I think it's weird how I try to distill myself into a few large chunks and then realize that not only are those chunks not appealing, how limiting in scope I've become. Frequent gaming has attuned me too maximize my gains and minimize my losses. In turn I have shown people all the things I'm interested in and good at, and indirectly told them all the things I don't care about and suck at.
Why am I so black & white?
Monday, December 15, 2008
Still not asleep
One of those nights, I guess.
Funny how this blog looks like the one I did seven years ago.
Funny how this blog looks like the one I did seven years ago.
It's 1:46 AM and I'll be asleep soon.
It's comforting to know your ex is with a decent person and not a faceless monstrosity.
I explained to Monica my dating history which really reads like a short resume of the life of a serial dater.
I never pegged myself to be someone who must always be in a relationship, but given that choice and my distinct bent of being an asshole when I'm single, I gladly accept that almost needy title.
There is a two month countdown for me to be battle-ready and physically enable others to do so. I'm training for it now.
While I am trying to think of my last girlfriend as a friend with whom I don't speak, it's hard for me to do that since:
A. I frequently speak to my friends, and
B. In my present-tense, classify-everything way of living, somebody has to be that "villain"
And "villain" is the worse word for me to use as it is both antithetical in its intent and reality, but as in the third paragraph, admitting another word opens up a can of worms I'm not ready to cover right now. If the opportunity for a dialogue ever happens I will take it--or just listen, a lot.
I'm a better boyfriend now than I ever was. Still need to improve.
Is being a kick-ass boyfriend a worthwhile goal? I know being an equivalent mother or father is, and girlfriends are awesome, but being an okay boyfriend is all that's expected. As an individual pursuit, is it something that a guy can pursue and find personal joy from, or is it an incidental achievement? Is being a kick-ass boyfriend just being a kick-ass human being? Shouldn't being an awesome boyfriend be assumption in addition to accomplishing other things? If companionship is all I exceed at am I less of a person?
Oh man, I didn't see this post going where it went.
I should have slept sooner.
I explained to Monica my dating history which really reads like a short resume of the life of a serial dater.
I never pegged myself to be someone who must always be in a relationship, but given that choice and my distinct bent of being an asshole when I'm single, I gladly accept that almost needy title.
There is a two month countdown for me to be battle-ready and physically enable others to do so. I'm training for it now.
While I am trying to think of my last girlfriend as a friend with whom I don't speak, it's hard for me to do that since:
A. I frequently speak to my friends, and
B. In my present-tense, classify-everything way of living, somebody has to be that "villain"
And "villain" is the worse word for me to use as it is both antithetical in its intent and reality, but as in the third paragraph, admitting another word opens up a can of worms I'm not ready to cover right now. If the opportunity for a dialogue ever happens I will take it--or just listen, a lot.
I'm a better boyfriend now than I ever was. Still need to improve.
Is being a kick-ass boyfriend a worthwhile goal? I know being an equivalent mother or father is, and girlfriends are awesome, but being an okay boyfriend is all that's expected. As an individual pursuit, is it something that a guy can pursue and find personal joy from, or is it an incidental achievement? Is being a kick-ass boyfriend just being a kick-ass human being? Shouldn't being an awesome boyfriend be assumption in addition to accomplishing other things? If companionship is all I exceed at am I less of a person?
Oh man, I didn't see this post going where it went.
I should have slept sooner.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Borders // CHILDREN'S-PSYCHOLOGY-BARGAINS
BORDERS
Welcome to the urban jungle where the displays are meant to impress but no one
takes time to take in anything but the surface, where nothing is taken seriously
except for oneself.
This bookstore is here because a bookstore has to be here. Just like a cafe has
to serve sandwiches and cookies and non-dairy alternatives. Where the latest
movies have a life equal to your attention span and the bargain bins are filled
with yesterdays news.
Here we have options that no one wants to take but just like knowing that they have
them. Here is unrealized opportunity--people with unexcercised power and atrophied
realities.
Here in this "cafe" is a ring of laptops opened to privacy. Dressed to be on display,
no one wants to take center stage.
I wonder about the regulars. Who chooses to be here? This "cafe," this kiosk that
serves a coffee named 10 sizes too big, serves the eldest brothers and sisters of
NWA's caucasian fanbase. Armchair adventurers and advocates, politicos and
PTA's with words bulging from their gapes, they that want that sanitized coffee shop
feel without the lingering feeling.
The feeling of making contact.
The feeling when change happens.
The feeling of knowing you will see this person again and they will remember this
conversation.
What about the books in this shop? The trophies, the conversation starters, the
impulse buys and room decorations? The ones we love are worn, not on the
showroom floor. The ones valued here are new or valued by others, or valued
because of their lack of value: it's popularity by inflation and depreciation.
I'm not talking aloud. I'm not talking to or from or even mumbling passive-agressives.
I'm unengaging, silently dissenting, and enabling, making no mention of my dismay.
I want to think of myself as a silent advocate, but that's not any different than someone
without a voice. I'm the other side of the same dissembled coin.
