“When is this gonna stop?!”

A piggyback to the last post. These last few are all in the same vein. Sorry, life has come into clear focus the last few weeks, when I first saw High Fidelity as an adult: that is, a non-20-year-old, ha ha. Just now, I remembered the harsh light it first shed on me those few weeks ago. I was vague and obfuscating a bit in the last post, as always, and these help explain it better, more poetically, and more succinctly. Fitting, since they were the catalyst for this short run of posts.

Clip #1: remember the setup for this scene, as it is his words at the very end this clip that are at the core of what I was getting at the other day

Clip #2: within a minute or so of the scene in the first clip comes the scene in second clip, which explains in more detail the last line of clip #1. I alluded to this scene before, here it is in its entirety. My favorite scene, and for me, the heart of the film.

Subtract the relationship angle and this is the overall point I was trying to make. (It’s not totally immaterial, I’d love to even have the opportunity to commit to someone.) See, this is what I should be doing! Even if I’m using music or movie clips, using art to articulate instead of blogs and words. (Ideally, it would be my own art doing the articulating, but someday.)

A nice glass of warm milk, a little nap, and a total frontal lobotomy

I’ve heard that combination never fails, maybe I should try it. That’s what came to mind to me the other day when I was bemoaning my tendency to overthink. “Hm, how else to shut my brain off…” I also like to hide behind the whole excuse of “I try to get other points of view before making a decision” which is stupid because I always end up doing what I want anyway. For some reason, I’m being loyal or courteous, even though no one’s asking me to. (I know one person I do go to advice to out of habit and loyalty, even though I really shouldn’t, due to our opposing personalities.) It’s not enough that I overthink, but I subconsciously enlist others to help. Not that they don’t care, but I think my friends would end up saying “it’s your decision” anyway.

So today I think I’ve come to a resolution. There is a certain big decision that I have to go through with soon. Any time I start to reason or wonder, I cut myself off, and so far it’s worked. Doubt stays for a second, then gets kicked out. It’s hard not to analyze or reason when it’s your nature, but it’s for my own good. Before I made my resolution, I talked with some former co-workers and brought up High Fidelity and John Cusack’s character’s non-strategy of keeping one’s options open by not committing to anything or anyone. Well, that’s worked wonders so far, hasn’t it? I’m afraid that if I try a different approach, I’ll change too much and lose who I am at the core, which is probably not an uncommon fear, and which is also silly, because if I were susceptible, I’d be a mess. I already know I won’t change at the core, my personality is too strong, and I’m proud of that. (Plus, if I were susceptible, I’d have at least had a more interesting life than I’ve had so far.)

See? I’m even too loyal and sentimental towards myself, for some dumb reason. Look at the results: it’s not like all this thinking ever got me anywhere. So, after just a day, the anti-overanalysis shield is holding. Fingers crossed.

And the answer is…

High Fidelity! I haven’t in written in close to two months, and watching this film for the first time in years (probably since it was released in theaters– 2000, whoa) is the trigger. I think the main reason is not that I haven’t felt like talking, but that I didn’t feel like whining. I felt like if I had written, it would have been this semi-loathing-soul-searching-tormented catharsis. One thing that my ex and still friend taught me is that people don’t like to hear whining all the time. It sounds obvious, but I learned this before I left Seattle the first time (which I say because I may very well soon leave a second time, but that’s another blog entry, or not). She simply said that whenever she talked to me on the phone, I was always negative or depressing.  Which was true, lots of moaning. I mean, that’s what friends are for, but eventually you have to get over yourself. I don’t care what your fucking problems are, negativity is not fun to be around.  And I try to minimize that. Lots of people are aware that I don’t like small talk, nor am I good at it. But I’m trying to work on my small-talk skills because it allows the topic to be the other person, rather than me and my neurosis of the day. I guess that’s a function of age. Being a bit self-absorbed, mopey, or dramatic is part of being young. (You may argue that I’m only 30, but I certainly feel like an adult. This kind of rambling perspective is part of it, I thing.) I’m not saying I’m accomplished in life yet, but from the time my ex told me straight out “you’re a downer” I’ve realized that that kinda thing is just going to hold you back. One of the reasons I love being around people and conversing is because it allows me to forget myself for a bit, and just enjoy the other person and where I am. I mean, we all have to solve our own crap ourselves, so why wallow in it any more? If I’m in a good environment or situation, obviously I’m going to feel positive, which is a much better state of mind with which to deal with personal issues.

