Perspective

Second Life is a great lesson in perspective. Moving your cam and zooming in and out of a scene can totally change your viewpoint, and the entire feeling you get from what you’re seeing. Life is like that too, if you stop and pull back from what you’re viewing.

I had an opportunity recently to gain a little perspective on some things in my virtual and real lives. By pulling back and getting a new look at the whole picture, I changed the way I saw my worlds and my place in them.

But there’s a delicate balance. Pull too far back and everything gets out of focus. Zoom in too close, and you lose sight of the big picture. Just like in Second Life, where if you zoom too far in, your camera gets all stuck up inside your own head and you can lose all perspective entirely.

I’m not trying to be obtuse.

Virtual worlds, blogs and social media sites make it easy to project a relationship that doesn’t really exist. Or rather, they make it easy to assume a relationship is deeper than it really is. When you have a blog and you talk about your life and your feelings, people often feel they know you- even if you don’t know them. Sharing on Twitter has a similar effect.

There are people who share every passing thought, breath and bite on social media. But does that mean I know them? Nope. I know about them. But it’s a small window and a little viewpoint, even when they’re oversharing- and wearing me out in the process. I’ve noticed those oversharing types tend to be very one-sided and myopic. They require a lot of energy to keep up with, but give back little in return. They enjoy their audience, but they rarely engage with them.

Sometimes it’s important to move your camera and change your perspective and get a clearer view of where you really stand in the frame. Especially in relation to others.

I’m looking for that balance, where the important people are in the frame, and the rest are there when I want to pan back to include them. My energy is limited and precious, and it’s better spent on those who return the favor. I’m gaining a little perspective, and that’s a good thing.

Watered Down Inspiration

With so  many platforms for expression and communication, sometimes it’s hard to follow a thread. You can pick apart the tangle and try to pull out a single idea. But teasing it apart is harder than it seems. And when you pull that idea out of the mess, you take it out of its context, as well. How well can you understand an idea outside of its context?

We are spread so thin, and across so many mediums; our ideas and creativity are diluted.  And you know I prefer my inspiration straight up.

And what of inspiration? My mom is an artist. Her inspirations over the years were generally the world around her, works of other artists she admired, and her own inner demons that she fed with paint and clay. My youngest daughter is also an artist, but I can see that inspiration for her is different. Between Tumblr, Facebook, Instagram and all of the vast oceans of internet, she has a whole range of inspiration that wasn’t available to past generations of artists.

But is this necessarily a good thing? I’m not so sure. I look over her shoulder at Tumblr and I see a lot of work that looks just like the work before it. It’s the same on Instagram. If everyone is inspired by each other, is anyone an original? Is any work of art truly original if it was directly “inspired” by one just like it?

I normally don’t like to post blogs full of questions, especially without answering them. But these are valid questions, I think. And asking them out loud, in a sense, might help me to make sense of them.

When I was a kid, it was unusual for someone to be an artist. Most people had day jobs, and explored their creative sides on the side, if at all. But an artist who worked at art for a living was rare. My mom has always been one of those, and until her head injury made a tidy living selling her art. Today, it seems like everyone is an artist, a photographer, a designer of some sort. The tools available to us make it easier for everyday people to explore their creativity.

But, watching my mom, I see the true artist. The rare artist. Even before she bonked her noggin, she would stop in the middle of a parking lot and wonder at the pattern of the water on the pavement. I’ve seen her pull out a sketch pad to record a leaf or a foot or the angle of a woman’s head as she chats on the phone. She simply sees the world far differently than the rest of us. Her inspiration is everywhere. She’s not looking at other artists for ideas; her ideas come from that burning place inside her that would consume her if she didn’t paint.

A writer’s inspiration comes from a similar place. But no one learns to write without reading, and the best writers are those who read. So, then, are the best artists those who spend time looking at other art?

Flying Backbone, by Georgia O'Keeffe, at Fisk University

Standing in front of this painting by Georgia O’Keeffe, I was moved to tears, and felt it in my heart. I’m no artist, but even I felt the power of creativity from the piece. Would I have felt the same looking at a picture of this work on Tumblr?

Inspiration is important. It’s a pilot light, kindling and fuel all at once for an artist. I wonder about the constant stream of bite-sized blips of inspiration from an endless flow of sources online. It may stimulate a surge of artistic creativity in more people than ever before; we’ll have to wait and see.

But that rare, true artist who must create or die, will they be overwhelmed, drowned and buried by too much “inspiration” from far too many sources?

Much of this thread I’m teasing out goes back to some posts by Botgirl Questi, exploring similar topics. But it’s hard for me to pull this thread out of the tangle of other thoughts and writings and artwork and platforms and conversations. I think there may be something to be said for being more selective about our inspiration, and the dilution of our creative fuel.

This Close

I logged in here this morning to delete my blog.

Now, before you go accusing me of being a drama queen, let me just say that I’m not looking for comments begging me to stay and listing reasons why my blog shouldn’t be deleted. I don’t give a flying shit about page hits, I don’t stalk my stats and I don’t fuck for fame. I write for me, and I love your comments.

But I’m scrambling for those things I can control. And there are so few of them.

Instead of living a deliberate life, I’m reacting to things as they happen. And that leaves me feeling out of control and off kilter. I spend far too much time picking up the pieces of broken things, and not enough time shoring up the sandbags.

It occurs to me that some of you might not know the cast of characters here in this lifeboat I call home. A brief intro:

I’m your inconsistent narrator. Currently unemployed after losing my job as an English teacher (it was budget cuts, not bad language that got me fired); I work from home as a freelance writer, homeschooling mom, caregiver and occasional bartender.

I have 2 daughters ages 18 and 19, and they’re goddesses, both. They both still live at home, and they are generous and amazing and beautiful and funny and I’m not the only one who thinks so.

On Christmas Eve last year, my sister was diagnosed with cancer. My sister and I never got along, and could best be described as estranged. Her husband died several years ago. The best thing she’s ever done for me was to give me a niece, who is 10 and one of the few things that reminds me of the good still in the world.

After some pretty heinous cancer treatments, my sister could no longer care for herself or my niece, and so they moved in here. Around this same time, our mom suffered a fall and a head injury that changed her forever. After months of hospital care, she came here to live as well.

So there’s 6 of us here now, and for all intents and purposes, I’m the only functioning adult- if you can call what I do functioning. My sister is still undergoing chemo and waiting for an organ transplant.

Chemo is a nightmare. These treatments have reduced my sister to a 98 pound shell of a woman who was cranky to start with but now is bitter and more than a little bit evil. There’s a reason we were estranged, and it wasn’t my rapier wit and stellar personality.

In the days immediately following a chemo treatment, we live in hell. I’m not prone to exaggerating; our home is the 4th level of hell where it smells of bile and sounds like retching 24/7, and the same episode of Hoarders plays on a never-ending loop.

I came home from taking my sister to chemo yesterday to find that my mom had helped out by hemming all of my pants. Which would have been great had my pants required hemming. My pants fit me just fine, as it happens. I now own 9 pairs of pants that are 3 inches too short, and 1 pair that still fits (the pair I was wearing to chemo). This is the kind of thing I deal with, caring for a parent with brain trauma. She hides shoes, floods bathrooms, and locks us out of the house on a regular basis. And don’t even get me started on her obsession with checking herself for new moles.

And so that’s what I mean by reacting to things, instead of living deliberately. I feel like I run from task to task, dealing with little (and some not-so little) aftermaths. Helping my sister when she’s puking, finding all of the spoons when my mom throws them out, chasing after the dog who ran away… I’m in constant crisis mode and it’s nowhere near as fun as it sounds.

The escape of online worlds is such a pull for me. If I didn’t have to devote so much time to dealing with all the shit here, I would no doubt spend days on end in a world I can control. In my virtual world, I’m the boss of me.

This blog started out as 100% inworld stuff. Very little of my RL me made its way into these pages. Over time that changed, and nowadays my blog is more RL stuff than virtual. And so I came to delete that. To throw back up the wall between my virtual self and my physical self. Since I’m the boss, and all.

But then I’d have to delete my Twitter account too. Because it also started out as a virtual world account, but has evolved into more RL than anything else.

So, it follows then, that I should end those relationships that have crossed over into RL too. Right?

But I can’t. I won’t.

And I don’t really want to. While I’m very protective of my RL world and especially those goddess daughters of mine; truth is, I don’t want that tall wall that used to live between worlds. So far, I’ve found a fair balance of divulging RL stuff without posting too much.

So instead of deleting, I’ve babbled.

Maybe I’ll do the same tommorrow.

“Good night, blog. Good work. Sleep well. I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

Let Me Bring You Down

I haven’t had a drink in 5 weeks. I’m not an alcoholic, let’s just get that out of the way up front. But I know that I sometimes use alcohol to take the edge off when I’ve had a rough day, and quite frankly, every day is rough. I stopped buying alcohol because I was depressed, and I didn’t want to make things worse by drinking too much. Color me responsible.

Depression sucks ass, no matter how you look at it.

