So today is New Years Eve, really just an arbitrary day chosen hundreds of years ago to denote the "end" of one "year" and the "beginning" of another. First, years haven't always included 12 months and 365 days as we like to think. Seriously. What's a "year?" It wasn't what it is now, that's for sure, at least not until we figured out that the Earth goes round the sun. So if you take that into consideration, is it really the "Year" 2008? Maybe if we counted all those individual days and divided them by 365, we'd come up with a much smaller number. Think about it. Second, December 31st and January 1st are just random months that someone decided to put at the end and at the beginning of this concept of "year." New Years could just as easily have been May 31st and June 1st. Third, can you tell I'm not so thrilled about it all?
But of course there needs to be some sort of resolution, because if I'm going to subscribe to the idea that I'm entitled to have a day off tomorrow, and that I should go out with friends tonight, then I have to at least adhere to some of the traditions. And because resolutions aren't like birthday wishes or coin tosses into fountains, I can tell you what mine is without fear of superstitious retribution by the God of New Years Resolutions.
My resolution is to stop trying to figure everything out. If you go back through a lot of the "issues" that I have, it all comes back to this - I'm always trying to fully understand everything that's going on in my life. My conclusion is that you can't, and that by trying you just drive yourself miserable. Recently someone told me that I like to suffer, and it wasn't even the same person who told me they thought I was tortured. So yeah, there's something wrong with that. I think this weekend, which I plan to write about as soon as I have a little more time, was a little experiment in me just trying to chill out. I have to say, it went pretty well, and as much as my head naturally bounced back to all of these useless contemplations, I pulled it back into the present so that I could actually enjoy my experiences rather than worry about the next thing or tomorrow or how something might turn out.
Are we clear about this? New Years resolution - stop trying to put the world into a little box. I have no illusions, it's not like the over-analyzing is magically going to go away. But perhaps I can live a little more in the moment than I've allowed myself this past year.
Cheers. Someone better offer me some champagne.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
The Burbs
It's odd when you find yourself walking around in the suburbs. When you think about it, the suburbs aren't really meant for walking. Yeah they have sidewalks and all, but the only people actually using them are joggers and old couples who stroll around so that you find yourself thinking, "oh, that's what happens when you get old - you just walk around aimlessly."
That's why today, as I proceeded, by foot, out of the CVS parking lot into the adjacent "East Birchwood" area, I felt weird seeing a family walking towards me. From a distance I made out a dad, a mom, and a teenage daughter. As they got closer, it got stranger. I should say something to them. There's no one else here so it'll be weird if I don't at least say hello. And yet it feels awkward. They kept looking ahead, as if they didn't see me, as if they too thought it would be too awkward to actually acknowledge someone else.
So as we found ourselves handshake distance away, I issued this odd-sounding, "Helllooooo," one of those semi-embarrassed ones, the kind typically reserved for people you're familiar with who you don't really want to stop to have a conversation with, like people from school that you were never friends with that you inevitably run into every now and then.
The dad was sort of caught off guard. I think I might have scared him a little. He muttered this quick, pointed, "hi" and then they were gone.
But why should it have been so strange to greet people on the street, especially when the street's otherwise abandoned and it's impossible to pretend you didn't see each other? Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? Aren't people supposed to say "hi" and "good morning?"
It doesn't happen in the City. The irony is that there are so many people that no one really notices anyone else. You ride the cramped subway with someone breathing in your face, and you can't remember anything about them a second later. You can still feel that warmth, but you have no idea where it came from. If I said something to every stranger on the subway, I would never get to work, and everyone would think me a madman. You just don't do it.
Do I prefer it that way? Do I trade my desire for direct, personal contact for the distant comfort of those masses of anonymous bodies? Maybe. I find it odd how few strangers you actually see in the suburbs, how far everyone is from everyone else so that it's unusual when you get close enough to someone that you can't help but say something. And you would think that the people that live here would actually be used to it by now, that the dad and his family would have noticed and said something to me before I said something to them. But they didn't. They didn't really seem to care that I was there at all. I would understand that in the City, but here? What has happened in the suburbs? Has it always been this way and I just haven't noticed? Am I the City kid who rides and walks and waits with thousands, millions of people a day, just hungry for that occasional, random contact that I expect the suburbs should provide? Maybe I'm the one who's being strange. Maybe the default is that people that don't know each other don't say anything to each other, no matter where you are.
