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I love technology. I do. But I will openly admit that advances in technology have led to often-times too much information to sort through. I keep a modest-sized list in Reader that I can barely every keep up with. I don't read many blogs. Maybe I go to CNN or NYT every now and then. I don't watch the news. I try to ignore trending Twitter topics. Yet, despite my very non-connected tendencies, I still feel like I get hit with information overload.

News sites aren't merely news sites any more. They have to compete with gossip blogs and the speed of 140 characters. They need the traffic, so they try to encompass a wider variety of topics. I get this. It's evolution for the sake of survival.

One of the most useless feature on news sites' is the comments area. Sure, engage the public. Start the conversation. Have you listened to the public though? Only a small percentage has anything worth while to say. The rest punch in pointless comments to troll, argue, or to get some of their own attention.

Of all the pointless comments floating on the news sites, my favorite is probably "Why is this news?". I'm sure you've seen WITN guy before. I feel bad for WITN guy. He clearly does not get it. He's clinging to some fantasy world of news only being things that could potentially affect him in some manner. Wake up, guy! The world is not like that any more. There are no reporters trying to get the scoop. There are no Bernsteins and Woodwards working at your local affiliate station. "Boy saves kitten from python" and "Clay Aiken is still gay; visits local Target" is all the cutting edge your city is mustering.

What is baffling about WITN guy is the fact that no one is forcing him to read certain stories. There is no bait and switch here. "Paris Hilton" is not code for "Huge cover-up in DC uncovered by local reporter". And yet, he clicks. And reads. And feels the need to comment with his pseudo-intellectual manner "Why is this news??" Well guy, in the grand scheme of things, Kate Gosselin's alleged tit job ISN'T news, but the fact of the matter remains that you clicked on the headline "Kate Gosselin Boob Job". So who's the bigger boob?

Related to WITN guy is the cousin by marriage, "Who??". "Who" is the person on the gossip sites that, when faced with a post about someone they don't know, never heard of, or clearly disapprove of said person's fame, will always comment with a "Who??". "Who" is always in the loop of all that is cutting edge, so if they don't know someone, they are not worth knowing about. After so many posts about the same disapproved person, "Who" grows weary and begins to plead "Please stop posting about [fill in the blank]". Even though "Who" doesn't own the site, if "Who" is bored with someone we should all follow suit, right?

People of the internet: You control what you read. No one is forcing you to read about anything you deem unimportant. In the time it took to make an account and post your disapproval about a story, you could have done something more productive, like whacked one off.

If there were one major roadblock that keeps me from accomplishing what I need to, it would be myself. I guess that's the case for a lot of people. For me, it's because my brain likes to function in completely contradicting ways. Lately, the things that I absolutely loathe have become necessities for me to get anything done, and this is messing with me. For example, I freaking hate "To Do" lists. Hate them with every ounce of hate that I can throw at them. I had a bad experience once, you see. Or maybe a bad experience for several years. Eegh. So I'm reticent to grab a piece of paper and write anything on it that even slightly resembles a collection of things that require some activity on my behalf. Yet, I've discovered that my short term memory is absolute shit, so if I am going to get things done, I had to write it down. I keep pads of paper all over the the place and I'm a huge fan of Evernote, where I have lists galore of various projects I want to do.

Note: want to do, not have done.

Ah, there in lies the issue.

I suck at time management. Always have. I'm usually late to appointments or ridiculously early, depending. If it's something that I absolutely must be on time for, there is a whole mental/anxiety component on my getting there. And that's when I'm ridiculously early. But getting to a place on time or a nice, comfortable 5 minutes early? Damn near impossible for me. I lack some vital component of my dna that keeps me on track and gets me out the door on time. So here is how it all ties in: I have things I must do (go to work, shower, take care of the animals), things I need to do (clean the house, do laundry) and things I want to do (exercise, read, start and finish some of those projects). In any given day I have to choose between the needs and wants. It's not a matter of doing everything I need to do; wants do win out from time to time. But when I don't get the needs done, I feel unproductive. When I don't get the wants done, I feel like I'm wasting away my life doing menial chores. Boo hoo, right? Sigh.

After much introspective thinking and discussing with the man, who has a wonderful talent of keeping me grounded right when I feel like my world is caving in, we both came to the same solution: despite my ingrained disgust for lack of spontaneity, I have to start scheduling my days out. Unless I block out times for everything, nothing is going to get done. I never thought of the type to have schedules to stay organized. It always seemed so awful. There is a major appeal to me to wake up each day and not know what I'm going to do. In fact, when I do make plans, I tend to freak out mere minutes later thinking I ruined whatever awesomeness could have potentially happened that day. Yet, I have to admit to myself that this chaos that I embrace is truly getting me know where. How can I be creative when half of my brain is focused on the floor that needs sweeping or the laundry that needs doing or the walk I could be on right now if I wasn't so unbelievably tired? I'm going to try it. I'm not sure how long I can keep it up, but if it drastically improves my productivity and makes me a more relaxed person, then it's worth a shot.