Anyway, I suppose I won’t talk about the nuts and bolts of the film too much, because I’d have to watch it again, take notes, and drop quotes, and I wouldn’t get to bed until the sun came up. As it is, it’s 230a, so I only have about 2.5 hours. But when I first saw it, I was 22 or 23. Eh, I thought. Of course now, two months from my 31st birthday, oh god. Anyone who has not graduated from their 20s probably can’t understand this, but this is clearly more than a film about a relationship.  First off, I have to say the conceit of the fourth-wall-shattering protagonist rubbed me the wrong way. A story that is aware of itself loses a little something. However, as the film goes on, and John Cusack’s character Rob pores over things, you see how his dialogue with the camera, his overanalytic confessions, are necessary to the story. Anyone who knows anything about me knows that this is my curse. I savor the details of things too much, I lose track of the simplicity of what the thing is. Too much think-y, not enough act-y. And the thing is, I started to get frustrated with the character’s selfish need to know what it all means and how to make everything nice and neat, when of course, guess who I’m really frustrated with. It’s like my friend saying “you’re a downer”— it’s all well and good hash things over and analyze them to death, but at the end of the day, chapter, or story, something has to be done. It’s kind of a heavy-handed, too-aware moment (despite that he’s been talking to us the whole time), but after Rob leaves the funeral, he comes to the following realization about Laura, and everything else, as I see it:

“…I always had one foot out the door, and that prevented me from doing a lot of things. Like thinking about my future and— I guess it made more sense to commit to nothing, keep my options open. It’s really just suicide. By tiny, tiny increments.”

I had a conversation with my friend Ruben the other night about age, the idea of Saturn returns, and the need to do something bold and assertive in re-assessing one’s life. He opined that it was bold for me to come back out to Seattle, but I disagreed that it wasn’t. For starters, I’ve lived here before, it’s familiar. Even moving to New York City sight unseen didn’t strike me as bold, because I know I am a very adaptable person, and that I would find work and settle in. I wasn’t worried about me, because I know I can count on me. Adaptation is one of my strengths. I disagreed because to me, boldness is risk, doing something when you absolutely don’t know everything will be okay, and doing it anyway. If I moved back to TX, it would be not so much to achieve something specific, but at the very least know that I am even capable of taking a risk or a leap of faith. This may not sound like the best reason to do something, and it’s not really a reason, anyway. (FYI, there are some personal details regarding this potential return that I am intentionally omitting. I normally am free with details, so vagueness is usually intentional with me.)

Anyway, a great thing about the film is that the ex-girlfriend, Laura (played by Danish actress Iben Hjejle), is more than just an object or the one that got away. You get to see where she’s coming from too. One of my favorite devices the film uses is just after she leaves his place to pick up the last of his stuff. Cut to Rob on the street, talking to the camera about the things he misses about Laura, and how the #1 on the top 5 list is her dry, but often warm and forgiving sense of humor, and the way she laughs. Then, near the end, after they’ve reunited, Rob indirectly proposes marriage, and the way she handles the situation is amazing. We know how ridiculous he is to propose in that moment, but she never rubs it in, and you see the cutting yet forgiving laughter he referred to. She laughs heartily and takes a couple of shots at Rob, but as he then awkwardly explains his clumsy proposal, she hunkers down and listens gently but intently.  These are the last lines of the scene:

Laura: I think I know what you mean. But were you really expecting me to say yes?
Rob: I don’t know. I didn’t think about it really. I thought asking was the important part.
Laura: Well, you’ve asked. Thank you.

Despite all Rob’s lines, and no offense to Mr. Cusack,  the scene is Laura’s. She gives him room to make his small step forward, then recognizes it and accepts it. Later, I rewound to that scene and it stood out even more. Neither actor goes for “aw shucks, love me, its okay I forgive you”, they play it true, and it’s possibly the sweetest, most resonant part of the film. There is no promise of a happily ever after, just two people being respectful and honest with one another in the moment. One person doing the nervous talking thing (yes, a callback to John Cusack in Say Anything, which I’ve re-viewed recently, and a phrase I’ve stolen to describe myself), and one person listening. (Refreshingly, the whole film bears this out. They may be the two principals, but the film treats every other character with respect as well.)