So why are we here? Why do we come if we never talk, or want to touch or meet?
Do we want to be seen? Why are we so picky about whom we are approached?
These books, these clothes, these electronic devices lure unsuspecting "friends."
We are fisher men and women holed up on tabletop shores, willing to wait all day
for a bite. We are trappers camoflaged in the woodwork, waiting for prey even we
haven't suspected.
Sometimes I feel like an aggressive golfer simultaneously holding up a flag and
wanting to put a hole in one.
I haven't answered the question, but I may have proved a point: that no one here
knows what they're doing here but maybe if they stay long enough they will figure
it out. Or someone else will--but they have to be there to know it. Or be told about
it. This is the least a person can do: being here. A person can't win until they commit
the coins: life is a gamble that no one wants to lose. It's not always clear what's at stake
but no one wants to miss out.
I wish everyone here knew they were on the same team.
* * *
CHILDREN'S-PSYCHOLOGY-BARGAINS
This is a giant mall. A Mall the size of a city block. Every where I see are visually
correct standards for advertising: symmetry, groups of threes, ALL CAPS,
small caps, bolds and italics. Here the standards are high. It's like everyone is
special--so no one is.
Welcome to the urban jungle where the displays are meant to impress but no one
takes time to take in anything but the surface, where nothing is taken seriously
except for oneself.
This bookstore is here because a bookstore has to be here. Just like a cafe has
to serve sandwiches and cookies and non-dairy alternatives. Where the latest
movies have a life equal to your attention span and the bargain bins are filled
with yesterdays news.
Here we have options that no one wants to take but just like knowing that they have
them. Here is unrealized opportunity--people with unexcercised power and atrophied
realities.
Here in this "cafe" is a ring of laptops opened to privacy. Dressed to be on display,
no one wants to take center stage.
I wonder about the regulars. Who chooses to be here? This "cafe," this kiosk that
serves a coffee named 10 sizes too big, serves the eldest brothers and sisters of
NWA's caucasian fanbase. Armchair adventurers and advocates, politicos and
PTA's with words bulging from their gapes, they that want that sanitized coffee shop
feel without the lingering feeling.
The feeling of making contact.
The feeling when change happens.
The feeling of knowing you will see this person again and they will remember this
conversation.
What about the books in this shop? The trophies, the conversation starters, the
impulse buys and room decorations? The ones we love are worn, not on the
showroom floor. The ones valued here are new or valued by others, or valued
because of their lack of value: it's popularity by inflation and depreciation.
I'm not talking aloud. I'm not talking to or from or even mumbling passive-agressives.
I'm unengaging, silently dissenting, and enabling, making no mention of my dismay.
I want to think of myself as a silent advocate, but that's not any different than someone
without a voice. I'm the other side of the same dissembled coin.
So why are we here? Why do we come if we never talk, or want to touch or meet?
Do we want to be seen? Why are we so picky about whom we are approached?
These books, these clothes, these electronic devices lure unsuspecting "friends."
We are fisher men and women holed up on tabletop shores, willing to wait all day
for a bite. We are trappers camoflaged in the woodwork, waiting for prey even we
haven't suspected.
Sometimes I feel like an aggressive golfer simultaneously holding up a flag and
wanting to put a hole in one.
I haven't answered the question, but I may have proved a point: that no one here
knows what they're doing here but maybe if they stay long enough they will figure
it out. Or someone else will--but they have to be there to know it. Or be told about
it. This is the least a person can do: being here. A person can't win until they commit
the coins: life is a gamble that no one wants to lose. It's not always clear what's at stake
but no one wants to miss out.
I wish everyone here knew they were on the same team.
* * *
CHILDREN'S-PSYCHOLOGY-BARGAINS
This is a giant mall. A Mall the size of a city block. Every where I see are visually
correct standards for advertising: symmetry, groups of threes, ALL CAPS,
small caps, bolds and italics. Here the standards are high. It's like everyone is
special--so no one is.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Just Because
Alyssa, the introverted captor of men attentions, tells me I should write. She says that its a good habit to develop, to purposely train myself to put on tablet what I'm thinking. She doesn't say much more except that she never shares her writing. Her words are for her alone. I respect that.
I can see where she's going. Habits are motions with inertia, and it would be good for me to want to log my thoughts. It would make my other writing adventures, especially the ones work-related, much easier to begin and finish. Not everything has to be a deep thought but very often it is important to just get the words out. At its base, it releases the words into the ether like a free agent athlete ready to be snatched up by the team that wants him the most.
Cheers to good habits. Thanks, Alyssa.
I can see where she's going. Habits are motions with inertia, and it would be good for me to want to log my thoughts. It would make my other writing adventures, especially the ones work-related, much easier to begin and finish. Not everything has to be a deep thought but very often it is important to just get the words out. At its base, it releases the words into the ether like a free agent athlete ready to be snatched up by the team that wants him the most.
Cheers to good habits. Thanks, Alyssa.
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Let's do this.
Exactly. Thanks, Elaine.