One of the problems with having such an easily distracted mind and one that has fragmented attention on multiple things at once is finding that one thing that I feel really passionate about.  I have plenty of interests and half-hobbies, but I get bored and move onto to something new fairly regularly. Honestly, I think the last time I felt completely immersed in one topic may have been when I was a theatre nerd back in high school. Since then, I haven't had the ability to keep my interest level up long enough to feel immersed. I don't know if it's just a poor attention span or some sort of reluctance to be "that person". You know, like crazy cat lady or crazy collector of goofy-themed memorabilia. I don't want one thing to define me, but it would be nice to have one thing to feel driven to do. Conflicting, perhaps. Maybe I need to keep jumping from thing to thing until something clicks? Or maybe I need to pick something I already like and put the time and energy into building the passion? 

I spend a lot of time reading and listening to Merlin Mann's 43Folders, which I find extremely motivating, but yet I have not found something to apply it to. I want to make something cool. I want to be more creative. I have lists of projects and ideas in Evernote but I either haven't started on them, or I started and haven't finished. I tend to complain about not having enough time, but honestly, I suck at time management. More time would only result in more effing around on things that would not assist me in being productive or creative.

I need to find that spark. I need to brainstorm some more until I feel a click and that fire ignites in me.

A while ago, I was reading a summary of a conference I didn't attend, and there was a comment made by a particular blogger who makes more money than me. And who has more visitors. And...I'm sure there's a lot of 'ands'. The comment made reference to the 'character' created for the blog, essentially the author as a character. There is a lot of truth to this statement, as we cannot expect the writers of the blogs we so love and enjoy to be completely transparent. There needs to be a sort of distance or veil, if for nothing else but the semblance of a private world away from the computer.

So for the record, I would like everyone to understand the character that is "Monkey". Monkey wears a pope hat all day, cause there are few other hats in existence that command such awe and respect. Monkey thinks pants are optional; after all, all eyes with be on the aforementioned pope hat, so what difference would pants make? Monkey does an excellent William Shatner impression, which is so goddamn impressive when you consider Monkey is a female. Monkey likes to speak softly and when that fails, she smacks people with the big stick she always carries. Sometimes she low-talks just for an excuse to smack a bitch with a stick. Monkey once considered a profession in the jazz hands industry; a year into formal schooling, she discovered there is no such thing as a professional jazz hander. This explained the "school" in the run-down warehouse and the professor that smelled like gym socks and beef jerky. Don't ask Monkey about the "jazz hands incident", or you'll end up getting a beating from the stick.

Well, there it is. If you ever run across a pantsless, stick-brandishing woman in a pope hat, you can take a deep breath and relax. (Actually, don't do that. Run. Clearly that person is a few fries short of a Happy Meal.)

One of the new fancy web gadgets that freak my shit out are those AI animated customer service people. Have you seen these things? They MOVE. And talk. And watch you. 

I have a wonky immune system. There seems to be a relation to my lack of meat partaking and my wonky immune system, but I'd hate to speculate. Maybe I'm lacking a vitamin or something. Anyway, I've been surprisingly resilient to all sorts of virus funks that have been passed around the household, usually being the last one to get it if I get it at all. But sinus infections? Those sinus infections are my Achilles heel. The only time I see my regular doctor anymore is 9 out of 10 times because of a sinus infection. I've never been the type to up and run to the doc the second I feel sick. I like my body to try to work things out on its own. I mean, that's what it's designed to do, right? Apparently a sinus infection is too tricky for my body to deal with. It gives up quite easily. This month alone, I'm working on my second sinus infection. Yes. SECOND. I was better for a few days and it came back with a vengeance from hell. I have a theory why, and it's not my wonky immune system. 

The other day, I happened to mention to my mom about how someone was recently assaulted and raped in the parking garage where I work. It happened off-hours, to someone that didn't work at the building, so essentially it was a random event that could have happened anywhere. The garage just happened to provide enough dim light, I would imagine. Being the mom she is, I received at text back from her: "So let me ask you, if an ass guy approached you for that reason right now what would you do?"

