Sangfreud

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I have just finished reading Greg Egan's Diaspora. I began yesterday and probably spent eleven hours in total. I am glad (and not) that I do not often have the opportunity to tap into this portion of my addictive Aspect. Consuming some author's books initiates Flow in me. Time hides in a corner and my consciousness activates the second layer of my sight with Embodied Novel on screen. I allow it too much influence over how long I spend reading. If I have homework responsibilities, I have historically ignored them in favor of Jasper Fford's Well of Lost Plots. Last night I did not, but it hurt so good nonetheless. (Microsoft Word does not recognize the phrase "hurt so good" and suggests well, as though that makes any more sense.) Instead sleep debt entered the ring against my hedonism. I work on second shift. At the Anaheim Convention Center, this means from 5.45 am until 1.45 pm. So, on weekends, I have to set my alarm for 4.30 am. Realistically, I ought to go to sleep at 7.00 pm each night before (nine hours of dream potential), but that is a big inconvenience. My family eats dinner then, so I would need to cook separately for myself at 6.00. Instead, I just suck up the sleep debt and buy it back mid-week. I have kept this lifestyle for two years or so and am no stranger to the insomnia hangover.

Last night particularly sucked. Normally, a straight fight between an activity and sleepiness always sees my task triumphant. Not only am I focused, I am looking directly at a (muted) light source: my computer in a comfortable position. Despite the strongest drive to continue, reading a novel or any other print material involves serious disadvantage. The page only reflects light, requiring a close light source. Often, the bulb restricts the number of comfortable positions by shining in my eyes or my arm/head casts unwanted shadows. Further, I allow my posture to suffer more than when I use my computer.

Because my parents bought me a laptop to take to the university rather than a desktop, I sensitized to the waste heat of its fan. In looking for a laptop stand, I found the suggestion to lift the back slightly with two corks. The fan revealed the consequence of not supporting the center, by vibrating and eventually scraping its casing. When other problems occasioned a total replacement, I considered a laptop stand an unquestionably necessary accessory. (This is rather important since the laptop's expense occasioned paying in installments and a moratorium on new purchases until September.) At first, I considered only two factors: aesthetics and a low height. I wavered over whether to buy an ergonomic keyboard or not. Finding a low stand would allow me to still use the included keys and save money – speed the day I can buy new dust collectors. Also, I thought a high setting extravagant and unstable. Halfway I realized I had little freedom to choose. I bought a laptop with a seventeen inch screen that weighs eight pounds. My favorite can not support such girth. Many of the others either could not or omitted tolerances, which I nixed in caution. Luckily, Visidec sells the stand I bought rated for my purchase. (Un)fortunately, the design meant that the lowest setting was most unstable for the support bar. I bought Kinesis' Maxim keyboard and raised it to the highest (second most stable) height. I am very glad for the constrained choices because my screen is eye height. I needn't slouch to look at it squarely, nor look down my nose. (Only my chair bothers me for being too short and not supporting my head.) My computer using experience is about optimal in preserving good posture.

Reading, on the other hand is a nightmare in this sense. I have very few ways to keep a book at eye level and all are posturally bad anyway. I can hold up the heavy book. Besides tiring my arms, I sweat where my upper and lower arm touch. I can lie on my back and lift it above my face. If I extend them all the way, the text becomes too small. I can lie on my side and rest the book on the floor/bed. Reading the next page is a hassle. I must either turn onto my other side or support the book on the thin side of its cover, casting shade on the page. I can lie face down off the edge of my bed or grouped chairs. This wears out my neck muscles suspending my nine pound cranium (I checked).

If I give in to gravity, I have to bend my head forward and look down. This slightly thrusts my pelvis forward, further imperiling my lumbar support. I avoid reading (or using my laptop) from my lap. Instinctually, I compensate by bending one leg and using it as a column. This is the worst since I am mostly fetal position, but my other leg is out ninety degrees which means my pelvis is in and slanted to the side. Either puts my weight on too few bone pressure points besides compacting my spine asymmetrically. I fare worst at work when I operate the elevator and can not lie down. In that case, I usually search for an empty box to prop up the script, but this is a poor substitute for what I really need: a book holder. The optimal form would be an ugly profusion of articulated vises and telescoping legs. Annoyingly, commercial designs center on holding the pages out flat with either strips of metal or little bars. While pressing the pages flat makes the face easy to see, the binding strains from the pressure. After a time, the pages bend out and paperbacks flare to twice their volume like a playing card flower. Hardcovers resist this but the glue holding the paper to the cardboard loosens. To avoid this, I open the book to only 90°, though it means I must turn it to face me and the light. The simplistic model can not adjust to mass market paperbacks, magazines, coffee table books, and 700 page textbooks. Only groups of vises that extend and adopt different angles can accommodate them all. Further, most manufacturers limit the use to a table, which is rather useless to me. (I recognize cookbooks slip past my objection.) If the legs had full freedom in motion, I could lie under it or use it whilst sitting in a chair apart from a table.

I had thought I was going to talk about Diaspora. I guess I care more about this.

© Nicholas Prado <earlier> ^| upward |^ <later> category: Report