I was doing so well. I was handling all the medical stuff, the kids, the chemo, the houses, my mom’s insanity, the new hedgehog. I stayed busy and productive and absolutely certain that I would be fine. No worries- I’m busy and I don’t have time for depression. ‘Sal good.

Then it hit me right between the shoulder blades and sent me flying into a brick wall. I unconsciously started counting the number of drinks I had left in my bottle of vodka. I stopped getting dressed, started eating whole cakes, and screamed at ASPCA commercials. And I had to physically fight the urge to curl up in the fetal position and suck my thumb.

Before the tragedies that befell my family this past year, I didn’t understand depression. I thought I did. I knew and loved people who dealt with depression, and I never judged them for it. I never considered them weak or crazy. But it turns out, I had no idea. I didn’t realize how physical depression is. And how weak it makes me feel.

I have a wonderful life full of family, friends, fun and opportunities. There are a gazillion things I have to be thankful for, and I am grateful for each and every one of them. I know how lucky I am.

And yet, I feel the tug of melancholy and blue all the way to my core. Not even the reminder of all of the good things in my world can hold it at bay. It’s gonna eat me up and shit me out no matter how hard I fight it.

And that just sucks all sorts of rotten stuff, doesn’t it?

I don’t want to be resigned to depression. I don’t want to feel that it’s inevitable and hopeless. But it feels inevitable, and I feel very hopeless. I feel like I should be able to hold up my wonderful life like a shield to keep the depression at bay, but it just doesn’t seem to work that way.

And so, I find myself considering excuses for staying home, dreading the times I must leave the house, neglecting to return phone calls, and spending more time than I should in my pajamas. And I keep driving by my liquor store.

I want a drink. And it’s the fact that I so badly want one that keeps me from stopping at the liquor store.

I’m not gonna be able to drink this away, but I would sure as hell try.

Originality

I’m not sure who said, “There’s nothing new under the sun,” and I can’t be assed to look it up right now, but I’ve been giving lots of thought lately to originality and what it means to an artist. Can art, in any form, truly be the pure work of its creator, completely uninfluenced by any other’s work?

My mom, pre-head-injury perhaps, would have said YES without reservation. As a working artist her entire life, she often argued that artists can only view the world through their singular lenses, and even if they tried to exactly duplicate the work of another, their own vision and voice would show through. Her own art was unique and could only be called 100% original, despite her constant study of and instruction by other artists.

I guess it could be argued that technique can be shared and influenced, but the application of that technique will be unique to each artist who uses it.

This would be true of all forms of the arts, including writing.

I never did find a job that would pay me big bucks to stay home and care for my family as we go through this sucky time, so I have created my own job. I’m working as a freelance writer, along with Talia Fournier. We make a good team, and she’s a damn good writer.

The writing isn’t exciting (yet) and it’s not very creative. Sure, I’m writing original content, but the topics are usually mindless and often repetitive. The time I spend working on my own personal, creative writing has dropped to zilch. Well, maybe not zilch, I do still manage to post tons at Twitter, and when Crap Mariner/Laurence Simon posted the topic of his latest 100 Word Stories Challenge, I managed to string together enough words to enter. You can see the latest entries here.  I guess short blurbs of creativity are better than no blurbs at all.

Maybe I should take up poetry. It looks easy enough.

One thing I’ve learned while jumping headfirst into this endeavor is that many works that appear to be original works of art often are… not. Taking credit for writing that is not your own is called plagiarism. In the world of content creation and ghost writing, many authors hire a writer to create their articles for them, and then post them under their own byline as if they were the original author. I’m shocked by the number of writers that do this, and the wide scale of topics that are not written by the writer listed as the author. Since the article was commissioned and paid for, it does then belong to the person who bought it, and they can post it as their work completely legally. And since I get paid to do this, I’m certainly not going to be a hypocrite and say that this is all wrong.

But it gives me a secret sense of smugness to see them take credit for work they didn’t create, and it makes me wonder about all of their work- whether any of it was ever really penned by their own hand. Is there ever anything original under the sun?

I know there is, because I create it myself.

Twitter Did It

I’ve had writer’s block for weeks. Not just here, but everywhere- except Twitter. I seem to have no trouble posting 140 characters or less. And so I started to blame Twitter for my lack of other writing. When something comes in easy form, why work on the hard version? Twitter was ruining my writing.

But I was wrong. It wasn’t Twitter. It was me. Imagine that. My own aversion to posting negative shit, complaining, whining, being too real- that’s what kept me from posting here. And my “other writing” (which I shall not speak of here except vague references just to tease you) has suffered a similar fate- my life has been so full of strife and difficulties, that I just couldn’t write about anything else.

Twitter has been my outlet, not my downfall. Twitter has kept my brain forming thoughts at a time when I couldn’t do much else. Twitter kept my sense of humor stimulated, which in turn has kept me from going postal on my family. And since I’ve not been inworld or posting here, Twitter kept me in some sort of touch with my friends. It’s a tenuous connection and not meant for long term use, but it’s a connection all the same.

Here’s the thing- 99.9% of the comments I get about my blog are “LOL” type comments. “You’re so funny” or “Thanks for the laugh”. Don’t get me wrong, you guys have been uber supportive when I’ve posted real stuff and gone there, and I appreciate those comments more than you know. But let’s be real- comedy is my shtick. It’s what people are looking for here. And I’m not funny these days. I’m bitter, pissy, tired and burned out. I’m decidedly UNfunny.

And so it’s hard to post here. But that’s my own fault, no one else’s.

My life is still funny; I still see the humor in my situations. But I see 140 characters worth of humor, not a whole blog post. Because if I start a blog post, well, I’ll have to go there. Who has time for that?? I’ll have to esplain- for myself more than for anyone else. (Writing is my therapy, but don’t tell my therapist, he’d be offended.)

So, let me esplain.

I am living in a world of crazy women. In my modest (we say “cozy”) house, we have my 2 daughters, my sister, my niece, my mom and myself. My oldest is still immobile in a full leg cast, but she’s moving around on crutches a bit these days. (read: she can go to the bathroom now! Hell yes.) My sister’s chemo has weakened her to the point that she stays in a rocking chair 24/7, criticizing me like Norman Bates’ mother. My mom moved here from the Brain Injury Rehab Center last week, and she’s just a big toddler with a wicked tongue. I’ve got my 10 yr old niece to care for, my own kids to deal with, my mom’s AND my sister’s houses to care for in addition to my own and to top it all off, I lost my teaching job.

It’s enough to drive a girl to drink. A lot.

So basically, I am the only functioning adult head of 3 households.

And I’m bitter about it. I’m handling it well, but not gracefully. Don’t mistake me for one of those Jane Austen martyrs who toils and tends and suffers in silence. I bitch and moan and remind everyone here how miserable they’re all making me. I feel it’s the least I can do.

In the midst of all of this, it’s very easy to lose myself. Some days I can’t remember my last shower. Other days I forget to eat. I lost my car at the grocery store the other day, and cried for 10 mins walking around the lot looking for it, before remembering I was in my sister’s car and it was right there. And almost worst of all, my sister reminded me last week that my mom has a cat. That’s right- my mom fell and hit her head on March 3rd, and her poor cat has been fending for herself since.

And don’t even get me started on the lack of privacy we’re all dealing with. Even now, as I type this, my sister is looking over her book at me and I’ve had to get up a dozen times to deal with something or someone. It makes writing difficult; there is no fluidity and no time to edit.

This is life, in all its current glory.

But I need to find myself again. I can’t continue to be the only working adult here if I fall apart at the seams. And if I fall apart at the seams, there is no one to stitch them back up!

I find myself by writing. As much as I hate it some days, as much as it feels like peeling off layers of skin with a dull knife- writing is my catharsis, my therapy, my sanctuary and my artistic outlet. I miss those things. I miss me.

And so here I am, stilted and unedited and likely not making a whole lot of sense- but at least I’m putting words together. It’s a start.

I’d love to write more, but I have to go change my mother’s diaper, tackle the Mt. Fuji of laundry, help my daughter with algebra and bake 2 dozen cupcakes for my niece’s class at school. Don’t be jealous.

I’ll BRB.

Highway to Hell

There are so many cool things happening in InWorldz right now, and I don’t have any time to go check them out. I hope the rest of you are enjoying the events! I’m especially bummed to have missed the Gulliver’s Travels exhibit grand opening today. I’m looking for pics on your blogs so I can live vicariously through you!

Real life has kept me hopping lately. I’ve got good news, and bad news.
Good: my sister has been admitted to a cancer drug study. Even if only mentally, this will be good for her.
Bad: I have to take her 5 hours away to be evaluated.
That’s right, I’m going on a roadtrip with my sister. We leave tomorrow. Just the two of us. Alone. In a car. Trapped. And, bonus! There’s a full moon tomorrow night, when we’ll be staying in a hotel room. Just the two of us. Alone. Trapped. In one room.

Send drugs. And vodka. And also earplugs. And definitely bail.