I'm reminded of that quote from "Crash," the one that they pimped in the trailer and which Don Cheadle says in the movie. It is meant to apply to LA, but I feel as if it works in this situation too - "It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something."
It's sort of like that.
That's why today, as I proceeded, by foot, out of the CVS parking lot into the adjacent "East Birchwood" area, I felt weird seeing a family walking towards me. From a distance I made out a dad, a mom, and a teenage daughter. As they got closer, it got stranger. I should say something to them. There's no one else here so it'll be weird if I don't at least say hello. And yet it feels awkward. They kept looking ahead, as if they didn't see me, as if they too thought it would be too awkward to actually acknowledge someone else.
So as we found ourselves handshake distance away, I issued this odd-sounding, "Helllooooo," one of those semi-embarrassed ones, the kind typically reserved for people you're familiar with who you don't really want to stop to have a conversation with, like people from school that you were never friends with that you inevitably run into every now and then.
The dad was sort of caught off guard. I think I might have scared him a little. He muttered this quick, pointed, "hi" and then they were gone.
But why should it have been so strange to greet people on the street, especially when the street's otherwise abandoned and it's impossible to pretend you didn't see each other? Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? Aren't people supposed to say "hi" and "good morning?"
It doesn't happen in the City. The irony is that there are so many people that no one really notices anyone else. You ride the cramped subway with someone breathing in your face, and you can't remember anything about them a second later. You can still feel that warmth, but you have no idea where it came from. If I said something to every stranger on the subway, I would never get to work, and everyone would think me a madman. You just don't do it.
Do I prefer it that way? Do I trade my desire for direct, personal contact for the distant comfort of those masses of anonymous bodies? Maybe. I find it odd how few strangers you actually see in the suburbs, how far everyone is from everyone else so that it's unusual when you get close enough to someone that you can't help but say something. And you would think that the people that live here would actually be used to it by now, that the dad and his family would have noticed and said something to me before I said something to them. But they didn't. They didn't really seem to care that I was there at all. I would understand that in the City, but here? What has happened in the suburbs? Has it always been this way and I just haven't noticed? Am I the City kid who rides and walks and waits with thousands, millions of people a day, just hungry for that occasional, random contact that I expect the suburbs should provide? Maybe I'm the one who's being strange. Maybe the default is that people that don't know each other don't say anything to each other, no matter where you are.
I'm reminded of that quote from "Crash," the one that they pimped in the trailer and which Don Cheadle says in the movie. It is meant to apply to LA, but I feel as if it works in this situation too - "It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something."
It's sort of like that.
Monday, December 24, 2007
My Coffee Weekends
Right now I'm engaging in blogging from the road. By "from the road" I mean that I'm at homehome (i.e. Long Island), sitting at my kitchen table as the dim noise of NHL 2008 streams in from the living room. Somehow my dad got himself and my brother an XBOX360. When I found out I was kind of shocked. I mean, video games used to be my thing, and now my dad is buying state-of-the-art systems without telling me? I was kind of shocked to find myself disinterested after a mere 1.5 hours of Halo 3. Then again, I was never much of a multi-player person. Perhaps if I can get these people to go off to bed, I can stretch my legs and have a go at the game. Still, it's not the same, there isn't that crazy obsessed feeling I used to have with this stuff. Does this mean I'm getting older or simply that my interests have changed? Maybe a little of both.
So for those who don't know, I've become a regular at a small West Village coffee shop called Joe: The Art of Coffee. It's definitely more "mom and pop" than Starbucks, but I'll be honest, it has three locations in the City, and it's been around for a few years, so there's really nothing new going on there. The location is close-to perfect, right off of 6th Avenue on Waverly, right next to Gay St. (yes, Gay St.). The regularity began this summer when I'd go down there on Fridays to meet Carlos for a coffee on their outside benches. I could swear that it rained Thursday and Saturdays, but it never rained when we met on Fridays. It was basically a miracle.