Of course, having this sort-of mini-epiphany, I am utterly compelled to write this. But, as with all things, it’s ephemeral. You can’t be constantly inspired, just like you can’t be head-over-heels in love every moment of every day. We’re not wired that way. We need downtime, if nothing else to figure out how to deal with it. So tomorrow morning, will I feel as excited to write and share as I am now? Most definitely no. Will I feel positive and not-so-fearful about the decisions I have to make in the next month or so? I’m cheating since I’m editing this and it’s tomorrow, so I can definitely say no. To paraphrase a writer/producer from a Simpsons commentary (NERD!), you have to remember what inspired you, and what was good, and to not lose track of it, re-evaluate it, or doubt it, because it was there, and it was real. There is a reason an idea or feeling was there in the first place. The spark that starts the fire, and it’s one’s own job to stoke the fire and figure out how to get it roaring, to make a trite and cheesy analogy.  Or at the very least to explore it, to try it. Creativity, love, life, all that crap. Those who do, versus those who would like to do. I’m not just talking about career or artistic aspirations, I’m always hoping to meet anyone like that.

Anyway, I’m cheating again since I’m editing this the next morning and saying wow, this was very idealistic vibe I was running with, almost “yuck” even. Though, even last night, I realized it’s a pretty small story, it ain’t gonna solve the world’s problems, or even mine. But if nothing else, I can utter a familiar refrain: I fucking love film.

Snob talk

Rather than have either an endless post, or a one-liner, I transcribed something and gave it its own page but am commenting here. The following to be read after you read the transcript.

I include the part about prefacing statements because it’s funny, but mainly because I tend to preface myself so much. While not so bitter towards acting, I wholehearedly agree with Jerry’s assessment that comedy, and by extension, writing, is wholly underappreciated. His implicit indictment of feelings, or at least, the emphasis on emotion, is correct, in my opinion. It’s easier to get someone to feel than to laugh. Objectively, emoting is a selfish act, whereas comedy, at its best, incorporates both the emotional or mundane, and the intellectual. What separates humans from animals are the abilities to emote and reason, making comedy, in my opinion, the purer and more human art form. If nothing else, it serves to lighten people up. (Hey, it’s healthier to laugh than to have breakdowns.) I in no way am saying I dislike drama or emotion, I’m just saying I have far more respect for comedy. If I think of my favorite movies, they all contain genuinely comedic and dramatic elements. I’ve always been a fan of balance. (That being said, Garry is right with his assessment of the core “need to be seen”. Artists are pretty dysfunctional people ) But I agree, Jerry— here’s to less yawning chasms of insecurity.

One other point, that Jerry didn’t go into really, was writing. I didn’t know too many details about the writers’ strike, but I definitely knew which side I was on. I am very democratic, and would never argue that one person is better than another, because if you’ve been part of any production process, you know how collaborative it is, but I’m sorry, folks, you can’t do shit without a script or an idea. I can’t think of anything more daunting and impressive than creating something out of nothing (which is also why I have the utmost respect for improvisation). That, and I just hate how actors are treated like hot shit, even though in many cases, they’re interchangeable. The writers, designers, and artisans (and to an extent, directors) create an entire world before the actor ever gets near it. (Honestly, like the previous paragraph, I have nothing against actors. That’s just college drama department experience talking.) I just think there are too many things and people in this world that go unappreciated, and these are just a couple of them. But maybe I pay attention to stuff too much.

“People say what reflects well on them”

Sadly, a quote that I couldn’t fulfill if my life depended on it. For better or worse, I tend to say what I think or feel. This lack of restraint is my nature, it  is independent of any person or situation. All I can do is hope people take it for what it is, and allow for a little slack. When I wrote about May I talked about how people like to fancy themselves “nerdy” or “different” in some way, which is fine, but I like to think if we’re serious when we say that, we make allowances for other people’s differences and behavior (especially if it’s an aberration), if only because by addressing ourselves as “different” we acknowledge our own imperfections or “weirdness.”  Anything else is self-stigmatization, and personally, that’s not my game. Played the whole “boohoo why can’t people see past my insecurities for the real me” self-pity shit in my early-to-mid 20s, before realizing how ugly, delusional, and, ultimately, unattractive it is. The whole thing about “think highly of yourself, the world will take you at your own estimate”— if that’s what you think of yourself, no one’s going to debate your expert opinion, so don’t be so hard on yourself. I think it’s what helps me to be compassionate, though misguided sometimes.