I love my sister. I do. She is the one person in all the land that knows where all the bodies are buried. She’s the one who knows about the box under my bed, the one that is to be destroyed unopened in the event of my death. She’s my sister.

But anyone with a sister can tell you that no one can get under your skin like a sister. My sister and I are nothing alike. She can make me go postal in 2.6, and smile the entire time.

And she doesn’t get a pass to be a bitch just because she has cancer. When she says things like, “It’s not as if you’ll ever finish that book. Are you even writing anymore?” Cancer or not, that’s uncool. Or how about, “Your skin would look so much better if you didn’t drink so much. You look old.” Okay, I have to admit, she might be right. But. Bitch, please.

So yeah, road tripping with your sister could possibly be quirky and fun and full of great music, junk food and moments to remember. It could be a chick flick. Unless your sister is my sister, and you are me. Then it could definitely be filled with sarcasm, bitter commentary, awkward silences and the taste of bile. It will be a comedy, but only because that’s how I deal with stress. I make it a joke.

I also deal with stress by listening to music. I realized today, when I was driving home from the grocery store with my sunroof open, eating a popsicle straight from the box, and singing Tom Petty’s American Girl as loud as I could, that there’s no reason to let my sister ruin things. That I can be the bigger person. And that music will be what saves me. Not vodka (although I’m packing the big bottle), and not patience (of which I have none)… it’ll be the music.

And so I’ve created a playlist of roadtrip tunes. Fun, happy, feel good tunes that I can sing with the sunroof open and turn up loud enough to drown out everything my sister says that starts with, “You know what your problem is?”

I leave tomorrow, so you’ve got time to share your favorite driving tunes, for me to add to my list. What’s on your roadtrip playlist?

Tip the Venue

I hosted an event last night, for the first time ever. Now, what that really means in Whiskey-speak is that I had an idea to have a party, and Talia said “Great idea!” and then I wandered off and got distracted and Talia wound up doing most of the work. So really, Jack and Talia threw a party and I took all the glory for it. I have no shame.

But being “on staff” at Equinox (my job title is Comic Relief and Official Breaker of All Things), I have learned things I never knew before about events and how they happen. The amount of money and work that goes into just bringing a DJ in for a night. A live performer? It’s a gargantuan undertaking! I’ve realized that being a venue owner is a rather thankless job that you actually wind up paying to do.

For instance, let’s say a venue wants to bring in a live artist, someone original and talented. Here’s how this usually works: the venue owner has created a venue, pays the tier, invites the artist, negotiates the artist’s fee, does all of the advertising, makes the posters, spreads the word, pays the artist directly, makes sure that all is working at the event, finds hosts and possibly pays them, makes the folks who attend the show feel welcome and involved, sends out notices, massages the artist’s ego, and reminds everyone to tip! The artist keeps his tips, and gets paid by the venue as well, and if the venue is lucky, a few people will think to tip them too. But rarely, very very rarely, does a venue even come close to breaking even with tips.

So, basically, to own a venue that features live, original artists, you have to be willing to be a Patron of the Arts. You have to be willing to pay artists and do their advertising and pay for their venue and keep them happy, with no hope of monetary gain for yourself at all. We’re lucky enough in InWorldz to have a few of those among us, Jack and Talia included. They put hours upon hours of work into the Equinox sim, into planning events and hunts and artists and the changing of the seasons. They are patrons of the arts in every sense of the word, and they are also artists themselves- although they aren’t the ones who get celebrated. Or, often, tipped.

As a bartender at an event space in real life, I know that my bar benefits from having live artists in to perform, even when we have to pay them a lot to be there. We sell drinks and food and we build a reputation with each happy customer and performer. We make money; we’re a business. InWorldz venues can’t sell drinks, can’t charge an admissions fee, can’t really recoup the money they pay out to hold these events. They rely on the community’s generosity, when we as an audience remember to tip the venue as well as the artist.

I’ve never once heard Jack or Talia complain, either. As patrons, they do what they do out of love of music and community. See, I was there the night Equinox sim was born. There were four of us, sitting around late at night tossing around ideas. And I can tell you that from moment one, Jack and Talia have wanted a sim that created a community, which in turn supported the bigger InWorldz community. And they’ve done that. To the rest of us, Equinox is just a really cool place to see live shows and shop and play around on the mountains. But to Jack and Talia, and to a lesser degree the support staff who love Equinox and do what they can to help, the sim is a constantly evolving work of art. One which Jack and Talia pay to keep running.

And so last night, while I enjoyed playing hostess and taking credit for a great event, I really owe a big debt of thanks to Jack and Talia for their art. The sim they’ve created and maintained, which is my home away from home. And to Max, for coming to DJ for me despite feeling like shit and being drugged to the gills, he still put on a great show and kept us all laughing. And thank you to the merchants at Equinox who put out their Anti-Valentine’s gifts! It may have been my event, but it was a group effort from day one. And thank you a million times over to all of you who came to hang out with me. I had a blast with you all.

I had to log in on the InWorldz viewer to stay inworld last night, and so I wasn’t able to take pics, but Talia snapped a few for me, and Kittydog Munroe snapped my favorite of the night. Jack and Max, happy and in love:

Talia and I wish them the very best.

And here’s a few more shots from the night. I wish I had a pic of each of you! Thank you everyone for coming!

Home Again

I’ve made no secret that I have felt lost inworld for the past several weeks. Part of that feeling came from being somewhat homeless. Friends offered me platforms and beach space, couches to crash on and chairs to lounge in- but I love having a home inworld.

When I found this little corner for rent in the Magellan Colony, I knew I’d found home again. I  need green grass and water and trees and a place to putter around. But I couldn’t bear to rezz the house that Kora built for me, just the thought of it hurt my heart, so I wasn’t sure what kind of place I wanted to live in.

I decided to try my hand, again, at building a little something. I’m a lousy builder; I’m easily distracted, a terrible multitasker, and I have no patience whatsoever. But I tried.

And I’ll keep trying. I think I know what I want, it’s just making it appear like magic in front of me that’s hard.

Meantime, I found this afreakingmazing houseboat from Dancer Glimmer, so I’ll live in it for now.

I’m in love with her sim, Astoria della Mar. You can see her pics of it here. Maybe I should just live there? Go check it out if you haven’t been there, and most everything is for sale.

But no, I won’t live there, I have my little corner now and I’ll make it home.

It’ll take me a while to get settled, which is part of why having a home is important to me. It gives me a sense of purpose and grounding. Not to mention a reason for shopping. Bonus!

Stop by and say hello. I’ll put you to work.

I Wish My Pen Were a Brush

I wish I were a painter. My mother is an artist, and makes a tidy living selling her paintings. But the work she’s most proud of is the work that doesn’t sell as well- her “real” paintings. The ones where her emotions guide her paintbrush and her tears stain the watercolor paper. The paintings that reflect the sunshine in her life. The ones that she paints for herself alone. Those are the paintings where I see my mom. The colors are raw and bold and pull the viewer into the page. Artists have a way of spilling their emotions into a work of art, and I envy that.

Instead I’m a writer. Spilling emotions onto a page just isn’t quite the same, nor is it as easy to share. When we view a painting, we can interpret it from our own perspective and experience. The artist guides us, but the emotions that a painting evokes are unique to each of us. The painter is less exposed and the work can act as a shield as well as a window.

Andrew Wyeth's Helga

Writing just feels like a window. Getting my thoughts, feelings, opinions and emotions out and down, putting them into word form, feels like flaying myself open and lying still while you poke at my insides. Only less smelly. But it also feels necessary to me. I am compelled to write, just as much as my mom is to paint.

Lighthearted blog posts about my antics and drinking, my kids and my dog, my shopping inworld- those are easy. They’re all me, but they’re easy to write and share. I started this blog with those things in mind. But as is often the case in virtual worlds, my real me interlaces with my virtual me and my posts here wind up reflecting both. Sometimes things aren’t all antics and liquor, and then how much do I want to share? How much do you want to read?

Writing a blog is like a window, too. I choose how wide to open that window, and how much clothing to take off when the curtains are open.

I find it interesting that blogging under my avi name doesn’t make the writing any easier. I identify so much with my avi that it doesn’t matter you’ll never know my real name. It’s still me, I’m still sharing real life, whether it’s virtual or physical.

I’m dancing around things here, I realize this. Writing often helps clarify things in my head, but it’s muddy still. I think the point of my post today is to say that I’m here, and I’m struggling with my blogging because things are difficult in my worlds and I’m not sure how comfortable I am sharing those difficult things, even though it’s my nature to write about them.

Being a word person, a reading person, a literary person in general, I find putting things to words helps me better understand them. I think with my fingers. I also feel with my eyes, and words do much the same as paintings- they pull me in and evoke feelings and emotions. Which probably explains why virtual worlds have so pulled me in- I have the perfect blend of visual art and words to enhance that. Text chat is so comfortable to me, to see someone’s words feels right to me. Anyone else see words in their head when someone is talking in real life? (No, Whiskey, just you.)