At this point it's gotten to where I come in at like 2 on Saturdays and I sit there for, maybe, 6 hours. Sometimes I come on Sundays too, although often that feels a bit much. I've managed to run into Philip Seymour Hoffman there. He came in dressed in sagging pants, a hoodie, and a baseball cap. I thought it was perfect the way he had a script folded up and stuffed into his ass pocket, topped off with a big binder clip. His son came up behind him and grabbed it, and he turned around saying, "oh, you got daddy's script!" The place isn't that big, so it was impossible not to notice him. Still, I liked how he seemed so chill about who he was and where he was and was just acting like a normal person. He wasn't trying to hide and no one was really paying all that much attention to him anyway. Maybe that's what draws movie stars to NY, other than its amazing restaurants and its center-of-the-universe status. Can you tell that I love this City? I saw his wife and kids in there again today. Very cute kids. His little daughter was staring at the Bed, Bath & Beyond stuffed animal ornaments that my mom put on my backpack 4 years ago. I never had the heart to take them off.
So what do I do at Joe for so long? I try to write, although it has proven more difficult of late. Now I find myself staring off into space for spurts of time that end up being 15, 30 minutes. I assume that I'm thinking about something, but when I snap out of it, I realize that I haven't really come up with anything earth-shatteringly new. Is this the sort of thing that characterizes the onset of Alzheimer's? I'm reminded of Julie Christie in "Away from Her."
Speaking of coffee, I now have like three Starbucks cards that I got for the holidays. I'm still looking for those damn sugar cookies. Seriously, what happened to them? I saw them like twice and then never again.
So for those who don't know, I've become a regular at a small West Village coffee shop called Joe: The Art of Coffee. It's definitely more "mom and pop" than Starbucks, but I'll be honest, it has three locations in the City, and it's been around for a few years, so there's really nothing new going on there. The location is close-to perfect, right off of 6th Avenue on Waverly, right next to Gay St. (yes, Gay St.). The regularity began this summer when I'd go down there on Fridays to meet Carlos for a coffee on their outside benches. I could swear that it rained Thursday and Saturdays, but it never rained when we met on Fridays. It was basically a miracle.
At this point it's gotten to where I come in at like 2 on Saturdays and I sit there for, maybe, 6 hours. Sometimes I come on Sundays too, although often that feels a bit much. I've managed to run into Philip Seymour Hoffman there. He came in dressed in sagging pants, a hoodie, and a baseball cap. I thought it was perfect the way he had a script folded up and stuffed into his ass pocket, topped off with a big binder clip. His son came up behind him and grabbed it, and he turned around saying, "oh, you got daddy's script!" The place isn't that big, so it was impossible not to notice him. Still, I liked how he seemed so chill about who he was and where he was and was just acting like a normal person. He wasn't trying to hide and no one was really paying all that much attention to him anyway. Maybe that's what draws movie stars to NY, other than its amazing restaurants and its center-of-the-universe status. Can you tell that I love this City? I saw his wife and kids in there again today. Very cute kids. His little daughter was staring at the Bed, Bath & Beyond stuffed animal ornaments that my mom put on my backpack 4 years ago. I never had the heart to take them off.
So what do I do at Joe for so long? I try to write, although it has proven more difficult of late. Now I find myself staring off into space for spurts of time that end up being 15, 30 minutes. I assume that I'm thinking about something, but when I snap out of it, I realize that I haven't really come up with anything earth-shatteringly new. Is this the sort of thing that characterizes the onset of Alzheimer's? I'm reminded of Julie Christie in "Away from Her."
Speaking of coffee, I now have like three Starbucks cards that I got for the holidays. I'm still looking for those damn sugar cookies. Seriously, what happened to them? I saw them like twice and then never again.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Matisyahu's Break Out
So I had heard it more as a passing rumor than anything else for a few weeks now - Matisyahu had left Chabad, the Hassidic sect that brought him into the mix of Orthodox Judaism and the group he has been directly identified with ever since (at least amongst the people in the know). But this morning I got NY Times confirmation that he is indeed out of Chabad. OK so it's not so much a "confirmation" as a requoting of recent past comments he's made and the concession that he had no comment in regards to this article, but I take that as saying something.
