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loloteheOh, I have lost my reputation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.
--Cassio, "Othello", Act 2, Scene 3
It was during a conversation the other weekend that a phrase popped into my head: age is something that's earned. It think it was right after my companion complained that everyone treated them like a child. It wasn't something I said out loud, because I was going to have to back it up, and I didn't have an explanation for the phrase at the time, just a feeling.
I've had time to think about it, and I'm still not sure what exactly it means. It popped into my head again, another evening, in traffic, as I watched a motorcycle weave in and out of traffic. "You won't be long for this earth," I muttered at my windshield. Age is something that's earned.
Remember when you were a kid and a birthday was a big deal? Now, we save them for milestones like 16, 21, 40... just making through childhood isn't that big a deal anymore. Granted, we've conquered a fair number of childhood illnesses, so that investment is paying off more and more these days. What we celebrate with those special years are new rights. We “level up” and gain new abilities.
In my early days on Second Life, I worked as a mentor in the Welcome Area, where we had a collection of griefers as our regulars. Occasionally, the same avatar (with the same behavior) would show up with a new name. Because they kept getting banned, they couldn't keep the same name for very long.
I'd say that being online longer than others gets you something similar, but only in reputation. I've been with the Velvet since it opened and I remember most of its history, but that does not give me any special ability. The abilities I have been granted come more from my reputation than anything else.
My name is my reputation. My name is the linking factor to a fair number of memories in other people's heads: it's the API call that brings up the feelings they have for me. Saying my name isn't just "that spider" (although, people who say "that spider" are quickly asked\told "You mean Lolo"). That particular SQL query brings up results like "spider", but also bring up "DJ", "Velvet", "old", or "kinda like Google in a creepy way". I carry both the reputations of being one of the smartest people you'll meet (it's more knowledgeable than smart, but, whatever) and one of the nicest people you'll meet.
As I have raised these reputations by hand since birth, I am responsible for them.
The hardest one to maintain, I'm going to admit, is being nice.
Anyhoo, this actually ties to why I wear the spider avatar: it's ankle-weights for my personality. See, I've know a lot of pretty-girls and they all had pretty-girl personalities and that is NOT a compliment. And if you're wondering what I mean by that, consider the phrase, "But she has a lovely personality."
When you're not attractive visually, you have to have something else going on. I like to think that I've never gotten by on my looks in RL (but, I probably have and not noticed it). The important part is to not get by on looks alone, as they have a tendency to “fade”. Be smart, be witty, be funny, or—at the very least—be nice. If you're nothing but pretty, then people are going to be more interested in hanging out with pictures of you than you yourself.
Well, what does that have to do with age?
Of all the pretty girls I've known over the years, I can't recall what any of them are doing now. I've looked for them out of curiosity (and for this article), and I can't find them unless I turn to something like Facebook. They have done, quite frankly, nothing.
But the average or homely looking girls? I can find them. They've done something. Someone's talking about them besides themselves.
In talking to a buddy of mine about this issue, she said, "Ah, youth." I said, "Oh, inexperience." Both of us are right. With age comes experience and the lessons one learns via a lifetime. This actually goes to another idea that has haunted me for years.
THE BIG AWFUL
If you've not heard me go on about this before, then I'll say we've not known each other that long or we have but only very casually. This is something that kind of took over my life ten years ago when I had a terrible roommate.
Everyone's is different. It's a time when nothing goes right, sometimes called an annus horribilis. It's the biggest, baddest thing that happened to you in your life and all other misfortunes are measured against. it. It either breaks you or makes you better.
And one person's Big Awful might not seem that much to another, really.
I'm going to mine was 1996 when I was making $6/hr and supporting a guy, to whom I gave my virginity because I just wanted to be with someone and I afraid of being alone. I weighed 110 pounds (and I'm six-foot) and I was never sure if we'd make rent or if I'd have enough gas to get to work or what I was going to eat, but he fucked my manager who yelled at me when her fiancé got back in town and called it off and I hadn't said anything about it (honest!) because she was also fucking the guy who worked in the cafe and god it's such a mess, really. Getting out of one lease to find out I was the only one named on an eviction case (because my last name came first in the alphabet and they were cheap and I'd paid all the bills, anyway), and I was living in the roach motel and it was just awful for me.
Now, I know a girl who was chained to a kitchen, literally. She might not think my Big Awful was that awful, be we got along because I'd been through it and she'd been through hers and we could both look at any shit situation and say, “That could have been so much worse....”
