The old-timey good place

Can you tell I’m in a better mood? Anyway, this is one of David Cross’ finest performances in any Mr. Show sketch as beleaguered grocer Len Gibbons, but more specifically, he delivers for my money what has to be one of the finest, most perfect line readings in all recorded history. (Hint: it has to to with squash.)

“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.)

Self-reflection + insecurity = The Mr. T Experience

(Note: I’m trying to find a way to put the 1st song on here to hear to do the song more justice.)
Don’t let the mean little swear word put you off, “Fucked Up on Life”, like “Shut I Am Dreaming of Place Where Lovers Have Wings”, is one of the most absolutely beautiful songs I’ve ever heard, but for the opposite reason. Because it is personal, insecure, and heart-on-the-sleeve. And yet, the music is buoyant, the melodies plentiful. Listen to these songs (if you can find them), the music is a perfect counterpoint to the lyrical content (much as Elizabeth Elmore’s voice was to the things she sang about in the band Sarge). The last 1:30 of this song is everything a coda should be. Stunning, leaves me breathless every time.

I don’t have many friends
Just some pretty loose and dead ends
Even one can be
A bit much for me
And they call me but I never end up calling them back
They lose patience as I lose track
I don’t care any more
If I ever did before
But I’m not really paying attention
People say what reflects well on them
Everyone’s lying like rugs
And everyone thinks I’m on drugs
But I’m just fucked up on life

‘Cause it doesn’t add up and I never know what should be done
I know I’m far from the only one
I stay out of the fray
I figure I do less damage that way
I’m outstanding in my field and all I ever wanna do is just get plowed
I always feel outnumbered in a crowd
And if the truth be known,
I feel outnumbered when I’m all alone
If you’re wondering why there’s no affect
when I speak, when you look in my eyes
I couldn’t begin to explain
I’m almost perfectly sane
But I’m just fucked up, fucked up on life

Dum-a-do0-dum-doo-ba-da-dum-dum-day
I never know what I should do or say
Whenever words fail me
I react reciprocally
I’m just fucked up on life
I’m just fucked up, fucked up on life

This one, “Everbody Knows You’re Crying”, isn’t a personal favorite, but it’s in the same vein, plus, I still don’t know whether he’s being completely dramatic and wallowy, or savagely mocking.

Everybody says you shouldn’t cry
Everybody’s standing by
And everybody’s gonna roll their eyes, if you ever do
Everybody says it’s not too late,
you can still participate
And you take everybody’s bait, and everybody laughs at you
They’ll leave you crying all alone
They’ll say they wouldn’t have, if they had only known
But you see the reality behind their indulgent stares
Everybody knows you’re crying, no one ever really cares

Everybody thinks you’re a little slow
Everyone wants you to know
They went through the same thing long ago, and it wasn’t that hard to to
Everybody says they sympathize
You stand by while they describe
Someone you don’t even recognize, that’s supposed to look like you
But they never can explain
How to live with such spectacular pain
And when you’re at your weakest, they advise you to be strong
Everybody says they’ve been there, everybody must be wrong
Everybody knows you’re crying

They send their love, and love is loud
They feel it’s greatly to their credit, and they’re proud
of their compassion, and it’s true
But it doesn’t have a lot to do with you

And you can’t escape the conclusion, though you don’t like what it was
Everybody says they love you, no one ever really does

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.

You don’t deconstruct beauty

I just had a cultured, thoughtful evening. I think I was cleaning, and had a playlist on shuffle, but still skipping songs, and “Shut Up I Am Dreaming of Places Where Lovers Have Wings” came on, and I went from shuffle to Sunset Rubdown only. It’s not something you throw on just for the hell of it, but there’s something about that music that’s very familiar, tuneful, otherwordly, and heartfelt and passionate. Most music we listen to, we have to relate to it on some level, whether the voice, the style, or the lyrical content. It has to fit with a specific aspect of our personality. We are by nature self-centered, that’s how it is. But listening to this music, it seems to push boundaries of how personal something needs to be in order to be understood. The lyrics are mostly cryptic, to me anyway, but everything about the songs is meticulously and carefully crafted and disregards the idea that something has to be “relatable” to be appealing. To this day, the song “Shut Up I Am Dreaming…” is possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever heard (even if it’s not my favorite song). And that’s saying something, being a person who has little patience for songs past 4-5  minutes (the word indulgent comes to mind)– the song is over seven minutes long. I think I like to come back to this music because I can kind of forget myself and just admire how pretty it is. There’s poetry and mystery to people and things who exist on their own terms, and I just tend to be drawn to them. You don’t know why you’re drawn, you just are. I may not understand exactly what songwriter Spencer Krug was thinking, and yet I feel I get what he set out to convey. Then again, I don’t even really need to. Unless you’re soulless, sexless, and simple-minded, you don’t deconstruct beauty.