If this sounds defensive, well, gee, let me give you a cookie for being so perceptive. All kidding aside, it’s very frustrating to try to watch where I falter and still have people back off, as if any of us are perfect. Being a real nerd is not being afraid to show your “warts”. It’s not all quirks and cutesiness.  Recent events to the contrary, this is a longstanding issue, going all the way back to 2005 when a former friend disassociated herself from me by stating, in her own words, “you’ve been acting a bit weird lately.” How is that not some form of hypocrisy? I’m not perfect, but I try to not let my misperceptions and insecurities inform how I deal with people. I’m aware that I am open to a fault, but try to allow for certain circumstances and understand where a person might be coming from. At most, I talk or vent to myself or, infrequently, to my roommate.

Not to say I’m oblivious— actually, I’m quite aware I put my foot in my mouth. And every time, I try to explain myself, because I somewhat selfishly think it matters that the other person understands my intent, and maybe, I’ll get the benefit of the doubt. Of course, we can’t control how other people see us any more than we can effectively scratch our own backs— sometimes it’s easy to get to, sometimes you just can’t reach far enough and so wait it out. There is a quote about this, something along the lines of “you see the world you want to see”— meaning we’re all delusional and self-serving, I suppose. Optimistic, pessimistic, angry, paranoid, fatalistic, free-spirited, caged, bitter, etc. Personally, it’s a quote that I’m trying to disprove. Trying to look at people and the world through non-Sam-tinted glasses more often, in effect.  So if somehow this comes across as mopey or whiny (shame on you, interpretating me before I can defend myself!), it shouldn’t. Try to think about it, it’s confusing when you try to be sincerely decent, or apologetic, or respectful, and your intentions still get twisted. Or you fuck up once, and somehow that defines you. I guess how the bad is always news, and the good goes unheralded— way of the world, I suppose.

I’m not bitter. I’m pained, but I’m not bitter. All I can do is be patient, and try to be more decent and thoughtful, but hope people allow for my stumbles. If nothing else, I learned this weekend that I have at least three truly decent people in my life. People that somehow manage to care just enough to not take me too personally. I like to think they understand that we’re only ourselves, maybe we should cut each other some slack. I’m not ashamed to top this off  with a long lost Buffy line: “to forgive is an act of compassion. It’s not done because people deserve it, it’s done because they need it.” (Yes, I used to be a Buffy nerd. I will never deny who I am or was.)

Biomusicology (sort of)

The concept, not the Ted Leo song, although that’s certainly a good example of the point I hope to make. Rather than keep replying to Lisa’s comment, I thought I’d clarify it here. (I know you weren’t trying to start a ruckus, but nonetheless, you got me thinking.)

I didn’t mean to piss off any poets or lovers of poetry, I meant to emphasize that while I love words, it is music that gives them their meaning. I mean, what’s more fun, singing and humming, or reciting? Lyrics without music are just words, poetry. Most of the time (though not all), esepcially these days, poetry/lyrics are personal or idiosyncratic— in effect, “this is what I’m thinking or feeling.” Ironically, this strikes even me, the king, as self-important. Reading a little about the concept of biomusicology, but not too much, as not to stay up all night, I came across an interesting perspective. It appears it comes from the New York Times a few years back:

But music has a power unique among forms of human communication: it can teach itself. Gradually over repeated hearings, without the use of a dictionary or any reference to the world outside, music shows how it is to be understood. The listener begins to hear patterns, repeated motifs and changes in meter and realizes that something is happening, that sounds have punctuation, that phrases are being manipulated, transformed and recombined.
Gradually, the listener gains a form of knowledge without ever referring to anything outside the music. Sounds create their own context. They begin to make sense. Similar processes with varying richness and power take place in all forms of music, which is why it is much easier to understand another culture’s music than another culture’s language.
Nothing else is quite like this self-contained, self-teaching world. Music may be the ultimate self-revealing code; it can be comprehended in a locked room.

Anyway, enough nerdspeak. I will certainly not deny that lyrical content is important, but think of any classic pop song from the 50s or 60s, especially. When you examine the lyrics, they’re rather innocuous and inane. But they’re timeless. We remember the words only because they belong to the melody. Music is its own independent entity. Granted, it takes a special, gifted person to compose and arrange music into singular and interesting permutations, but once it’s done, the song no longer needs the songwriter, so to speak.  ”Okay, sir/ma’am, your job is done, thank you for your services.” Even though I am a fan of Dr. Frank’s writing style, it would be useless and uninteresting without his ability to compose and arrange melodies to carry them. Even though I have particular favorite artists, they’re all just hired hands, if you think about it.