I use humor and writing (and, sure, vodka) to talk about and make sense of my life. But there are times when humor just doesn’t come, when things are just too heavy to laugh about them. Well, okay, that’s not entirely true. I still laugh about heavy things, I admit it. Remind me sometime to tell you about my Dad’s funeral.

If I were a painter, my pallet would be filled with crimson and cobalt. My canvas would be huge and I’d be feverishly working naked and listening to The White Album. Instead I’m a writer, so my pallet is fingers on keyboard, my colors are letters and I’m working in jeans and a white buttondown. But still listening to The White Album. Music translates across worlds.

Navel Gazing

I’ve been out of sorts lately. I blamed the holidays for a while; they’re an easy target. But truth is, I feel adrift. Change is hard, and lately I’ve dealt with lots of it, both real world and inworld. And my support system in both worlds has been shaken.

I spent a long time this morning journaling about how my inworld relationships affect me, and my real life. I’m not much into roleplay; my relationships in InWorldz aren’t pretend. My heart is in them, and they’re in my heart. I have contact with my IW friends outside of IW, in email and on twitter, skype, phone. This is new for me, I used to be rather immersionist. But I took a leap and opened up my real self a bit, and now I’m questioning how smart that was. Each person has to decide their own level of comfort with how much their inworld self mixes with their real world self; I’m looking for the balance that works for me.

Friendships enrich your life. And I won’t qualify that with “either real or virtual”. When you have someone you can reach out to, talk to, spend time with- it doesn’t matter where or in what form. I have friends all over the world, whom I never see in person. They don’t enrich my life any less because of the distance. Whether we talk by email, phone, skype or chat- their love and friendship enhances my life. I see virtual worlds as another platform for visiting with my friends, however, it’s a different level of interaction, and that’s what I’ve been pondering.

Relationships, on any level, require work. And work isn’t a bad thing! Maybe a better term is “effort”. Connections need nurturing, people need tending. That’s the nature of being a friend. There are people in InWorldz who never see each other, but chat all the time. You might know them, you might be one of them. They are perfectly content to stand alone in their sim, open a chat box, and interact only with the words they’re typing there. They can be zoomed into a floor and never move their cam, and happily spend hours chatting with their friends.

I’m not one of those people. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy chatting and have plenty of IM boxes open meself. But I feel a physical connection when I’m looking at someone. And inworld, their avatar is “them” in the physical sense of our relationship. When I’m talking to someone face to face in world, the connection is far different than the connection through that IM box. It’s just how I am, and I don’t mind it. I’m not mad at myself for it.

I’ve spent far too much time alone lately, and that’s not good for me. Loneliness plagues my real life; my virtual life has always helped with that. But lately, it hasn’t. And I feel that everywhere- in my heart, my head, my achy chest and my sleepless nights. I may be having a little pity party, that’s okay. I’m a big girl, and self aware enough to know how I am, and what I need.

There can be a bond between people who connect. But you can’t really connect without opening up and sharing some of yourself. How much we share might be directly related to how well we connect, I’m not sure. I’m working on finding out. But sharing parts of yourself leads to a vulnerability that can be hard to handle. It is for me. And I think that’s where my mind is today. Trying to find the balance between the possibilities that vulnerability can allow, and the potential for pain that it can expose.

You Don’t Have To Go Home, But You Can’t Stay Here

I love my InWorldz home more than is probably reasonable. I’ve always had a home inworld. 4 years ago today I first rezzed in Second Life. I was not a gamer by any means, and in fact used a computer simply for email and writing. I made an account in SL to attend a class for work, and my first avi had my real life first name. I had no idea what I was getting into. The class was miserable and dealing with the interface was tedious. I left disgusted and never intended to go back.

A couple of weeks later, I got the flu. I was horribly sick for days; I finally got so stir crazy that I idly poked around SL again, and it wasn’t long until I was hooked. I rented a house, and spent days decorating it. I’ve had a virtual home since then.

This house in InWorldz is without a doubt the most special home I’ve ever had. About a month into my time in IW, I was lonely and couldn’t seem to find a place where I fit in here. I was ready to leave InWorldz and give up on virtual worlds altogether. Saera talked me through a long night, and a couple of days later, she spent a whole day building my dream home.

She made a home for me when I was feeling lost. It may sound cheesy, but it’s true. Most of my blog posts have been written with my RL self sitting at my desk, and my avi sitting at the end of my dock.

For weeks, Saera planted flowers for me when I was at work. I would come home and find more flowers, cat tails, water lilies… one day I came home to a greenhouse.

Tonight I’m packing all of this up, and I’m moving. There’s no sense in me paying rent for land when Kora owns a sim now. It’s hard to give this up. This house has grown in relation to and parallel with my relationship, my feelings about InWorldz, and my identity inworld. It’s my home in every sense.

But I’m moving to a sim that Kora is creating, and while it will be different, it can be home too. It can be a new place to grow and evolve. I’m looking forward to that.

But I’m gonna miss this.

What the Focaccia

I’m trying to watch my language. My 10 year old niece is spending her Christmas break with me, and my sister gave me a stern warning not to send her back to school with a new vocabulary. When my daughters were wee beasties, I kept my foul mouth contained and my potty mouth for grown up times. But now that mine are big beasties, with creative language of their own, all bets are off. Except for when the niece is about.

My daughters suggested we make new words- which I totally disagree with in principle. I mean, a curse is a curse, no matter the words you use. It’s the intent behind the word, not the word, that offends- in my book. So whether you say fuck or focaccia- you’re still cursing.

But better to say focaccia to a 10 year old, I guess. So I’m going along with it.

The other day I shouted, “Shitake!” when I dropped a jar on my toe, and she yelled, “Bless you!” from the other room.

It’s not easy.

You don’t realize how much you curse until you try to stop. I love my niece, I really do, and the last thing I need is for her to ruin her Safety Patrol position at school by having her go back saying, “What the hell is wrong with you fucking people!?” (But I am tempted to get her a taser for when she’s helping kindergarteners across the street.)

She’s cramping my style. Harshing my mellow. Making my tongue bloody from biting it.

She also sleeps like a … well, like a cat. You know how you can move a cat around in their sleep and they’ll just flop? I’ve been putting her in disco dance positions while she sleeps. It’s amazing what will amuse you when you have insomnia.

I don’t sleep well these days. I can’t turn my brain off, and it’s loud (I’m sure you’re surprised to hear this). I usually spend my sleepless nights in InWorldz, but with Kora off, it’s not been near as fun, so I’ve stayed off the computer. I’ve read books, written tomes and tweets, taught myself to knit again, counted the pores on my hands, and found a penpal in Phekbakastanisburg. Or somewhere. I’m not sure what language he speaks, but I think he really gets me. I even started sorting family photos one night, but quickly discovered that to be the wrong thing to do when lonely and sleepless.

When you can’t sleep, everyone has remedies. Cures like taking a warm bath (just makes me horny), drinking warm milk (soy milk is nasty enough cold), reduce stress (Ha! have we met? I am stress) and one brave soul had the gumption to suggest I stop drinking coffee after noon (try to take my java away and you’ll draw back a stump). I’ve tried them all. Well, no, that’s a lie. I never tried giving up my coffee. If it would help, it wouldn’t be worth it. What good’s sleep when your days are sucked of all their caffeinated joy?

So tonight’s plan, after I lie in bed for an hour or four to convince myself that I can’t indeed sleep, is to reread “The Invisible Man”, by H.G. Wells. That’ll cheer me up.

And then if I still can’t sleep, I’ll log back into InWorldz and shop for a dress for the Masquerade Ball. It’s coming up this Thursday! Whatever shall I wear? I found a mask, but still no dress. It needs to be just right. I briefly considered trying to create my own one-of-a-kind dress, but then I remembered the last time I tried to use photoshop (I broke it) and decided to just buy one instead.

But I really should learn to create. Something. In InWorldz. There, I said it. It’s out there. No taking it back. Maybe it’ll come to me some sleepless night- an epiphany, something I should learn to create. I’ll make a little shop, call it What the Focaccia. Or Shut the Frock Up. Maybe Get the Fleck Out!

But for now I’m off to curl up with a book and a dog.

Ho Ho Oy

It’s a stellar night here. I’ve got out a house full of teen beasties and we’ve made fudge, cookies and rum balls. We’ve listened to everything from Charlie Brown Christmas to Lenny Kravitz. I think there must be a Vacancy sign blinking in front of my house, but I secretly love it. Remind me I said that when I have 8 hungry bodies foraging for breakfast tomorrow.

There’s a cheesecake in my fridge. Let me tell you about this cheesecake. See, my friend Micha made the finest Cheesecake in all the land. For years, she made 2 a year. One for her house, and one for mine. It was such an undertaking, that she only did it at Christmas. A few days before Christmas each year, she’d show up at our house with the most magnificent, succulent cheesecake that’s ever lived. We’d proclaim that we weren’t worthy. She’d pishaw us, and kiss us, and then leave. And each year, I’d pass. Didn’t eat sugar, didn’t eat cheese, didn’t do dairy- whatever. All those years- I never ate it. Then 2 years ago, Micha was killed by a drunk driver in November. A week before Christmas that year, Micha’s husband showed up on my doorstep with a cheesecake, made from her recipe. He made exactly one, and he brought it to us. It was tradition, and he had to keep it alive. And let me tell you, I ate the hell out of that cheesecake. No matter that I didn’t eat sugar or dairy or whatthehellever. That cheesecake was made from love. And it was the best thing that’s ever crossed my lips.