So then I made a fancy-pants peanut butter and jelly sandwich, using nut and grain bread, Bonne Maman fig preserves (ate almost the whole jar in one week), and that Adams natural peanut butter that you stir and refrigerate that I’ve never had before. (An old roommate had some once, and I thought, ooh look-at-me-I’m-so-special-you-have-to-refrigerate-me peanut butter.) It actually costs less than the more processed crap and you get four ounces more, go figure. After the first bite, I was taken aback by how fancy it was. I thought, “wow, if there’s such a thing as classy PBJ, this is it.” You should try it, you’ll feel like you’re not good enough to eat it. Stay tuned for the 8-grain bread and four-berry preserve report.

Then I watched May. I saw it once almost five years ago but didn’t remember it well, and I didn’t have anything on my Netflix queue to put ahead of it, along with a lot of other movies I’ve seen but wanted to re-visit. For 15 minutes near the end, it’s kind of a horror movie, but only in tone, but the rest of it is a touching, freakish character study. My hat must go off to Angela Bettis, who made a very odd character sympathetic, despite the fact that most people, even well-meaning ones, would be extremely put off had they met such a person in real life. I would think many people who seek this film out fancy themselves “different” in that they do not feel part of any crowd. It’s just part of individualism. Whether we try or not, we like to think there is something about us that separates us from the pack. It’s vogue to be “different” or “nerdy” or “alternative” or “weird”– it’s all about fitting in and looking cool for anyone, not just the popular kids– but May Canady makes charlatans of us all. From the first few minutes, you see that she is genuinely different– she’s not cutesy, adorable, or misunderstood, she’s weird. You accept her for what she is (a credit to the actress), and yet the reactions of every character who comes into contact her are understandable. You want to reach out and comfort her, then you realize you’d probably react the same way. I’m not judging anyone, but we have our limits. Like people who say “I’m all for free speech, but…” or “I listen to all kinds of music… except country/rap/metal” or how everyone says they believe in being honest, but they really don’t. Objectively, few people can face the truth (though most people probably don’t care either way). Like always, it’s the small touches that make the performance. Her body language is invaluable, the blink-or-you’ll-miss-it gestures, e.g. when she is walking down the street to run into her crush, and he stops and turns away to light a cigarette, and she abruptly has to shift her attention forward again and keep walking in order to look normal. I mean, look at every single social interaction she has and put yourself in the shoes of the “normal” character. I think it’s amazing that I can care so about a character, yet feel a little false about it. I fancy myself sincerely open-hearted, tolerant, and accepting, but I’ve never known anyone remotely similar to May. And therein lies the magic of good storytelling and seamless acting– pondering hypothetical issues and trying to relate to fictional people. I nearly failed to mention that May makes her own clothes, and being so involved in her character, I was going to praise her for her unique design, when it is indeed the costume designer, not the work of fiction, who deserves props. The clothes are a bit off-center, definitely not trendy, but I thought they were cute and well-done. Confusing fiction with reality even on csotume issues? That’s seamless for you.

