Having Been Human
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Tue Feb 19 15:59:27 2013
Philosophy Meetup, Marketing, sensitivity

Last night hosted an alternative version of one of Massimo's meetups. Only 6 of the 12 people who signed up showed up, but it went pretty well. Left me oddly exhausted.

Dyutiman took a look at the flyers I've been putting up for my class, and immediately spotted that it was badly done; no big text, nothing that grabs the eye. Which I should've known immediately; it just took a few words out of his mouth before I realised how I had been in the wrong mindset when writing it. He explained it at length which I probably didn't need, but in my experience when people give advice they like to explain it fully; normal emotional realities. Anyhow, he helped make a much more grab-ish version; now I need access to a printer again to print out the fixed-up copy, but it should probably do much better. Still kicking myself for not making sure I was thinking correctly about how to do this kind of thing. Even a big word, "programming classes", would go a long way. What was I thinking?

Occasionally I still see men or women with human eye-candy laptop backgrounds; I've long resisted and argued against the strands of feminism that criticise that as objectification. Objectification is normal and healthy; we do it in workplaces ("human resources"?) and for every playboy there's a playgirl. It still can bug me, but it's mostly a class thing; I don't see sex as shameful, but I do see it as being mostly private and I get very uncomfortable with how people get when they're watching sexual displays as a group. It can be ok as a statement in pride marches though.

I can't avoid a hypnotic kind of sadness in tracing the paths I take in my life; the familiarity of places, passing through the same halls of the places I've lived enough to burn them into my head, and then to lose them. I don't really have those ties in my waking life anymore and things have come to feel pretty abstract. I feel I've lost sight of myself. But I'm not sure if the thingsd I hope for, even the ideal of being awake, is there in any significant amount; as much as I mistrust the idea of looking up to someone, or even looking up to a group, it seems to be a need, or an unmet draw. What are we to be when we're entirely alone, and even our ideals are so abstract? NYC has given me noise, but is the reason I sought it flailing, instinct, or some kind of prajna? It would be funny if this pain and yearning is something that could only be fixed by beauty, not something so emotionally blind as philosophy or knowledge.