Streaming anxiety

I have streaming content anxiety.

How do I pick? How do I choose? What should I WATCH?

The Roku screen lights up. My eyes dart from app to app.

Netflix?

Hulu?

Amazon?

Vudu? What even IS that?

The Roku CHANNEL? There’s a CHANNEL?!

When faced with too many choices, it is much easier to make no choice at all, or just pick the familiar choice.

Netflix, here I come.

Okay, why is a trailer already playing at the top of the screen?! I didn’t CLICK anything! Ah, I better click away so the trailer stops! Okay, it stopped.

WAIT, now ANOTHER trailer is playing! Stop! Stop playing this trailer from some Netflix original! Another Netflix original! I can’t keep up! I can’t watch ALL of these movies and TV shows, can I?

Hmm, let me scroll down a bit. What are these categories? Netflix has created so many categories for me! Cerebral slapstick femme fatale movies? What? How did Netflix come up with that category? What kind of algorithm created that? eh, let me keep scrolling.

Oscar award winning movies based on true crime stories from the Northwest in the year 1971? That is VERY specific, Netflix. I dont even LIKE true crime, but I did talk about a true crime case in my house yesterday with my friend..

…Netflix, are you LISTENING to my conversations? UGH, of course. But it’s okay. You offer me such wonderful entertaining for so CHEAP! I can forgive you! what would I DO without you? How did I LIVE before you? Okay, keep scrolling.

Ah, good ol ‘Recommended for you’ category. Wait, why are you recommending more true crime, Netflix? I told you, I don’t like true crime. Do you even know me?

And what’s THIS category? It’s called Netflix Originals You Will Love.

Why are you pushing Netflix originals on me, and why do you think I’ll love them?

You know what, Netflix? Stop it. Just. Stop. You offer me nothing but endless options. I am, quite frankly, OVERWHELMED by you. Just back OFF, will you? WILL YOU? NO, stop playing that trailer! Stop it! Stop pressuring me to watch everything!

I’m out of here! I’m done with you, Netflix!

Vudu, here I come. I need a change, Vudu. I need a big change. Don’t disappoint me.

 

…Wait, you have ADS? UGH!….

I wonder if Netflix will take me back…

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Increase your blog traffic in zero easy steps

A kind visitor (?) to my blog said they could increase the traffic to my blog. How kind. I am utterly dubious.

This blog is now a symbol of my dying love for writing. Or is it?

This blog is a symbol of my inability to write.

I used to think I would become a writer. A lot has changed since I aspired to write for the local paper. Look, it was 2003, keep your ‘does anyone even READ newspapers anymore?!’ jokes to yourself. Mostly because jokes making fun of the recent past are the easiest jokes to make.

Ipod? Okay, grandpa!

You want me to VIDEOTAPE you? Okay…grandma!

You want me to help you find your way back to your time machine, because you are a traveler from 1850 and you just spend some time on reddit and now you want to get back to your time, scurvy and all? Okay…..great great great grandpa!

Anyway, I think I made my point. Uh….Oh. Right. That I can’t write anymore.

I suspect that, perhaps, we just change over time, and there’s nothing we can do about it- Except complain incessantly to anyone who will listen.

Well, reader, that ‘anyone’ is you. Thank you kindly. Let me continue my whine.

I accepted that I won’t write anything groundbreaking or anything even ungroundbreaking. (i can invent words if I want)

….or maybe I just haven’t found the THING to write about.

Perhaps I can write about my inability to write. My lack of imagination. My feeling that I just don’t have enough time anymore, except, really, I do. I found time to learn Spanish, to learn gardening, to run road races back in the day (and burn off my knee caps in the process, but that’s another story)

But this feeling of having nothing to write is a new feeling. I don’t think it stems from depression, or sadness, or even from heartburn. Although, heartburn sure is annoying.

I suppose I am in a phase. Once, I had a low carb phase. I mean, low carb seems the way to go, but I sure as hell didn’t stick with it. The siren call of pizza was too much to resist. I do, however, have a delightful low carb book.

20170506_133050
beaming with pride whilst holding a low carb book. bread is the devil!

 

Another time, I had a pizza phase. And now, it is my ‘What the HELL do I write in my blog?’ phase!

It’s ok, my elders tell me, ‘it’s just a phase. You just haven’t met the right blog topic yet. ‘

 

 

Life is so long, life is so short

I accumulate more gray hair every month. It’s time for me to make a decision. Which personality should I take on?

 

  1. Going Gray Prematurely and Lovin’ it! (I could incorporate my millenial-ness into this somehow. Like, millenial women don’t MIND going gray, uhh..because…feminism or something? Take THAT, patriarchy.)
  2. HOLY SHIT I AM GRAY HAIRED AND WTF. Someone drive me to the fuckin’ hair salon, ASAP!
  3. Meryl Streep’s hair from Devil Wears Prada. I let myself go entirely gray, then get a strong, sarcastic business woman hairdo.

 

Hm. This is tough. Which option seems best? I do think Meryl Streep is pretty awesome, so maybe it’s about time I completely take on the personality of one of her movie characters. I don’t see how this plan can possibly fail.

