They seem tired, like many (the majority?) of k-pop stars. It seems like they are constantly working and performing. They need a vacation, all of the k-pop stars do. I can see the exhaustion in their faces.
So, a couple hours ago I watched True Life: I’m a Textaholic and was kind of baffled. I’m sure this all stems from my personal opinion of texting, but really, being addicted to texting so much you develop carpal tunnel syndrome?
Maybe it’s just me, but I really don’t find text convos all that engaging. It seems too removed. I am not very invested, I find myself easily distracted, and worse, I usually feel like I have less to say during a texting conversation (especially with a 160 character limit).
When I person initiates some kind of substantial conversation with me through text, like catching up, or telling a mass of details, or anything that can be lengthy and especially if it requires significant emotion, I think, “Really? Why text this?”
It seems so silly, like a waste of time almost.
When people want to have actual conversations with me through text, I don’t know, it feels insignificant.
This isn’t to say I don’t like communicating with people or hate it when people talk to me. It’s just that the medium of exchange renders it less than what it should be.
I mean, talking on the phone would be the clear alternative and I would like to be comfortable enough to do that regularly again.
…but we all know we’ve become just social-phobic enough to avoid that.
So, does anyone else feel lukewarm about texting convos, or is it just me?
In March, New Yorker columnist John Cassidy blogged about the city’s new bike lanes. He was annoyed that they made it harder for him to drive his Jaguar around Manhattan, and bemoaned the city’s bicyclists as a privileged, insular aristocracy, a “faddist minority intent on foisting its bipedalist…
"Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sub-drenched Polaroid. Your days are not an editiorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn't your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don't play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn't a work of art."
“When I ask my students at the beginning of my Men and Masculinity course about “real men,” I get responses like, “real men aren’t afraid to show affection,” or “real men like to dance,” or “real men can cry in public and not care what anyone else thinks.” My students want to subvert the traditional “sturdy oak” model of masculinity. They mean well. But all they’re doing is swapping one unattainable ideal for another. Just as “real women have curves” delegitimizes countless slim women, “real men aren’t afraid to cry” shames those men who for any number of reasons are awkward about public displays of emotion. The contemporary “real man” ideal presents itself as inclusive, but it’s just another cultural straitjacket.”—(via senseret)