So that cheesecake in my fridge? It’s Micha’s, and I’m eatin’ it. Shame on me for all those years I missed out. You live once. Eat the cheesecake.

Let the kids eat in the living room, call your mother, tell your best friend you love her, and leave the dishes til tomorrow while you go play Pictionary with a houseful of teens hopped up on sugar.

Merry Christmas to you. Go eat some cheesecake.

Letter From the Editor

Dear readers,

In the past few weeks I’ve had some emails and private messages at Twitter regarding my obscene language, my constant references to liquor, my comments about crack, sex, my kids, whatever. I think it’s just part of having a public blog and/or Twitter. These messages range from nice (“I love your blog but the language keeps me from reading it. Thought you should know.”) to downright silly (“You shouldn’t joke about your drinking. You need help and it’s not funny.”) to totally loopy (“God should strike you down for calling your daughters heathens. You will be judged. Have fun in hell.”). I’m paraphrasing and correcting spelling and grammar there.

I ignore these messages for the most part; this blog is a creative endeavor for me. It’s an art form, a creative outlet, and it’s mine. Oh sure, I adore an audience, that’s obvious. Any blogger who says they don’t is delusional. That’s part of the fun of blogging. But there are blogs in every shape and form out there. If you’re looking for a G-rated blog, go find one. Christian blog? They’re out there. Sex with animals blog? Bet you could find one in about 2.6 seconds. This is my blog. Period. I don’t air my family shit here, I don’t espouse my political views here. I don’t talk about religion and I don’t care about yours. The focus is on InWorldz, with a side order of me, and how can I blog without being myself? I wouldn’t read that blog. How boring!

I will joke about many things here, including drinking, sex, children, god, myself, peanut butter, you, and anything else that comes to my mind while I’m sitting here. I joke about things that *I* find funny. If you find it funny too, BONUS! If you don’t, then I won’t hold it against you. But don’t expect me to censor myself in any way to suit your preferences. I won’t apologize for drinking and joking about it; for making fun of my kids; for talking about sex; for using foul language when that works for me. And I shouldn’t have to.

So please don’t write me a letter expecting to change me. Better people have tried and failed long before you came across this blog. Don’t take me too seriously. I would never take a bath in a tub full of vodka. It’s a joke, peeps. And a waste of good vodka.

Thanks for reading my blog. Back to your lives, citizens.

Whiskey

Slow Night, So Long

Tonight is the Winter Solstice. and I’m going to stay up to watch the lunar eclipse. There will be vodka involved. Longest night of the year might as well be the most fun! My kids might have the right idea though- they’re going to go to sleep and set their alarms. Wimps.

 

I think it’s human nature to assess your affairs at the end of the year. Sort of a personal State of the Union, if you will.

The State of my Union is good. My borders are secure, education system works, infrastructure is sound… my budget could use some work and my inbox could use some tending.

I don’t usually make New Year’s Resolutions. They’re so restrictive. But this year I’ve decided to jump on the bandwagon- in my own way.

Whiskey’s New Year’s Resolutions

1. I resolve to be more balanced.
Spend less time falling, tripping, flying and flipping.

2. I resolve to spend less money eating out.
Leaving more for buying vodka.

3. I resolve to exercise more.
Exercise my right to be naughty.

4. I resolve to make do with what I have.
And to have as much as I can possibly get.

5. I resolve to drink less coffee.
Leaving room and time for more vodka.

6. I resolve to be more organized.
Spend more time putting my inventory in folders.

7. I resolve to keep on top of my laundry.
On top of the washer, enjoying the spin cycle.

8. I resolve to be more mindful of my language.
Find more creative and useful ways to curse.

9. I resolve to better schedule my time.
To make more time for InWorldz.

10. I resolve to spend less time online.
Just kidding.

 

About That Dude

This blog is an odd mix of real life, InWorldz fashion and other InWorldz stuff.  I like it like that, it represents me well. I have a real life that is rich and full and busy. One might even call it eventful, if bad luck can be considered events.  Inworld, I am not a creator nor a designer. I’m a consumer. I buy items for my avi, my home, as gifts. InWorldz  is a cheaper and more socially acceptable hobby than crack. And all the rest that I post here are just my opinions and thoughts on things as I come across them. You pretty much just get me here, in all my foul-mouthed, vodka-pickled, hard-headed glory.

Today’s post will delve into all of it.

I have a folder on my computer that is filled with snapshots from InWorldz. I snap pics all the time, and save them to hard drive. Most of those pics I intend to use for this blog, but many others are just shots of my daily life in InWorldz.

(Saera Pfeffer snapped this pic for me eons ago, on my dock)

One constant in these pics is a friend. I met Saera when she was just a couple of days old, and I was just a few weeks into InWorldz meself. She was one of those fast friends who just fits. She fit into the spaces around me, and we clicked like puzzle pieces. We shared a warped and twisted sense of humor, a similarly warped and twisted sexual vibe, and also, she was brilliant. Brilliant like Da Vinci and Michaelangelo and Georgia O’Keefe all wrapped up into one adorable little bundle of energy. Watching Saera build was like watching magic happen.  I was in awe of her talent and felt smarter just hanging around her.

Here’s where we touch on some personal stuff: Saera was a girl in IW, but a guy in RL. She’d been a girl inworld for years.  And I have always, always been a proponent of accepting people as they present to me inworld. Whether you’re a robot, a furry, a wee puppy or a cross dressing Lycan who walks on his head- I will treat you like one.  I treated Saera as she presented to me- as a fun loving, twisted and clever girl whom I adored unreservedly. She made no secret of her male typist, but she was happy playing her female avi inworld. I was happy to have a girl friend to hang with.

But there was an attraction between us from day one that was always in the background. Our relationship could be an interesting study in the dynamics of avatars and their RL thinkers.  While I was not in any way attracted to Saera’s avi or her female-ness (for lack of a better term), I found myself constantly attracted to the person I was getting to know every day. There was an inner battle, there was turmoil, because I consider myself totally straight and I very much dig all things manly- but here I was feeling this attraction to a little neko girl running amok in my life. It was disconcerting. I pretty much “play me” inworld. I look like me, dress like me, talk walk and fuck like me. I tried to wear a tail and just felt silly; tried to wear black hair once and just felt totally wrong. I am very much invested in and attached to my avi. She is me. Touch her hand, and I feel it. Kiss her lips, and mine tingle. And I like it like that.

But I really, really liked Saera.

Thank God the feeling was mutual. And even better, Saera had a male alt named Kora. Here’s where things get interesting… because they’ve just been boring up to now, yeah? Saera tried on her male alt, and let go of the “character” of Saera. I went on a date with Kora, just to see how it went and what we both felt. And instead of hanging out with a character, I had the unique pleasure and honor of getting to know the the man behind the avi. Kora became an extension of the male typist. And while Saera was always a part of him, there were parts of him that didn’t see the light of day inworld, by virtue of the part he had chosen to play. Getting to know Kora was like getting to know a new person, but one that felt safe and familiar and exciting.

Now, I know those blogs that get all lovey and sappy and hearts and flowers and gag. (Yeah, you know who you are, you romantic schmucks!) And, while I may have a romantic streak in me a mile wide, that tends to be a private side of me. You’re not gonna catch me getting all googly eyed and starry here. Yes, dancing for the first time with Kora, there were trumpets and fireworks and a hallelujah choir- but that’s none of your business. Back to our story…

So, Saera became Kora. But not without lots of discussion and massive amounts overthinking (I am, after all, a woman. We do that, I’m told.) Saera had friends, a place in InWorldz, a job at Equinox, and an inworld family… a whole inworld life! And a personality that was a real part of the dude at the keyboard. I didn’t want to take that away from him, nor take Saera away from InWorldz. It was no small decision for either of us.

In the end, Kora felt right with Whiskey. But truth is, Dude at the keyboard is right with, and for, the Girl at this one.

Last night, despite my exclamations that I was hardly dressed for it, Kora and I eloped. We discussed our future together much the same way we discuss most things; that is, with humor and tenderness and honesty. On my dock, where we have spent countless hours together. That was a private ceremony.

We did, however, make it official in public later:

19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: Whiskey..
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: do you?
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: ;D
[19:53] Astra Thorne: awww
[19:53] Whiskey Day: I DO!!!
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: and Kora, do you?
[19:53] Kora Daviau: I do!
[19:53] Whiskey Day grins
[19:53] Astra Thorne: CRIES!!!!
[19:53] Tranquillity Dexler: I now pronounce you.. um partners ;D
[19:53] Kora Daviau: thank you!
[19:53] Whiskey Day throws flowers
[19:53] Whiskey Day kisses Kora
[19:53] Kora Daviau: cant get more official than that
[19:53] Whiskey Day: thanks Tranq

We danced to Arimo Teixeira singing the blues, with our friends and family around us, and no one made fun of my boots.