And then you get those people, like my roommate ten years ago, for whom every bad thing that happened was her big awful. But it wasn't, you see? There's something very specific about the Big Awful that makes it different from other bad things.
It changes you.
Stub your toe pre BA? Oh, it's just death and agony. Post BA? Maybe I should move that chair....
It's like running through a grass-fire to the other side, where there's nothing left to burn. You come out of it and sigh and, oh, it puts it all into perspective. A harsh word is nothing after you've been beaten nearly to death. A flat tire will never be as bad as car fire. Getting the power turned off is child's play next to locks that have been changed for non-payment of rent.
Now, I'll say my current roomie has a lot of the same issues as that one from ten years ago. He lived with his folks until he lived with me and, shortly after that, joined a union. This is a big deal in a right-to-work state like Texas, so he really has no idea. He once complained to me that work wanted him to do “the work of three people”. Considering how much he makes an hour, I said that was just fine, as three people would be very happy making a third of what he was making at the time.
Worst thing that's happened to him in the last 10 years? His computer wouldn't boot once.
I can't say what his big awful was because I honestly don't know if he's had one yet. I'm pretty sure it was a relationship that went sour while he was living with his folks, but that's not really the kind of life-changing thing I'm talking about.
That's another thing about the Big Awful: the older you get, the less you respect people who haven't had theirs yet. I'd like to say bully for parents who were able to keep their children shielded like that, but the final products don't seem like actual adults.
Because, you see, age is something that's earned. You have to go through that process and get some bumps, bruises, and burns and if you've got no scars to show for your living, you've not lived. How can I say what kind of person you are if I've not seen you under duress? Or at least heard a story about it? You're just going to fall apart on me when I need you most....
The roomie showed me his front teeth this evening, talking about how they'd gotten fixed. Apparently, he'd rotted them out with sodas. We talked mildly about bonding and tooth-colored fillings and I told him about how I'd chipped a front tooth and had to get it patched back together.
My tale of woe had more skin-heads in it. And a pool-table.
Whose story do you respect more?
--Cassio, "Othello", Act 2, Scene 3
It was during a conversation the other weekend that a phrase popped into my head: age is something that's earned. It think it was right after my companion complained that everyone treated them like a child. It wasn't something I said out loud, because I was going to have to back it up, and I didn't have an explanation for the phrase at the time, just a feeling.
I've had time to think about it, and I'm still not sure what exactly it means. It popped into my head again, another evening, in traffic, as I watched a motorcycle weave in and out of traffic. "You won't be long for this earth," I muttered at my windshield. Age is something that's earned.
Remember when you were a kid and a birthday was a big deal? Now, we save them for milestones like 16, 21, 40... just making through childhood isn't that big a deal anymore. Granted, we've conquered a fair number of childhood illnesses, so that investment is paying off more and more these days. What we celebrate with those special years are new rights. We “level up” and gain new abilities.
In my early days on Second Life, I worked as a mentor in the Welcome Area, where we had a collection of griefers as our regulars. Occasionally, the same avatar (with the same behavior) would show up with a new name. Because they kept getting banned, they couldn't keep the same name for very long.
I'd say that being online longer than others gets you something similar, but only in reputation. I've been with the Velvet since it opened and I remember most of its history, but that does not give me any special ability. The abilities I have been granted come more from my reputation than anything else.
My name is my reputation. My name is the linking factor to a fair number of memories in other people's heads: it's the API call that brings up the feelings they have for me. Saying my name isn't just "that spider" (although, people who say "that spider" are quickly asked\told "You mean Lolo"). That particular SQL query brings up results like "spider", but also bring up "DJ", "Velvet", "old", or "kinda like Google in a creepy way". I carry both the reputations of being one of the smartest people you'll meet (it's more knowledgeable than smart, but, whatever) and one of the nicest people you'll meet.
As I have raised these reputations by hand since birth, I am responsible for them.
The hardest one to maintain, I'm going to admit, is being nice.
Etymology: Middle English nice "foolish, stupid," from early French nice (same meaning), from Latin nescius "ignorant," from nescire "not to know," from ne- "not" and scire "to know".Now, if you do a search on Wikipedia for "nice", the closest we're going to get for our purposes here is kindness. This rubs me a little raw, to be honest, as it's one of the last things my dad said to me before he died. "Thank you for being so kind," he said. This was after he'd spent a good ten minutes yelling at me about the TV in his room, which I had no power over. And I'll say right now, kindness was never a virtue he'd extolled in his healthy days. He never said he admired someone for being kind.