Now, for starters, I haven't the SLIGHTEST idea what an ass guy is. I assumed she meant a man who is a complete ass, but she could have meant a man who is really into asses, or perhaps a proctologist. These are questions I just don't ask my mom. It's more fun speculating on what she means. She did have a valid point there. There are plenty of ass men out there and I should know how to defend myself. While this may not be well-thought out, no one could possibly argue that it isn't a plan.

1. I am relying heavily on my crazy. Granted, I've never been the psycho kind of crazy and the pills I take are to help me stop freaking out on mechanical motion assistants and to suppress the urge to run the vacuum at 2am and fun stuff like that. That being said, I have a very strong survival instinct. I will get Sparta on someone's ass if I feel my livelihood is in danger.

2. Aim for the nose, throat, knee caps and groin. Ah, all the sensitive bits. In succession if possible. My mom added that the best defense is to actually charge to attack those parts, not to shy away.

3. Throw in random, nonsensical obscenities. Like "Turkey shit in your fuckface!" "Imma smack the goatshit out of your dickpants!" I have a theory that screaming things of this ilk will cause confusion and transfer the torch of power. It also helps reiterate the importance of #1.

Just think about this one for a second. You're an "ass guy" and you've got your potential victim in site. You approach her, expecting her to crumble in fear. Instead, she charges full force towards you, swinging wildly, and screaming at the top of her lungs "Fuck your earlobe with an assicle!" Would you pursue the attack?

I may need to stop watching those 70s exploitation flicks. They may be diluting my common sense meter. Still, I feel really solid about this one.

I'm all about doing some shit these days. Emphasis on the some. Or the shit, I don't know. My sleep schedule got all whacked up and I had insomnia again. My insomnia is like being a child on Christmas Eve. The mind is tired. The body is tired. Head meets the pillow. And then BAM! I'm awake! Can't sleep! Too much shit to think about!
And when I finally DO sleep, the dreams are ridiculous. I've had dreams where I'm referencing other dreams and talking about how crazy they are. I had one the other night in which my husband was refusing to cut his nose hair, which had developed into a thick black mess. He called it his "second mustache" and was combing it out over his existing one, handlebar style. Messed up.
I've been trying to figure out the whole pagination thing on the blog, but I'm picky as hell. And I haven't gotten around to reading anything. I've tried, but damn do I pick the most inappropriate times to tackle stuff, like when I barely keep my eyes awake as it is.

In other news, if you haven't seen the trailer for The Legend of the Grassman, Monkey Ltd's indie horror flick, check it out below:

I'm looking forward to resuming helping on this flick, and it's been getting quite a bit of press lately.
I also found out in a seemingly negative review situation (which I won't post because...in the words of Ice-T, that guy can eat a dick), I'm torn between the elation of seeing my name and the emotion of dealing with negativity. I'm not sure what that emotion is yet. It was a sting at first...then a "meh"..then a musing on how I should get thicker skin...then another musing on "Shit, I thought I HAD thicker skin"... then I got distracted and went elsewhere.
BUT MY NAME WAS ON SOMEONE ELSE'S SITE! WOOT!!

I know...I amuse myself at least.

Moving on... I'm also in the process of getting ready for podcasting. Project one involves something for this site that I'm excited about. It will be a collaboration of jackassery and comedy. For project two, I will be donning the producer hat. More jackassery on that one, no doubt. More on these to come very soon. I just need to buy a mic first. I bought a cast iron griddle this weekend, but not a mic. Target does not sell mics in the griddle aisle, else I would have nabbed one. And mics can't make pancakes. So...

Shit is gonna get done. LOOKOUT!

As many of my (mis)adventures so often go, this particular foray into the world wide web began with a string of tangents. I started on my brother's blog and was scanning his "liked" links. Despite my nerdom, I haven't spent nearly enough time on Topless Robot as perhaps I should. I was clicking through posts and came across this diddy - Cobra Commander Is Waiting to Talk to You. Hilarious, as is the Cobra Commander tumblr site, Cobra takeover. This all led me to Chatroulette, a site I have never been to...not one for chatting online to random people. Not since about 2000-2001ish. Even then was a stretch. But this...was magnificent. You vs stranger. Click for a new random person. I was still not in for the chatting. I was on a personal mission to find Cobra Commander. Alas, I did not find him this time. Ah well. I came across a cam focused on a picture of Toshio Saeki (creepy dead kid from The Grudge), which freaked my shit out. There was a creepy mannequin/mask thing and plenty of stills done in Microsoft Paint asking for a boob flash. As I clicked refresh again and again, I tried to think of something witty to say, but I was drawing blanks. Plus, that requires chatting. And effort.

In other news, I need to really get more sleep.

As for you, Cobra Commander: One day we shall me. I am certain of it.

YEOW!