And I’m very, very happy. But not sappy. Never that. Slap me if I quote cheesy song lyrics or call him my Beloved. You have my permission. But you’ll have to deal with the Dude too. He’s not as nice as I am. (he’s nicer)

You People Make My Ass Twitch

There are times when I want to reach through the computer and slap someone. When some blogger or forum post starts whining and woeing and blathering on about everything that bothers them, I want to just pinch them on the nose and tell them to put on their big girl panties and deal with it. Get over yourself. Open your eyes and recognize real suffering and work to end it. Stop taking yourself and your opinions so fucking seriously.

Or when someone gets all passive aggressive and posts shit about how they “hate it when someone __________ ” insert whatever gets their panties all twisted up. If you’re gonna rant on your own blog, have the balls to be direct about it. Twitter is especially bad for this, I’ve found. There’s some damn catty bitches out there, but they never have the cajones to name names. Because that would be rude. (Insert very effective rolling of the eyes here. I learned it from my daughters, the masters.)

And then there are times when I want to whine and woe and grouse about how bad I’ve got it. When I want to be a catty bitch and even be passive aggressive about it. Maybe say things like, “I hate it when people whine about what other people are doing; they should just mind their own business and examine their own motives. You be you, and I’ll be me, and fuck you if you don’t like it. But no, I’m not talking to you. Just you.” ‘Course that’s just the ubiquitous “you”. Not you. No, really.

I’m such a hypocrite. Somebody pull my big girl panties outta my ass.

I was bellyaching this morning, while driving, alone, out loud, about Christmas music. (If I hear Drummer Boy anywhere ever again, I’m going to stick a well sharpened pencil into my ear just to stop the pain.) Then I started complaining about other drivers. Then I started in on old lady drivers. Next I felt the need to whine about how I haven’t had a day off in forevah. Before I knew it, I had arrived at work, and had been whining, bitching and moaning all the way there. Spewing ugly rudeness out into the universe.

Now, if this were a Hallmark movie, or a nice blog, I would have an epiphany right about now about how good I’ve got it, and everything I should be thankful for, and I’d end this post with a long, sappy, and heartwarming missive about how beautiful life can be when you recognize all you’ve got.

Meh. Not so much. This isn’t a holiday movie, or a nice blog. This is real life and I’m a hypocrite. I know I’ve got it good, I know I’ve got a ton for which to be thankful- but I don’t give a flying fuck today. Today (and yesterday, and -OH LOOK- the day before that too) I’m feeling like complaining and whining and being annoying. And catty, too.

And aren’t you just the lucky one, that I have a blog where I can post all of this?

Don’t you just want to slap me?

The thing is, InWorldz is a good place. We’ve all seen it, talked about it, seen it commented. There’s some damn good shit here. Good people, good building, good creating, good leadership, good direction and good community. Hell, there’s great community! But if you take that for granted, if you spend your time bitching about the smallest, most inane things; or talk about other community members in such venomous and prejudiced ways; or nit picking every little post on a forum… you’re chipping away at our community. After all, what makes it such a great community? It’s not the world, it’s the people in it, and their attitudes, and their treatment of one another.

And once you start chipping away at that, well, won’t be long til you nick yourself.

There is good out there to show off and to talk about. Things that warm even my vodka pickled heart. Things like this thread at the InWorldz Fourms where residents have come together to save a unique sim with a pretty cool build on it. Deson Bowenford’s maze at Snake River is an interesting place to wander around, especially when you’re snockered. If you haven’t been yet, you should go check it out. Here’s a taste:

Mean people suck. Losing the thing we love the most about InWorldz would suck harder. And if you think I’m wagging my finger, then know I’m wagging it in the mirror.

The Man Behind the Curtain

I grew up listening to the music of Paul Simon. My parents were nomadic hippie freaks when I was young, and we spent a lot of time in the car/truck/van traveling across the state/country/continent. My mom always had music playing- Joni Mitchell, Simon & Garfunkle, Holly Near- and we all sang along. Everyone else Some of us better than me others.

Paul Simon’s music stayed with me, and I spent my girls’ wee years rocking them while listening to Graceland and Rhythm of the Saints and, of course, Negotiations & Love Songs. The lyrics became a part of my life. I studied those lyrics over and over in the wee small hours of the morning, after my youngest would finally find sleep and I had to sit rocking her, lest she wake up if I breathed or blinked. Paul Simon’s lyrics seemed so intricate and worldly and meaningful.

A few years ago, I caught an interview with Paul Simon on PBS. The interviewer asked what inspired his lyrics, and his reply broke my heart. “I just look for words that rhyme, phrases that sound good in the song. There’s really no story behind most of my lyrics.”

I was crushed. How could he? Those lyrics meant something to me! (sob) It was like discovering your sea monkeys aren’t monkeys at all, but little ucky brine shrimp. (Took me years to recover from that one.)

It was a long time before I could listen to his music again, and longer still before I could enjoy it. I’m random and obscure enough in my own life to come to finally appreciate that his songs aren’t deep social commentaries, but just words that rhyme and sound good together. I guess I can live with that. If I want deep social commentary, I’ll listen to Bob Dylan, whose lyrics really mean something. (right? they do, right? Don’t harsh my mellow.)

My point (I do have one) is that I guess I don’t care about the man behind the curtain. Who cares who pushes the buttons? I don’t. I just want to enjoy the music. (Or the big scary floating head, as the case may be.)

When I meet someone inworld, I know there is a a man or woman behind the curtain, a person sitting at the keyboard. But I enjoy the lyrics that they write for me, the song that they sing.

(This is the part where I bring it back around. Stick with me.)

There’ve been many blog posts recently about identity. The various forms and shapes and definitions of it, how it’s changing and evolving, and the expectations we all have. It seems an annual tradition for the inworld intellects to take a stab at finally defining how our online identities mesh with our physical ones, if at all. And this time, there have been some masterful efforts.

But thing is, in my opinion, none of them can define it. Not one of them. Know why? Because the relationship between our online and physical reality is as unique as each and every one of us. Only I can define that for myself, and my definition will not match anyone else’s. You may try to define it for me, but you will fail every time. You may also fail at trying to understand my definition, if you are only trying to make it fit into your own.

And so, I suggest we all stop lifting the curtain and blowing the illusion. Let each of us decide the level of real world and online world mingling, and respect the boundaries as healthy and necessary. If you’re worried that the svelte and sexy lady avi you’re dragging your virtual tongue across is really a 400 lb man named Slappy who lives in a  bait shop, then ask her. If you’re concerned that the pumped up guy avi with the great hair is really some housewife with too much time to kill and a twisted sex appetite, then speak up. But if you can just step back and get to know the personality, the lyrics, if you will, and accept people for who and what they are where you meet them; well then, does it really matter?

I am who I am. I tend to say the same things, enjoy the same clothing, to look similar, have the same sexual tastes, and be drawn to the same types of people in both online and RL worlds. And I’m very happy with that. It’s my online experience. But I am perfectly happy to accept that not everyone is like me. Wouldn’t it be exhausting if they were? I’ll happily accept the “you” that you show to me, on the level that is comfortable to you.

It’s not rocket science; it’s acceptance.

I’ll leave you with the fine, if not meaningful, lyrics of Mr. Simon: (from Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes)

She makes the sign of a teaspoon
He makes the sign of a wave,
The poor boy changes clothes
And puts on after-shave,
To compensate for his ordinary shoes

You can see how I might have been confused. That’s deep shit right there.

Cold Rain and Snow

This song goes with this post.

I woke up this morning to freezing rain. I live in the mountains, and we get plenty of it. It makes it really hard to get out of bed. I’ll have to wear layers of clothes today to stay warm and dry. Which, oddly enough, makes me want to wear less inworld. (No, not lingerie again! Although my blog views more than double on days when I post half naked Whiskey shots. Buncha pervs!)

This umbrella is free from Abranimations. It’s called the Bladerunner Umbrella. I’ve never seen the movie, so I haven’t a clue if it’s supposed to do something besides look cool.

It’s easy to get blue this time of year. Some days I just want to punch a stupid yard scarecrow in the face, and burn the corn fodder just for kicks. Winter is far too close for comfort. Next I’ll be wanting to punch baby snowflakes.

I’m having trouble forming coherent thoughts. I wonder if someone accidentally switched my coffee for decaf. (aka: useless brown water) I think I’ll end this ramble now before I get you all dizzy on my train of thought. It’s really just an excuse to post pretty pictures anyway.

Skin: Pulse

Shape: mine

Hair: Emo-tions

Top: Snowpaws Designs

Pants: Sassy!

Poses: Crux, Luth Brodie

Umbrella: Abranimations

Can Lack of Stability Hurt the Sense of Community?

I don’t have any pictures from last night’s Halloween Party, because it was so lagged out and we all crashed so often that I never got the chance. And it’s a shame, because people in Inworldz are ubercreative and fun, and I would have loved to have shown off their creations.