Before I delve a little deeper into my opinion on this, let me do go through some clarification for people who don't exactly understand what "Chabad" means. Very often, amongst several of my friends, there's a lot of confusion between "Chabad" and "Shabbat." They kind of sound the same when you say it, so I've often found that when I go, "oh, I'm going to Chabad tonight," people think I mean "Shabbat." Or when I'm near work and Chabad's Mitzvah Tank rolls by on Fridays to help people put tfillin on, I'll hear, "you're going to that van? OK, have fun at Shabbat."
Let's break this down. "Shabbat" is the Jewish Sabbath, the day of rest, i.e. Friday night into Saturday. It's a weekly occurrence. It involves delicious challah, wine, and getting together with your family or community. Read all about it. This is an incredibly important day for Jewish people. It is the tradition that has anchored us for thousands of years. When asked "what is the holiest day for Jews," I've heard it said that every consecutive Shabbat is the holiest day, that it is holier than any of the "main" holidays on the Jewish calendar. It's importance is not to be discounted.
Meanwhile "Chabad" is a particular sect of Hassidic Orthodox Judaism. This requires further explanation. Orthodox Judaism, on its own, simply means people who are strict adherents to religious beliefs, who practice all of the religion's covenants. Hassidic Judaism is a movement of Orthodox Judaism that emerged from Eastern Europe. Today, Hassidic Jews are best identified by their black/white clothings styles, although the sects each have their own particular "uniforms" and smaller customs. Chabad, specifically, is a sect of Hassidic Orthodox Judaism that, like the other sects, merely has its own little traditions and customs and spiritual leaders. "Chabad" itself is a Hebrew acronym for "wisdom, understanding, and knowledge."
OK, now that we've dealt with that, lets try to see what's going on here. Matisyahu, as far as I know, was just a guy looking for some direction in his life, looking for God, writing some music. He hooked up with Chabad and got into it and eventually became a Hassidic Orthodox Jew because of them. The Rabbi I chill with from NYU is his friend, and he was definitely instrumental in helping Matisyahu decide what he wanted to do back in 2000, 2001 when he was going through all this stuff.
So for the last 5, 6 years, Matisyahu has been identified as "Chabad." Outside of the Jewish community, people just see him as an Orthodox Jew, not as belonging to any particular sect. And that's fine, because my question is, does it really matter? Now we're finding out that maybe this guy isn't digging this sect any more. So? I still like the guy's music and the guy is still Jewish, and he still makes being Jewish look a little cooler than it did before. He belonged to a club and he doesn't want to be part of it any more and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. He's young, he has the right to try out different things, and can we ever really say that someone ever stops trying to find or redefine themselves?
I swung by Chabad at NYU a few weeks ago, at a time when I first started hearing that Matisyahu had "split" with them. I was running late, after work, and I was supposed to meet Carlos who had the LSATs the next day. I asked Carlos if we could stop in just for a minute so I could say hi to Rabbi Korn. As we carved our way through the sweaty undergrad crowd, sure enough I find Matisyahu and his family at the end of the room. Dude's pretty huge, and all I saw were his knees peaking up towards his head as he crouched down on a chair way too small for him. I thanked him for coming out to the birthright Monologues show, which he came to after my performance, unfortunately, but sat through until the end. I ended up speaking a bit with his wife, who I know from undergrad at NYU.
The point is that even though maybe he's "officially" split from Chabad, it's not like he stopped being friends with the people he knows. If he totally shut himself out in that way, then maybe I'd crinkle my eyebrows and wonder what the hell is up. But it doesn't seem that he's done that. He was still chillin with Rabbi Korn and he was still just being himself - seemingly shy and thoughtful.
And for all those people who are knocking him for "abandoning" the group the nurtured him, I need to say a few words. A lot of those people, and I seen it myself, had certain expectations of Matisyahu just because he was part of their group. People who he had absolutely no association with expected that he would give free concerts and that he'd show up to everything they asked him to show up to, and that he had a responsibility to give back. And sure, maybe he does have a responsibility to give back, and I've seen him give back a lot, but where does it end? You can't force the guy to do everything you think he should do, and be exactly what you think he should be. I think he understands the idea of selflessness, and helping his community, but at the same time that he's done so much, he gets flack for not doing enough. There's always going to be someone somewhere who is annoyed because Matisyahu didn't help him specifically.