I love words and writing, so it must be noted, of course, that I’m speaking of words in lyrical form. Words in prose or story form, are entirely different. But in the same sense, they serve to tell a story. Words alone, with no direction, are inherently self-centered. They are merely an extension of the writer. But put those words to use towards a song, story, or character, then they can suggest something beyond the person they came out of.

It knows nothing about me, and yet, my little peabrain is soothed or calmed by it. (That’s the main thrust of the article, by the way, the biological and neurological mechanisms of music.) In the spirit of the topic at hand, this is the long, confusing way of saying I love music. Why am I a very musical person? I have no idea. It’s in my blood, I don’t question it. It’s a hell of a blessing, when you think about it: whatever state we’re in at any given moment, it gets us out of our worrisome little heads and into a realm where you don’t have to think or ask why, because certain things, thank goodness, make sense of themselves. They just do.

(Thank you to Lisa, who inadvertently helped me get excited about writing this piece of meandering hoo-ha that no one cares about, I’m sure, BUT at least I’m out of my dramatic boo-hoo-ey little funk I was in the last couple of days. I always find the most effective way to calm down is to get out of your little head and think of something or one outside yourself. The perspective that comes with realizing how self-involved you are is utterly, genuinely liberating. It doesn’t solve my issues, but it makes it far easier to deal with. Reminds of two quotes, one attributed to Marcus Aurelius: “take away the complaint ’I have been harmed’ and the harm is taken away.” Or to put it Björk’s way: “I’m no fucking Buddhist, but this is enlightenment.” No offense, Lise, I think that’s a funny line :-P Grazie, dear.)

Old times

What a weird set of coincidences. I mean, of all the thoughts to run through my head, and all the things that remind me of other things. And they just happened. I wasn’t in a nostalgic mood or anything. First of all I started watching “The Wire” again, which is why I’m up so late— four episodes, I told myself I’d stop there. Granted, it was only a year a half ago, and it was memories of a freaking show, but just the idea of “remember when?” with something that was memorable for any number of reasons, and yes, I’ve said elsewhere that “The Wire” is one of the most draining, impressive, special works of art I’ve ever experiences. Like reading a incredibly long, but commensurately satifsying novel. Still, it was only a few months after I had moved back to Texas after leaving New York City.

Speaking of which, I logged on to myspace just now, and I have my “top friends” on shuffle because I don’t believe in ordering people, and one of the people who came up was my roommate in New York, Katrina, profile photo standing on an outdoor subway platform with her new baby. Ah, memories. I remember standing on an outdoor platform in Queens with Manhattan behind me and someone from the guesthouse came out to take photos with me, except I screwed up and lost the roll, probably to exposure, stupid me. It didn’t help that earlier in the day, due to some completely unknown trigger, I found myself thinking about walking along Prince and Spring Streets, passing the innumerable shops and finding some cafe or little diner to eat in, or buy pastries in. Like the diner in Boerum or Cobble Hill, a little south of downtown Brooklyn where I saw a movie and had a bite with the only classmate I’ve seen since I’ve graduated high school over 12.5 years ago. Movie, diner food, late night on a weekend, old classmate— breaks my heart thinking about it. Even though I bitched about the crazy girl I briefly dated, and I was the one who had to make plans every single time we went anywhere (FYI I hate that “the man’s supposed to makes all the moves, decisions, and plans” bullshit, equal opportunity ladies, show some imagination, it gets tiring, for chrissakes), at least we went places. It’s New York, so it’s awfully easy to do, but here so far, or back in Texas (with what few people I knew), just going out and doing shit, you know? Coffee, drink, sit on a fucking park bench, stay in and watch a movie and cook dinner. When did doing something, anything become obsolete? (Don’t blame the economy neither. I think technology, laziness, and isolation/insulation have something to do with it.) Like I said, one of the people I stayed in the guesthouse with in Queens before getting an apartment, didn’t know me all that well, but came out and saw a movie with me because I wanted to get out. Same girl who took picture of me around the city because I didn’t have any new photos to show people of my time in the city. (Makes me feel bad I lost those photos, they were good. The one on the platform, for instance.) Someone I barely fucking knew couldn’t stand being in there either and came out with me. Same thing happened with the crazy girl I ended up dating, it was 8 or 9 at night and I had to get out, and she said yes.  There does come a time though, when your calls and voice or text messages don’t get responded to,  or you get nothing but two-sentence reply emails, and you figure why bother. Which is why I actually stopped complaining and worrying a long time ago. If I don’t register in someone’s mind, fine. I guess my flaw is I gave people too much friend credit when it wasn’t deserved. I’m too idealistic for my own good, I give at least as good as I get, even if I get very little. I try not to expect the same from others that I do from myself, but at least for people to understand that I’m being sincere about it— that’s my personality, I have no choice. People matter to me as long as I matter to them. I kind of am still selfish and idealistic that way. Friendship and love are of the utmost importance to me (more than my own self) and yet I’m finding things aren’t what I thought they were. It’s frustrating, and things do get a bit empty sometimes. Fucking Christ, going out doing shit, that’s all. This the type of thing that makes someone fly off the handle and blog. And that can’t be good for anyone.