After viewing it, I considered listening to one of the commentaries, but am now wondering if I shoul just return it, then buy it and listen at my leisure. The ultimate compliment I can give a film is to purchase it, to deem it worthy enough to sit on my shelf, and I’m certainly leaning this way. It seems like an odd choice, but given the diversity of the few films I do own, it would fit right in, in that it’s not much like the others. Then, I’ve always been averse to comparing films on an absolute scale (letter grades, stars, etc.). How can Beavis and Butt-head Do America, Enchanted, Go, Out of Sight, Ghostbusters, South Park, Lost in Translation, Batman Begins, Saving Private Ryan, Adaptation, The Fugitive, Eternal Sunshine, Jerry Maguire, This Is Spinal Tap, and Moulin Rouge be fairly measured against one another without being insulted? Most people would qualify May as a genre film, which would be completely incorrect. To paraphrase a film critic I once read, quite possibly Roger Ebert, a film should be measured by one criterion: does the film achieve what it set out to do? Hey, films are just like people– we shouldn’t be measured according to any scale, we should be measured on our own merits. The one criterion is pretty much the same– are we true to ourselves?

Bonus for watching the film a second time: having embraced Pixies since then, I was able to identify Kim Deal’s voice in a couple of songs– there was some Kelley Deal to boot– and was so thrilled to be now-enlightened enough to appreciate that. Then I listened to a Breeders album I’ve neglecting for a while (but will no more) while taking care of a final late-night errand. All it took was one scene and the song “Oh!” Funny what film and music can do for each other when it’s right– can’t you feel the synergistic love? I love film. I love music.

I’m talkin’ ’bout Lucky Clovers

Usually when a hidden gem or cult item in television or music comes along, I miss it and come to it later, usually lamenting that I didn’t get caught up in the week to week madness, or catch the band in concert when no one was the wiser. So I’ve been watching The Ben Stiller Show recently, which is an exception to this rule. It ran a half-season, making it extremely hard to catch, but as a 14-year old, somehow I caught it, and remember watching it and even joking about the skits the next day at school. It was an inventive, off-the-wall sketch comedy show on Fox, well before “alternative comedy” became so vogue recently. Featuring Bob Odenkirk, and to a lesser extent, David Cross, it is an obvious forbear to Mr. Show, which even then was cult (since it was on HBO) and flew well under the radar, garnering mostly critical acclaim, most notably, as I can remember, when Janeane Garofalo, Ben Stiller cast member, said something like “the average person doesn’t deserve to watch Mr. Show.” Snooty, hell yes, but I know very few people who know of it, and often, it’s only because of association with me. Brilliance is rarely appreciated or noticed, much less in its own time. These days, most people know Ben Stiller, but most people don’t know this Ben Stiller. The commentary tracks are excellent companions where they appear. They add to the nostalgia that this show evokes when I watch it.

But anyway, in the very first episode, there is a faux “U2 Rockumentary” skit, in which the cast, as U2, does a commercial for a breakfast cereal done to the tune of their song “One”, or at least a reasonable knock-off of it. Even though I hadn’t re-visited the show in ages, I felt a fondness that I actually “knew the show back when” and remember parts of it vividly, growing up. I have also found that people born after 1982-3 won’t get the jokes and references— a shame, because it’s absolutely dead-on. U2 was more popular then, relatively speaking, and anyone who was in middle or high school in the early 90s ought to realize how perfect this is. Yes, it’s dated and impenetrable to anyone who didn’t live through Achtung Baby and the U2 zeitgeist of the early 90s, but upon pulling it out of the DVD library, I am reminded that this sketch/parody is still one of the funniest things I have ever seen.

Embedding has been disabled by request, so please, please view it here, or buy the series. One half season, 13 episodes, I don’t remember paying more than 20-25 for it. Imagine a more innocent time when cracked genius like this made it onto network television, even if it was a young, fledgling Fox network. The hilarious parody lyrics are below.

(Set-up: the real Mr. Kinkaid from The Partridge Family, as U2’s first manager, drove the band around in a ramshackle, old multi-colored school bus, from gig to gig, talking about how they were going to make it big.)

Have you had your breakfast?
Why not try the best?
I’m talking ’bout Lucky Clovers
Why don’t you put ‘em to the test?

And

One bowl won’t be enough
One box, you know you’ll eat it right up
They’re fun and so delicious
8 essential vitamins and they’re magically nutritious
One bowl, and it’s running low
One box, and it’s gonna go

Spoken: “Lucky Clovers cereal, an important part of this well-balanced breakfast. Now, with a fun, new surprise in each specially-marked package”

Did I eat too much, more than a lot?
You give me one box, now it’s all I got
One bowl, and we got to share it
Got to share it

Lucky Clovers

One bowl

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.