I'm all for Matisyahu exploring what he connects with. So long as he keeps his head on straight and remembers where he came from and who his friends are, then I don't think any of it really matters all that much. OK, and now to end on a somewhat cheesy note (I can't resist), as he says in my favorite song of his, "Jerusalem," "Cut off the roots of your family tree? Don't you know, that's not the way to be."
Before I delve a little deeper into my opinion on this, let me do go through some clarification for people who don't exactly understand what "Chabad" means. Very often, amongst several of my friends, there's a lot of confusion between "Chabad" and "Shabbat." They kind of sound the same when you say it, so I've often found that when I go, "oh, I'm going to Chabad tonight," people think I mean "Shabbat." Or when I'm near work and Chabad's Mitzvah Tank rolls by on Fridays to help people put tfillin on, I'll hear, "you're going to that van? OK, have fun at Shabbat."
Let's break this down. "Shabbat" is the Jewish Sabbath, the day of rest, i.e. Friday night into Saturday. It's a weekly occurrence. It involves delicious challah, wine, and getting together with your family or community. Read all about it. This is an incredibly important day for Jewish people. It is the tradition that has anchored us for thousands of years. When asked "what is the holiest day for Jews," I've heard it said that every consecutive Shabbat is the holiest day, that it is holier than any of the "main" holidays on the Jewish calendar. It's importance is not to be discounted.
Meanwhile "Chabad" is a particular sect of Hassidic Orthodox Judaism. This requires further explanation. Orthodox Judaism, on its own, simply means people who are strict adherents to religious beliefs, who practice all of the religion's covenants. Hassidic Judaism is a movement of Orthodox Judaism that emerged from Eastern Europe. Today, Hassidic Jews are best identified by their black/white clothings styles, although the sects each have their own particular "uniforms" and smaller customs. Chabad, specifically, is a sect of Hassidic Orthodox Judaism that, like the other sects, merely has its own little traditions and customs and spiritual leaders. "Chabad" itself is a Hebrew acronym for "wisdom, understanding, and knowledge."
OK, now that we've dealt with that, lets try to see what's going on here. Matisyahu, as far as I know, was just a guy looking for some direction in his life, looking for God, writing some music. He hooked up with Chabad and got into it and eventually became a Hassidic Orthodox Jew because of them. The Rabbi I chill with from NYU is his friend, and he was definitely instrumental in helping Matisyahu decide what he wanted to do back in 2000, 2001 when he was going through all this stuff.
So for the last 5, 6 years, Matisyahu has been identified as "Chabad." Outside of the Jewish community, people just see him as an Orthodox Jew, not as belonging to any particular sect. And that's fine, because my question is, does it really matter? Now we're finding out that maybe this guy isn't digging this sect any more. So? I still like the guy's music and the guy is still Jewish, and he still makes being Jewish look a little cooler than it did before. He belonged to a club and he doesn't want to be part of it any more and I don't think there's anything wrong with that. He's young, he has the right to try out different things, and can we ever really say that someone ever stops trying to find or redefine themselves?
I swung by Chabad at NYU a few weeks ago, at a time when I first started hearing that Matisyahu had "split" with them. I was running late, after work, and I was supposed to meet Carlos who had the LSATs the next day. I asked Carlos if we could stop in just for a minute so I could say hi to Rabbi Korn. As we carved our way through the sweaty undergrad crowd, sure enough I find Matisyahu and his family at the end of the room. Dude's pretty huge, and all I saw were his knees peaking up towards his head as he crouched down on a chair way too small for him. I thanked him for coming out to the birthright Monologues show, which he came to after my performance, unfortunately, but sat through until the end. I ended up speaking a bit with his wife, who I know from undergrad at NYU.
The point is that even though maybe he's "officially" split from Chabad, it's not like he stopped being friends with the people he knows. If he totally shut himself out in that way, then maybe I'd crinkle my eyebrows and wonder what the hell is up. But it doesn't seem that he's done that. He was still chillin with Rabbi Korn and he was still just being himself - seemingly shy and thoughtful.