I was thinking, while relogging for the umpteenth time, that all that damn crashing was ruining my fun. But more than that, it was ruining the “flow” of the event. Now, don’t get me wrong, we’re all well aware of the kinks and limitations of our grid; we had as much a sense of humor as the situation would allow. There was very little grumbling. But every time we crashed en masse, we’d generally be down a partier or two when we ghosted back in. Every time local chat would finally pick up and a topic would be tossed around that didn’t involve “WB!” or long, screen clogging gestures (can we ban those?), just as people would start to really chat and interact- BAM- we’d all be relogging. Again. And then there’s the flurry of 10 WB’s and 10 WowICrashed’s and 10 You’reAGhost’s and all that comes from a group crash. By the time the conversation would get going again… you get the picture.

As a new member of a new world, and since I’m not really a creator, one of the things I most enjoy is meeting new people, making new friends, and getting to know the peeps in the community. It’s hard, in Inworldz, to find people. If you come to IW, like I did, alone and without an already established group of friends, well, finding friends can be harder than you think. Could be just me. But I don’t think so.

And when an event happens, I’m excited! PEOPLE! Yay! I can cam! Perv! Read! Chat! Listen! Flirt! And generally have fun hanging out with people! Right?

I can’t help but think that, while our community seems strong, and the friendliness of the people was one of the huge draws for me to move here, the community will be stronger still when it’s got a more stable grid. When more than 5 people can hang out together without crashing every few minutes. I’ve been to enough events now to know that it’s hit or miss; sometimes I can go all night (that’s what she said!) without crashing once, other times it’s over and over and over. It can happen alone on my sim, or in a sim full of people.

And I’ve been inworld long enough now to see that the stability is getting better all the time. Hell, SL isn’t exactly stable either! But I think the difference is that, in SL, I have more choices of places to go. If a party crashed a half dozen times in 20 minutes, I’d find another party. I hazard to guess there was only one party in Inworldz last night. There’s another one tonight. And I’ll try to make it, as I want to meet people and interact. I want to be a part of the Inworldz community. It’s not the shopping, it’s not the blogging or the building that keeps me signing in; it’s the people. I only wish I could see more of them in person, at once!

My Mouth is Up Here

Nothing like a little lingerie to get your attention.

Saera and I were talking about the difference between creators who live in Inworldz, and creators who treat IW as an outpost. Those who see IW as an outlet mall, and spend the majority of their time (and money) in Second Life, who post vendor pics taken in SL- are they any less worthy of my money and consideration?

My knee-jerk reaction is to say that I’d rather support IW creators who live, work, photograph, create and sell in IW; I’d rather give them my money. Sounds all high and mighty, doesn’t it? Maybe, but it’s the truth. I have an irrational negativity towards IW vendors with SL pictures. I know it’s easier to take pictures once if you have stores in both worlds, I get that. I know creators would rather spend time creating. But still, it irks me. I’m much more likely to buy everything in the store if the creator has IW pics; I take longer to think about it and I buy less from the seller who doesn’t.

But how can you tell whether the creator is a “resident” of IW and not just someone who comes to throw up new stuff, then runs home to SL? First of all, if they have a SL photo in their profile, that doesn’t give me confidence. I know, I sound like a snobby bitch; it’s how I feel. I feel protective of IW. I want it to grow and expand in good and positive ways. I want to see people with a vested interest in our world, not just an interest in making money off of it.

Truth is though, there’s no sure-fire way to know if a creator has a true presence in IW, or if they just visit to throw up new releases and cash out. The trick for me is watching the forums, blogs and paying attention to the shops. Getting to know my community. And putting my money where my mouth is.

 

 
 

Gratuitous Lingerie Shot:

Skin- Pulse

Shape- mine

Hair- Emo-tions

Lingerie- Lilleth Mills

Poses- Crux (Luth Brodie)

Vodka Inspired Ramble on Friday Night

I don’t much mix my real life with my online life. It’s not so much that I’m hiding anything from either world; I’m happy to talk about each world in the other. However, none of my RL friends or family know that I’ve been a resident of online worlds for more than 3 years. I suppose, if asked, I’d admit it freely. But I’ve never brought it up myself. They’ll never read this blog or visit my inworld home. They’ll never see Whiskey Day.

I’m not ashamed to be a part of an online community. I have 3 jobs. I don’t waste outrageous amounts of time inworld (but I would, given the chance!), I don’t neglect my kids nor forget to shower. I still go out with friends in RL. I still spend uber amounts of time with my daughters. I don’t do anything inworld that I wouldn’t do in RL. So there’s no disgrace involved with my “play time” inworld.

My daughters are 17 and 19 years old. They know I play online. Neither of them has any desire to explore online worlds; they’re facebookers, and they do their schoolwork on the computer. Otherwise, they have far better things to do with their time. They never ask about my online time. I don’t hide the screen when they walk by, neither do they peek over my shoulder.

And so I realize that my plugged in “life” is a huge part of me, but not a huge part of my life. Do I indeed have two lives? I don’t feel as if I do, they feel happily balanced and integrated. But the fact that they don’t overlap makes me feel as if they are two entities.

I also write erotic lit under a pen name in the real world. I have had some success at this. My ex-husband was aware of my writing, a few close friends know as well. It’s not something I talk about with anyone really; I deposit my checks that come in plain brown wrapping and very much enjoy the time writing. I belong to writer’s groups and I have an editor I work with. Is this another life? Or simply another part of my kink me?

I don’t believe anyone can know all facets of another. Not even those in a closest relationship. My kids may never know I’ve written smutty stories, just like my IW friends may never know where I live in RL. It doesn’t make me dishonest with either; simply makes me an adult. A happy adult, in all worlds.

I don’t think I have more than one life, I simply think I have many options for living one.

Don’t Try This at Home

Last night I was “hanging out” (get it?) with friends. Saera, Pete and I were plotting World Domination (which must be discussed on my roof, natch), and I snapped a pic.

Not to be outdone, and to show off her far superior graphics capabilities, Saera snapped too:

The night was dark and stormy as we devised our dirty deeds…

Any excuse to show of her mad photog skillz.

Speaking of showing off, look at my ass! (How’s that for a segue?)

I found a new store, called Crux, and I’m all about the ass! (Ask anyone.)

The front’s not bad either.

 

 

 

Skin: Pulse

Shape: mine

Outfit & Sweater: Crux

Hair: Vanity Designs

Poses: Luth

Perverted Mind: mine

Your Voice Heard Here

I try very hard not to compare Inworldz to Second Life. They’re totally different worlds, despite their common code. But I was a resident of SL for more than 3 years before moving to IW, so I can’t help but compare my experiences in SL and IW. There’s no way to avoid that.

This thread at the Inworldz Forum is a good example of why SL and IW are so totally different. The IW Founders queried the residents (specifically land owners in this instance) regarding introducing an option for voice. There are 10 pages of civil discussion between residents and founders, and the bottom line is that the decision will be made based on the input there.

Now, I don’t own land (yet) and I would rarely use voice. I much prefer the written word, and I have this dorky southern accent and little girl voice. I hated local voice in SL- the sounds of mouth breathers, televisions and kids in the background made me want to punch a puppy. So I don’t really have any ducks in this race. But I watched this thread with interest because it’s an example of how IW operates.

Now, don’t mistake the founders for pushovers. They are anything but. And I do realize that, even though IW has around 20,000 registered members, only a small minority of those post on the forums, and I’ve never seen more than 209 residents in-world at a time. So it’s easier to poll your residents and consider their needs when your numbers are small. I’ll watch with interest as the world grows (by leaps and bounds every week!) and the varying needs and desires of the community change.

But I don’t think the basic way that our founders handle things will change. I think their steady vision and a roadmap based on thoughtful plans will keep Inworldz on the right track. And I’ll be here, even if you don’t get the pleasure of hearing me sing along with Lady Gag Gag anytime soon.

skin yada yada Pulse
shape yada yada mine
hair yada yada Vanity

shirt: Panties Optional

jeans: Cow

microphone: Misty Harley

May the Road Rise Up to Meet You

It’s an old Irish blessing, but to me it’s a curse.

In real life, I’m incredibly clumsy. I trip over hairs, ideas and shadows. I fall up stairs and down hills. I’m not allowed to use sharp objects unattended and I haven’t held a baby in 8 years (and he’s still a little slow for his age).

I’m also incredibly vain, so I care what my body looks like. The only exercise I can stand to do regularly without wanting to go postal is running. I will never enjoy running, but I will always enjoy a non-saggy ass, so it’s an okay trade off. I’ve heard tell of people who love running, people speak of endorphins like crack. I don’t feel it, never get euphoric, and in fact if there is some sort of anti-endrophin, I’m quite certain I get that instead.

This morning I was halfway through my 5 mile loop when the road rose up to meet me. And I knew the moment I hit, stupidly trying to break my fall (save the face!) with my hand, and heard that sickening crunch, that I’d broken something.

Actually, 2 bones.

