are the headlines from the Victoria Times Colonist website this morning:

• Drug addicts shun mobile needle exchange
• Canada's reputed Godfather pleads guilty in mob case
• Air Canada drops second bag surcharge
• BC NDP candidate Larsen quits over drug links
• 11,800 infractions in parks, but just 30 tickets issued
• Pro baseball coming to Victoria
• Victoria man's Craiglist ad to sell vote draws rebuke from Elections Canada
• Kids left in unsafe homes: watchdog
• Hackers infiltrate Palin's email account
• Probe of Liberal MLA linked to accused in legislature raid
• Convict banned from prison after spying on conjugal visit

I head straight for the Palin link.
Why?
One, because she's big news right now.
Two, because she's a woman and she's big news right now.
Three, because she's hypocritical and a woman and big news right now.
Four, because she's the antithesis of everything I stand for, hypocritical, a woman, and big news right now.
Five, because I'm a woman myself, and women love to hear bad things about each other.
Six, because the name "Palin" is associated with a few key words: oil, abortion, hunting. I disagree with her on all three of these things. I passionately disagree with her on the second and third ones.

I think I'm focused on a few particular issues, and that my reading habits tend towards them. I'm interested in feminism (and let's put reproductive rights under this heading as well), immigration, education, and pop culture. Although I've stopped reading tmz.com - it's too exploitative.
Why am I focused on these issues? They all personally affect me. I'm female, I'm a student, I'm married to an immigrant, I used to work in the "film industry". I've been touched by all of these things at one point or another.
Hmmm. Can't go much deeper than that at the moment except to say that the Palin link is the only one that had anything to do with my "key issues", and in fact it touches on ALL of them except immigration. Palin drives me crazy, as does McCain these days, because I don't understand how these two can live in THIS WORLD and have THEIR VIEWS. Have they never been outside before???
Oh... here's another issue, something I used to get really mad about. I'm Canadian, Canada's about to have an election too, shouldn't my efforts be focused on that instead of on the country next door? Yes, it should. But.. well... the truth is... Canadian politics is BORING. I don't know if that's because Canadians in general are boring (I don't think so) or because Canadian politicians are much too polite, much too polished to generate any buzz. Bring back Chretien, I say! At least he was interesting. At least he punched a guy in the face, not to mention the whole "No George Bush we're not going to help you invade Iraq" thing. Canadian politics these days seem to have replaced passion with douchiness, and when I hear a douchebag speak, I can't listen to anything coming out of its mouth. It turns into the "wah wah" of Charlie Brown's teacher. I can't relate to any of the candidates, for two reasons: 1) I don't know much about the candidates personally (they're all so professional, aren't they?) 2) They're all white men (except for the Green Party, who have no real chance of winning) and they spend their time slamming each other's policies instead of trying to make a difference.
Okay... that's about all I have for now. Need more coffee.