And for all those people who are knocking him for "abandoning" the group the nurtured him, I need to say a few words. A lot of those people, and I seen it myself, had certain expectations of Matisyahu just because he was part of their group. People who he had absolutely no association with expected that he would give free concerts and that he'd show up to everything they asked him to show up to, and that he had a responsibility to give back. And sure, maybe he does have a responsibility to give back, and I've seen him give back a lot, but where does it end? You can't force the guy to do everything you think he should do, and be exactly what you think he should be. I think he understands the idea of selflessness, and helping his community, but at the same time that he's done so much, he gets flack for not doing enough. There's always going to be someone somewhere who is annoyed because Matisyahu didn't help him specifically.
I'm all for Matisyahu exploring what he connects with. So long as he keeps his head on straight and remembers where he came from and who his friends are, then I don't think any of it really matters all that much. OK, and now to end on a somewhat cheesy note (I can't resist), as he says in my favorite song of his, "Jerusalem," "Cut off the roots of your family tree? Don't you know, that's not the way to be."
Saturday, December 22, 2007
My Monologue
So our birthright israel Monologues show is on hold until end of February or March, at least that's what I'm told. But in the mean time, someone decided to upload ALL the content of the show onto YouTube. I'm not one to judge or criticize the non-exclusive licensee of our work, but I kind of don't understand how or why people would pay money to come see our full show live, the way it was meant to be seen, when they can just watch everything online? Yeah, maybe I'm overreacting, and maybe people still want to see it live, but come on, we're not a famous band, we're a spoken-word show. The glitz (if there is any) is in the language, not in the presentation. I was really expecting that they would upload some sort of edited video showing bits and pieces of each of our performances mixed in with some side interviews and what-not. That would have made a little more sense to me. But it is what it is, and now everyone has a chance to see it all.
So, for those of you who didn't see the show, this is me, doing my monologue. I'd recommend NOT watching it if you're hoping to see us live, because the camera makes my face look fatter and stranger than it really is, I don't think my voice really sounds that ethnic, and I come out in much better resolution in person. Plus this is our first performance, and the mic was really low, so I do it a lot better now, and I don't crouch down so much. As I mentioned, we should be back with a new run in 2 months or so; hold out if you can.
But if you never had any intention to come to the show, or if you just can't, then you got nothing to lose. Watch the rest of the cast do their stuff here. Check out all the posted vids and then you'll see the individual performances.
So, for those of you who didn't see the show, this is me, doing my monologue. I'd recommend NOT watching it if you're hoping to see us live, because the camera makes my face look fatter and stranger than it really is, I don't think my voice really sounds that ethnic, and I come out in much better resolution in person. Plus this is our first performance, and the mic was really low, so I do it a lot better now, and I don't crouch down so much. As I mentioned, we should be back with a new run in 2 months or so; hold out if you can.
But if you never had any intention to come to the show, or if you just can't, then you got nothing to lose. Watch the rest of the cast do their stuff here. Check out all the posted vids and then you'll see the individual performances.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Elfish
Great holiday site. Lets you add people's faces to dancing elves who really get down. Use it before its gone after New Year's.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Person of the Year?
Time named Vladimir Putin as their person of the year. I don't know how I feel about that. The man has definitely made an impact (in a negative way) and I guess it's not for us to judge whether he's a "good" or a "bad" person of the year. But as far as I'm concerned, he's helping push the world back into a dual-superpower divide. Russia never stopped being scary as all hell, except for maybe a few years after "The Fall." I just don't get it though, because Russia is closer to the West than it is to China, to Iran, to Syria, and yet somehow Russia is forging new and ever-stronger alliances with these countries. Russia is returning, slowly but surely, to the dictatorial system of power that never really went away, but just got quiet for a little while. And I think it has to do with, more than anything, pride. Vlad is an ex-KGB dude who was at the center of the mix when Russia was still the USSR, and I have no doubt that his agenda has always been to return the country to the prestige of being a superpower. The Soviet mistake is used as a model, politically at least, if not economically. Russia sends nuclear fuel to Iran not because Russia and Iran are best buds, but because like Iran and Venezuela, they both dislike the US, they both seek to create a new power sphere to play against America. Not for any real reason, not for any ideological common ground, but just because. Because power is fun, and its not as much fun when you don't have as much of it as you would like.