But anyway, back to New York… It’s actually where I caught my first glimpse of “The Wire” before I even knew what it was about. The two girls I roomed with for two weeks in Park Slope were fans, and later when I was watching the fourth season on my own, I thought “hey, that’s the scene I remember walking in on when they were watching it!” It’s all connected, wow. (That’s actually one of the slogans or pieces of dialogue from the show.) The fact that the apartment we were in was in a brownstone-type building too, that makes me smile. Going down to Battery Park to do nothing but smell the sea air, look over at downtown Brooklyn, the Verrazano, the Statue, Jersey, even. Then again, I’d be happy with anything. Coffee, tea, hot cocoa, some sweet, some convo, and a big fucking hug. What with all my high-falutin’ pontificating, I’m rather simple and easy to please at heart. So far, one fucking person. (Ouch, how you doing there, self-esteem?)

And the last thing goes even further back. For some mysterious reason, I woke up this morning and immediately began humming “Legend” by Nelly Furtado, first album. I remember the days, when I was so eager to satisfy you, and few people knew who she was so you could see her at a venue like the Showbox. Even the Paramount isn’t so big for a musical act. What’s that, 2001, 2002? Haven’t felt the urge to listen to her in a long time, and for some reason, I listened to her all the way to work this morning. Nothing special was going on then, living here, still in school, in the first year or so of my then-relationship, Bush had only begun to fuck up. I still remember going to those show though, seeing tiny little Nelly on that stage, mere feet away from us, doing the whole album because she only had one, doing some 80s covers too, the next year waiting 45 minutes to meet her after the Paramount show (and realizing on the way to the show I forgot my damn camera, but at least she signed my album and drew a flower on it, yay). Another reason to be in a relationship, you always have at least one person to go out with, hey? And yes, she’s on tour, she was hungry, she just did a fucking show, and she gracious enough to come out and see some of us. That’s a stand-up person, right there. And she’s busier than all of us! Grace. Not a big, big fan of hers, but I liked the music, liked the shows. Back when she had one single, and a smidge of airplay on VH1, MTV2. Now those are some old times, man.

There you have it— “The Wire”, dreams of a cafes and restaurants in New York, and an eight-year-old Nelly Furtado song, joining forces for the noble cause of making me into a reminiscent fusspot.

P.S. You should see what Diona had to say a couple weeks back.

All the small things

I can’t believe I just used that as a title, ugh. Maybe it’s been a while since I was overall content with life, as well as could be expected, but I thought I’d go over all the small occurrences and details that have made the rough first two months back in Seattle not so awful

- it’s warming up, but it’s still winter. The snow is gone for now, though on Sunday afternoon it came back with a vengeance and piled up extremely quickly in a matter of hours, was it ever coming down. Fortunately, the forecasters were right, and it rained enough over the next 24 hours that upon arriving home from work in the evening, even the slush was mostly gone. And the air is chilly, but milder. Since we live in an old house that doesn’t have central heating, and gas is expensive and ineffective and fireplace is boarded up, we’ve been using space heaters in various rooms. But recently, the temperature has not dropped much even when we’re gone or asleep and the heaters are off. It’s making indoor life much more bearable. (I’m not even wearing a warm hat or wool socks right now at 130am!)