 

 

To my knees

Dear knees,

I thank you for your service. It’s been a rough 17 years, I know. Ever since the summer before 11th grade, you (left knee and right knee. I’m sorry I never named you guys) started acting up. Oh, I remember running through the pain you guys were inflicting on me. Or yourselves. Which, you know, hurts me too, since you guys are attached to my body.

I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you did. My running days were over. I quit the track team, and began drinking chocolate Yoohoo in excess whilst sitting on the internet all night. What? You’re saying I did that even WHEN I ran track? Fine, you’re right. But this letter isn’t about my bad habits. It’s about my bad knees. Sorry, guys, was that mean? I know you didn’t mean to develop cartilage damage. I know you didn’t mean to attach yourselves to a woman (NOT sexist! Women are just more likely to develop knee issues!)

Anyway, Lefty and Righty (I got creative with the knee names here) I stopped running for many years, until sometime in my mid 20s when I decided I was in dire need of some sort of exercise. Naturally, the memories of running flooded back to every part of my body, except my knees, because I seemed to have forgotten that my two knees were total shit and I shouldn’t be running.

Stop crying, lefty. This isn’t about YOU, it’s about ME. Oh wait. This is about you, isn’t it? Sorry.

Knees, I ran constantly from ages 25 through 30. You served me well, and you did your best. Slowly, you wore away your cartilage, and you pained me regularly. (Also emotionally, when you didn’t invite me to the dance party you threw with my elbows)

However, life is a sad affair, and all good things must come to an end. Even things that were good but also hurt like a motherfucker. You know, like jogging 25 miles per week while developing arthritis.

That’s right, knees. You fuckers gave me arthritis. Or did I give YOU arthritis? Knees, I am not sure. But we’re in this together, for life. I promise I won’t replace you with creepy fake knees, and I’ll try my hardest to make sure no further damage is done to you.

I’m ready, if you are, to mourn the end of my running career. Knees, if you’ll be so kind as to pass me that running shoe…Thank you, lefty. You have a great throwing arm for an arthritic knee attached to a 33 year old woman.

:throws running shoe into fire:

Thus is the end of my running. My knees tried to wait until my 60s before they degenerated, but such is life. I got nearly 10 years of running, so I am happy for that.

Life goes on, and we must accept the changes. Who knows what is next for me and my knees?

Definitely not crossfit. Or lunges. But, you know, maybe chess.

why cant i write anymore?!?~??!

The creativity has been sucked out of my AGED SOUL.

 

I cannot write.

I cannot even type a sentence.

How did I just type that? I don’t even know- because I cannot write.

Nothing springs to mind when I sit down in front of my computer and think to myself, ‘time to write!’

time to write! maybe i’ll stop capitalizing. maybe that’ll pump up the creativity in the withered noggin.

Maybe I should stop calling my noggin withered, old, aged. Really, my brain is elastic, plasticity, elasticity, neuroplasticity, malleable, never static, never rigid..

 

..NEVER AGED. NEVER WITHERED. NEVER EVER OLD.

So, why am I dissing my brain? Part of my shtick, ya know? I’m just a simple elderly millenial, born on that damn cusp, or whatever.

But, back to my point. I can’t write.

I can’t even write about being an elderly millenial, born on the damn cusp, or whatever.

And if I can’t write about being a millenial, born on the damn cusp, or whatever, what CAN I write about?

cusp is a weird word. What if I just used it incorrectly? Sadly, there is no way for me to ever know if I used cusp incorrectly. Or you. We’ll just never know.

Anyway, I can’t write. I can’t think. I can’t. I just CAN’T.

Now, excuse me, I am on the cusp of a major breakthrough with figuring out how to make it rich by buying litecoin. #millenialproblem #amiamillenial? #iremembermadonna

 

here i am, thinking about how i am completely unable to do anything except think about how i can’t write anymore.

9160622109962284213

 

 

Journalism in 2017.

is clickbait. Here are some nice clickbaity titles I made up, after reading all the clickbaity titles about the new freaking Iphone 35345345345. ugh!!!!

One of of 8 millenials has this problem, and doctors finally have a cure! It’s right in between this photo slideshow on this ad-infested website! Click, my friends, click!

Yes, the new IPhone X is worth 1,000 dollars. In fact, it’s worth about 4,500 dollars. you can’t prove me wrong, since Apple just made up this 1,000 dollar figure anyway. We could tell you the I phone is worth 4,000 dollars, hire a bunch of writers to write articles about why it’s worth 4,000 dollars, then you’d buy the phone. P.S. The IPhone x is now worth 4,600 dollars. That’s a mere 383 dollars per month. quite frankly, you probably spend that much on your ubers and shit. So, fork over your cash, ya damn sheep! I mean, you darling consumer of this fine, very very necessary product that you’ll throw into the trash into another year. :cough:

IPhone X is so 6 hours ago! Read why all the hip, totally rad millenials have decided to burn all their electronics in the middle of the sahara dessert, releasing mass amounts of toxins, plastic, and a huge, climate change causing bubble of endless dick pics, snapchat filters of girls with that dog face filter, angry texts to exes, and about a zillion obnoxious political reshares by your grandmother in Iowa.

and the best of all

Good news! The IPhone still makes phone calls! We think! Wait, let’s check. Call me! What, you dont know my number? We’ve been friends for 10 years! fuck you!