Typing sucks ass, and not in that “ohhh is that your tongue?” nice kinda way. Did you know casts are damn heavy?

My teenagers see this cast as a blank canvas, and they’ve got a row of Sharpie markers lined up beside a pain pill and a shot of vodka. See you on the other side!

I, I, Me, Me, My

Soror Nishi blogged about Phillip Linden’s new look, and she posed this question:

…most of the stuff produced by the Fashionista Bunch of Morons around SL is enough to make me scream. Why would anyone want to look like they stepped out of Vogue into SL ? ….Beats me.

I guess it’s all part of that fear of the unknown and the unwillingness to make a statement in case you get criticised or looked at. What a shame SL hasn’t given them enough courage to try something different.

If you can’t try something different in Virtual Worlds then you have missed an opportunity…

I admit that I found Phillip’s new look a bit odd myself. The disco crotch and skinny pants (chaps? I can’t tell) made me shake my  head. This is the face of Second Life? Just ewww. But what bugs me most of all is that Phillip is now wearing an avatar that he didn’t create himself. The founder of Second Life couldn’t be bothered to update his own avatar? It’s surely not because he’s so busy making the world a better place.

But Soror’s question is a broader one, including more than just Phillip Linden. Why would anyone want to look like they stepped out of Vogue into SL ?

I don’t consider myself a fashionista by any means, but I have taken to posting fashion here. I do read other blogs for fashion ideas, especially in Inworldz where finding things isn’t always easy.

But Soror’s question made me ask myself why I dress my avi like myself in RL. I tend to dress the same in both worlds, I look for hair that looks like mine, freckles that look like mine, I modeled my avi’s shape after my own… Am I less than creative, am I “missing an opportunity” for not being different?

I’m not an artist. I don’t see the world through an artist’s eyes. I can’t paint, or sculpt or sketch. I’m a writer, and I can create with words. But I appreciate visual arts, and surround myself with it in both worlds.  I love Soror’s work,  and the work of  many virtual artists. (I’m tempted to sign back into SL just to attend Burn 2.) But is my avatar in-world any less a work of art, just because it’s not different enough in someone else’s eyes? And different from whom?

Truth is, I am different. I’m not like Soror, or Phillip, or the fashionistas; I’m not like anyone. I’m unique because I am myself. Each of us brings our own singular self and style and viewpoint to our online experience. Who am I judge how someone else decides to present themselves in-world?  Including Phillip Linden and Soror Nishi.

I realized, while I pondered Soror’s post, that I do create. I may not create grande builds or neverbeforeseen works of art; I create my world, my look, my home, and my relationships. My “work” may never be on display or viewed and critiqued by judges, but I’m happy with the life that I’m designing.

And isn’t that the beauty of our world?

*post title is a Beatles tune. Who do I pay for using it?

Real Life

Real life has me hopping this weekend, and I’ve not been in-world. I finally had a few minutes to sit down and log in tonight, but luck was against me. Every time I snapped a picture, I crashed. Doesn’t matter which viewer I try, Inworldz  or Imprudence both shut down on shutter click. I managed to catch one shot of myself. (I also crashed upon TPing or opening inventory.)

I’ve yet to find shoes I love in Inworldz, so I’m still running amok barefoot. But I’m not looking very hard; I tend to run amok barefoot in RL too.

I was at a volleyball game today, and eavesdropped overheard 3 teenagers talking about an online game. Well okay, I’ll be honest; I leaned so far over to hear their conversation that I just about fell off the bleachers. These kids were around 15 or 16, and were talking about shooting people, which is really what made me start listening in the first place. When I realized they were yammering about a game, I just about tuned out- until one of them mentioned The Blarney Stone. I used to hang out at the Blarney Stone in Second Life, it’s on the Dublin sim. It’s fashioned after, and named for, a real life pub in Ireland. It took me a few minutes of hardcore spying to confirm that they were actually talking about Second Life.

And what these kids were talking about was basically griefing. While I sat there listening, I had an internal dialogue with myself: should I say something? ignore it? They were talking about creating multiple avis just for griefing; stalking; and worst of all, targeting gay men. Their language was crude and ugly, and I just wanted to smack them all upside the head.

But what could I say? I couldn’t march up and demand to know their screen names. What, I’m gonna AR them from the bleachers? I could have located their parents and told them… what? That their sons were wreaking havoc in an online world? Reckon they’d care? (I would, were it my kids, but then I’m among the minority of people my age who understands the online world in the first place.) And besides, a 40 year old mom butting into their conversation unbidden to talk about their behavior in an online “game” wouldn’t go over so well.

Before I could decide the best thing to do, they were up and gone. I didn’t see them again for the rest of the tournament.  I hated myself for just sitting there. I came up with a dozen things I should have done, could have said. And even though I’m relieved that I’ve not run across anything near this kind of behavior in Inworldz, I remember how annoying and frustrating it was to deal with their ilk in Second Life. The sheer number of people in Second Life, the ease of anonymity, and the lack of attention to Abuse Reports makes Second Life an easy place to be ugly.

In Inworldz, we don’t yet have the capability to ban or eject people from our land. You might think, if you’ve been in SL for any length of time, that this would lead to griefers running around and playing their jackass games with no recourse. So far, that’s not been the case at all. There’s the odd asswipe who gets his jollies irritating folks on their own land, but otherwise it’s a pretty quiet, peaceful place. I think instant attention would be given to any reports of abuse, as our founders spend time in world and at the forums and actually read & answer support emails, quicklike! I hope those little wee creeps never find out about Inworldz, and that karma is swift and accurate when it smacks them upside the heads one or ten times.
_______________________________

in my little pic (which you can click to enlarge):

Skin is always Pulse, shape is always mine

longsleeve shirt: Sassy!

vest: Deviant Designs

jeans: Boho Hobo

hair: Stellar by Lexi Morgan

What’s it to ya?

I didn’t have a dramatic leaving of Second Life. I didn’t flounce, there were no long letters  announcing “I’m leaving and I’m never coming back!”, and I wasn’t banned. I simply logged out one day, and never logged back in.  In fact, I left my avi standing in front of the now defunct IW/SL ATM.

I still get offlines from SL sent to my email. I get messages like this:

(names are changed to protect the  innocent idiots)

[5:59] Whiskey’s Nice Friend: where have you been? I love you and miss you so much and SL isn’t the same without you!

(no, I didn’t embellish at all!)

I usually respond with, “I’ve left SL, thanks for checking on me! You can find me at Inworldz, come check it out- I’ll show you around!”

Yesterday, there was this exchange:

[3:10] Whiskey’s Asshole ex-Friend: where have you been girl?

[3:55] Whiskey Day: Hey! I’ve moved over to Inworldz, wanna come see?

[4:21] Whiskey’s Asshole ex-Friend: wtf? are you crazy? you don’t build and there’s no sex there! i’ll see you when you get board [sic] and come back home. have fun slumming lol

First of all, I never get bored (learn to spell, asswipe!). There’s far too much to see, to read, to explore in life to ever be bored!

And b), you suck.  I am home, in Inworldz. What’s with the attitude?

And 3. There is too sex in IW,  just not with you.

Lastly, fuck you.

Then, I received this message today:

[8:07] Whiskey’s Other Imbecile ex-Friend: I heard there were a bunch of copybotters over there. When did  you get into that?

I promptly went and turned off my email settings and will no longer be getting mail from SL.  I expected that most people wouldn’t understand my moving to a new world; what I didn’t expect was the animosity. It’s not as if I’ve left a partner or business in Second Life. I simply grew disenchanted with a world that was going down like a ship, and the rats that were still dancing on the deck.

The longer I’m gone, the less I miss Second Life, and the happier I am to have found Inworldz.

Knock Knock

Ha! Made you say “who’s there?”

Arabella Steadham interviewed Inworldz founder Elenia Llewellyn here.

Here’s a snippet:

I would love to see an Arts community, live music, radio, and a diverse fashion industry here in IW. do you think all this is possible?

Interestingly enough, we have one resident already with two sims dedicated to the Arts, Stefanik Dagostino with Artlandia and West Artlandia. There’s also Jeri Rahja who has been working with some artists as well. Then we have soror Nishi who came over, and she’s just great, her work is amazing. We have dj’s in world, and music urls and streaming work fine here. Our fashion is really starting to get pretty diverse, as you blogged about. Although I think the gentlemen in our world may disagree, as they need far more variety.

I agree with Elenia, that we already have an Arts community, a diverse fashion industry, live music, and each of these is growing daily. There’s an Inworldz Music Fest planned for Oct. 12th at the Inworldz Event Center, and it looks like they’ve got a full schedule of live performers. There’s sim after sim of talented builders and artists to explore and glean inspiration from. And while I may bitch and moan about the lack of good hair and shoes, the truth is I’m just uber picky. I want my avi’s hair to look just like my RL hair. (Yes, I realize that’s an  issue all on its own. I tried therapy, but my therapist went to SL to check it out and I never saw him again. I’m guessing he’s a Gor master now.)

Anyhow, it’s a great read. Check it out.