- one of my co-workers got the new job she was angling for, and won’t leave until the end of the month, but although it leaves us understaffed (3 instead of 4), it quite increases the chances of me moving from temp employee to permanent, and getting an even greater pay bump (which, for what I actually do everyday, is obscene, and would be the most I ever earned in my life, for doing quite possibly the least arduous work).

- We’ve decided to stay in the house, full rent be damned. We’re looking at strangers to fill the room, but it’s not a hot time to look for tenants, most people are locked in at their comfy current places. But with us figuring out new ways to slash bills, and the prospect of more pay, it won’t be so hellish to afford, should we have to pay for it just the two of us.

- My awesome friend Angela came over to visit last Friday, the first visitor up to the house since I moved back here beginning of November. I understand with the weather and all, but I’m just thrilled that someone said they wanted to see me, and actually did. And she brought a feather toy for our two kitties that they immediately took to. I’ve never seen any kitty been so enamored of a toy, and all it is is a little fishing pole with a couple of feathers on the end of the line. And yet if I, right now in the middle of the night, were to wake them up with it, they’d start tearing it up. I don’t give a shit if I sound like a loser, but I’ve reached that point that I’ve learned that you take sincere, friendly human contact wherever I can get it. Everyone wants to belong somewhere, and not in a clique-ish way, whether they admit it or not. It’s kind of nice when another person thinks of you, for whatever reason. I mean, life is rough enough, that a mere Friday night visit and a meal at an exorbitantly priced Mexican restaurant is enough for me. You don’t pick and choose these moments and people in your life, you just be damned grateful that they’re there. As if modern life isn’t alienating enough, we don’t need to be closing ourselves off from possibility willfully. I’ve gotten so much out of a few people I’ve met in writing the last few months than locally. And not coincidentally, these people are all my age or older (cf. my old old post about wanting to know more people my age).

- Finally, and this one is a bit bittersweet, but there’s a contact from back in San Antonio that I’ve been talking to a lot that I regret not knowing more, since I left so abruptly. That’s the thing about being aware of the opportunities to step outside yourself. (I’m not talking about me, since, once again, I didn’t make the first step.) I’m not saying happy endings for all, but it’s just that every day is a little easier, a little bit smilier, a little bit more impervious to the winter air. I really really wish I had known this person sooner. But I just have to deal with that now, and not make the same mistakes I have in the past and don’t be chicken-shit about a new opportunity. Sounds cheesy and easy, except think about the last time you did something truly out of your comfort zone, the last time you acted carelessly and unabashedly. I hate to be a broken record, but by fucking Zeus, we put up so many goddamned walls these days. I hope we just don’t wonder why things aren’t the way we want them, why we’re lonely, why we’re so disillusioned. Simple perspective. I’m not going overboard, but at the same time I can’t remember the last time I was this content and happy talking to someone. (Yes, it’s a woman, of course it’s a woman.) It’s as simple as when I hear from this person, even a line, I smile. Simple, no expectations, just an accepting, sympathetic ear, and agreement to just be ourselves right now. Funny, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so excited being merely content.

- On a less agonizing, lighter note, I few nights ago, I found my sewing packet from costume design class from 8 years ago that shows you how to do different kinds of stitches, and I sewed up a couple of pants that have been needing it (my phone or ipod would fall right through the pocket, very frustrating to be operation with one less pocket and two gadgets!) and I’m hoping to sew up my jacket that has a couple of small tears along the seams. I was up until 130 the other night, learning to sew basic stuff again. I feel so resourceful!

- And finally, it’s the weekend. This week has absolutely zipped by, and I’m going to celebrate by making a peach and cherry pie. Do they go together? Who cares, they were the cheapest frozen fruit I could find. It’s always a good time for pie.

Quizzes are for suckers

And I’m no different than anyone else. It’s called “What’s Your Seduction Style?” and yes, I couldn’t resist. And since the fucking picture of the escape artist result is the only image that doesn’t work, here’s what it says. You can do it yourself here

“What’s Your Seduction Style?

The Escape Artist

We don’t know how you figured it out, but you’ve managed to keep your lovers close despite your critical view of the world. Maybe you aren’t cynical, just a little cautious. Either way, you’ve managed to keep your head on your shoulders. You do have a little bit of misanthropy going on up in there, but hey, when you build your solar powered cabin in the woods everything will be fine.
It’s very rare to meet someone so clever that isn’t into taking advantage of romantic or sensitive people. Your best seduction move: be your honest and insightful self. A straight shooter (even a slightly damaged straight shooter) is a fine catch for anyone.”