Anyhoo, this actually ties to why I wear the spider avatar: it's ankle-weights for my personality. See, I've know a lot of pretty-girls and they all had pretty-girl personalities and that is NOT a compliment. And if you're wondering what I mean by that, consider the phrase, "But she has a lovely personality."
When you're not attractive visually, you have to have something else going on. I like to think that I've never gotten by on my looks in RL (but, I probably have and not noticed it). The important part is to not get by on looks alone, as they have a tendency to “fade”. Be smart, be witty, be funny, or—at the very least—be nice. If you're nothing but pretty, then people are going to be more interested in hanging out with pictures of you than you yourself.
Well, what does that have to do with age?
Of all the pretty girls I've known over the years, I can't recall what any of them are doing now. I've looked for them out of curiosity (and for this article), and I can't find them unless I turn to something like Facebook. They have done, quite frankly, nothing.
But the average or homely looking girls? I can find them. They've done something. Someone's talking about them besides themselves.
In talking to a buddy of mine about this issue, she said, "Ah, youth." I said, "Oh, inexperience." Both of us are right. With age comes experience and the lessons one learns via a lifetime. This actually goes to another idea that has haunted me for years.
THE BIG AWFUL
If you've not heard me go on about this before, then I'll say we've not known each other that long or we have but only very casually. This is something that kind of took over my life ten years ago when I had a terrible roommate.
Everyone's is different. It's a time when nothing goes right, sometimes called an annus horribilis. It's the biggest, baddest thing that happened to you in your life and all other misfortunes are measured against. it. It either breaks you or makes you better.
And one person's Big Awful might not seem that much to another, really.
I'm going to mine was 1996 when I was making $6/hr and supporting a guy, to whom I gave my virginity because I just wanted to be with someone and I afraid of being alone. I weighed 110 pounds (and I'm six-foot) and I was never sure if we'd make rent or if I'd have enough gas to get to work or what I was going to eat, but he fucked my manager who yelled at me when her fiancé got back in town and called it off and I hadn't said anything about it (honest!) because she was also fucking the guy who worked in the cafe and god it's such a mess, really. Getting out of one lease to find out I was the only one named on an eviction case (because my last name came first in the alphabet and they were cheap and I'd paid all the bills, anyway), and I was living in the roach motel and it was just awful for me.
Now, I know a girl who was chained to a kitchen, literally. She might not think my Big Awful was that awful, be we got along because I'd been through it and she'd been through hers and we could both look at any shit situation and say, “That could have been so much worse....”
And then you get those people, like my roommate ten years ago, for whom every bad thing that happened was her big awful. But it wasn't, you see? There's something very specific about the Big Awful that makes it different from other bad things.
It changes you.
Stub your toe pre BA? Oh, it's just death and agony. Post BA? Maybe I should move that chair....
It's like running through a grass-fire to the other side, where there's nothing left to burn. You come out of it and sigh and, oh, it puts it all into perspective. A harsh word is nothing after you've been beaten nearly to death. A flat tire will never be as bad as car fire. Getting the power turned off is child's play next to locks that have been changed for non-payment of rent.
Now, I'll say my current roomie has a lot of the same issues as that one from ten years ago. He lived with his folks until he lived with me and, shortly after that, joined a union. This is a big deal in a right-to-work state like Texas, so he really has no idea. He once complained to me that work wanted him to do “the work of three people”. Considering how much he makes an hour, I said that was just fine, as three people would be very happy making a third of what he was making at the time.
Worst thing that's happened to him in the last 10 years? His computer wouldn't boot once.
I can't say what his big awful was because I honestly don't know if he's had one yet. I'm pretty sure it was a relationship that went sour while he was living with his folks, but that's not really the kind of life-changing thing I'm talking about.
That's another thing about the Big Awful: the older you get, the less you respect people who haven't had theirs yet. I'd like to say bully for parents who were able to keep their children shielded like that, but the final products don't seem like actual adults.
Because, you see, age is something that's earned. You have to go through that process and get some bumps, bruises, and burns and if you've got no scars to show for your living, you've not lived. How can I say what kind of person you are if I've not seen you under duress? Or at least heard a story about it? You're just going to fall apart on me when I need you most....
The roomie showed me his front teeth this evening, talking about how they'd gotten fixed. Apparently, he'd rotted them out with sodas. We talked mildly about bonding and tooth-colored fillings and I told him about how I'd chipped a front tooth and had to get it patched back together.
My tale of woe had more skin-heads in it. And a pool-table.
Whose story do you respect more?