It’s interesting to me that things as unempirically based as online quizzes and the zodiac, for instance, can yet contain a certain amount of insight. I find myself doing a little “hey, that’s spot on, that’s me all over!” despite that these things are mostly for fun and really, really, should not govern one’s social interaction. That being said, all this is actually quite true, I have to admit. Although I resent the part about the solar cabin in the woods, because 1) it comes off too hippie and super-environmentally sound, whereas I am merely conscious, I do what I can, but don’t go overboard and micromanage the minutiae of my consumptive habits because really, what’s the fucking point (note: peep George Carlin’s show “Jammin’ in New York”, and for the last 10-15 minutes, you’ll find a very caustic yet intelligent, humane, and humbling look at our little planet), and 2) living out in the woods is a very chicken-shit, privileged, isolationist thing to do, and while I am very independent, cynical, and opinionated, I am for damn sure no elitist or isolationist. I feel perfectly normal being a bit snobby and cynical yet humanistic, if only because I’m cock-eyed enough to still want to believe in the potential of human beings. (Apologies to Ed Begley, Jr., et al., but unless you want to build one for everyone, or use it merely as an infrequent vacation home, then they’re pointless. The intention is good, but comes off a li’l self important. But what do I know? If someone is pontificating in the middle of the woods– Seattle is a highly wooded area– how exactly does it make the world a better place?)

Anyway, if anyone’s out there looking for a slightly damaged straight shooter (that seems incongruous, somehow…), you got yourself a humdinger right here. Hit me up, wink wink.

“I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s–” *crash*

You know what you shouldn’t do if you know what’s good for you? Don’t watch any movie or parts of movies back-to-back where the words “true love” come up. Whether by accident or subconsciously on purpose, I did. Princesses and star-crossed lovers don’t go well with solitary hopefuls. I’ve said before that I’m more hopeful and idealistic than when I was young, so maybe that’s why I even own these movies. The only good thing I can think of is that it makes these similar types of people easier to spot, especially at my age (I try to act all old and wise now that I’m 30). Energy ebbs, and gradually declines, but mine seems to stay steady, maybe increase. Hell, I was born with, I can’t explain it. Without conceit, I can say I don’t know many people my age, or in general, who are as energetic, in body and mind, as I am. It’s nature, we can’t all be a spaz. But, people just do tend to lose that spark, it’s natural.

Objectively, as a rule, people tend to settle into their lives, and it’s not just a middle age thing. See young person go crazy, get it out of their system, and then want to build a nest, and pull their boundaries in. Earlier today, I spoke with a wonderful red-headed friend of mine (hee) and she told me of something she came across in her psych studies, that the instant you have kids, you’re never the same, your happiness potential plateaus, even after they’re grown and leave home. It’s not undesirable to do so, but rather, there’s plenty of time to make yourself happy first. What made this a little more interesting is that I’ve know this friend to be quite idealistic, adorably so, and a little naive, into the marriage and family fantasy, yet now, “I won’t have children until I’m 50.” Then, she felt bad for her mom   “Your life is never the same after kids” isn’t news, yet some people do fall right into it. We also spoke of people we know who are pregnant at a very young age, early 20s, and it seems like “what’s the rush?” Of course you have to take into account intentions, and it’s certainly not my place to do so. But of all the things to do, having children is one you should do on your own terms. (Granted, it’s a luxury and a fairytale, but if I ever do it, I’ll sincerely want them, and then, only if I’m madly in love with my lady, should she ever materialize.)

But it does remind me of what I wrote about my family reunion in July, about how I discovered that I don’t want to have kids for a while. I used to look forward to it, being a dad, playing with the kids and all, and now I am perfectly happy being an uncle, it has no effect on the love I have to give. It was a realization of how selfish I am, how I need to make myself and other people happy as much as possible before making such a sacrifice, lord knows it is. So now I feel that much more validated, ha ha, knowing that I can identify with someone on such an issue makes me feel less out-of-place. And, as my opening lines attest to, still realistically hopeful and idealistic. People like that that you feel good around, you hang on to them (heh, part of what made me come up here).

My kitty cat has a thick coat to keep her warm. I wish I had one, then I could run around naked too.