As much as people criticize America for damn-near everything it does, I gotta be honest, the "alternative" rising world order in the form of an Iran-Syria-Venezuela-Hamas-Hezbollah-North Korea-China-Russia alliance (loose, but forging nevertheless), scares the shit out of me.
As much as people criticize America for damn-near everything it does, I gotta be honest, the "alternative" rising world order in the form of an Iran-Syria-Venezuela-Hamas-Hezbollah-North Korea-China-Russia alliance (loose, but forging nevertheless), scares the shit out of me.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Welcome to CVS, How May I Help You
I got all dressed up today - gray suit with light gray shirt, black tie, black belt, black shoes, and my personal favorite sock-accent in the form of Playboy-made black socks with gray "racing" stripes. I took off my jacket and went into CVS in search of a gift card for some Secret Santa thing I'm doing. On that note, did you know that there's a $5 "activation fee" on a $25 AMEX gift card? Ridiculous. It really makes no sense. So I opted for the Starbucks card instead. No activation fee on that one. And it's useful. So thank me when you get it.
Anyway, I'm there, walking around, looking for this card, and this guy starts talking to me.
"Hey, are there ATMs in here?"
I'm trying to remember if I saw any.
"Are there ATMs in here?"
"Um, I don't know."
"You don't know?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"I don't know."
He looks me up and down and makes this disgusted face, as if I've offended him in some way.
It's only after I walk away, leaving him staring after me, that I realize he thought I worked there. I get dressed up and then someone assumes I'm a CVS employee. Makes no sense. I didn't know CVS employees dressed this good. *Patting myself on the back.
It's funny though, and I enjoy random things like that, so I'm laughing about it. Then, as I'm walking down the aisle, I hear this woman yelling - "excuse me, excuse me."
I keep walking and she keeps yelling.
"Excuse me!"
I turn around and she asks, "do you work here."
I'm still laughing from the last guy, so I just shake my head and say, "nah, I don't."
For a second she's apologetic, but as I find with "older" people, they don't really allow themselves to get embarrassed all that much.
Part of me wanted to see how many requests for help I could tally in that short visit, but it ended with two. Maybe it's because I tried acting like a customer from then on out, conspicuously holding up my Starbucks gift card so that people could see that I was buying something. I also ended up getting blank note cards that I wanna drop off at the apartments of the neighbors I've never seen. I find it odd that after living in my building for over a year, I've actually only seen the people on my floor 6, maybe 7 times. I know there's a Russian woman that lives in the corner, and then there's a Latino family that lives on the other end of the hall. At one point I think my next door neighbor was an older black gentleman, but either he died or moved, because I haven't seen him since the screaming incident (don't remember if I blogged about it since I can't find it in old posts, but basically, I once heard him screaming "help" from behind the walls and ended up calling the cops. Turns out he had fallen out of his wheelchair or something). And that's about it. So basically, I have like 7 apartments on my floor and I only vaguely know the residents in 2 of them (plus my own - I live there).
There's something wrong with that. Occasionally I'll hear the odd laughter or scurrying or sound of the trash chute being opened and closed (although all the trash always ends up on the floor of the compactor room which pisses me off). But I hardly ever see anybody. This is all in contrast to what it was like in college when people didn't even go back inside their rooms. I miss that socialness. It's kind of lonely when you just got yourself in your room and you don't even really know anybody in the building. I don't even see people in the laundry room.
I once gave my card to a nice older gentleman who worked at the UN and he was like - "yes, we will have lunch Mr. Ruvym Gilman" (he spoke like that because he was African). But then he never called. It kind of upset me since he seemed like a cool person to get to know in my building.
Anyway, so I got these blank note card (which, by the way, are very hard to find in general stores like CVS. I could always go to a Kate's Paperie or a Papyrus, but I'm not ready to invest $20 in cards to people I don't know), and now I'm going to write them all little notes and be like, "hi, I'm your neighbor. You don't know me, but I just wanted to tell you that I exist. Feel free to make me dinner or some cookies whenever you feel like it. My mom and my grandmother will thank you since they're convinced I have a really bad diet (I do). Thanks!"
Imagine. I might actually live next to interesting people, who might even have the potential to become friends. It's possible. Do I sound desperate? I'm really not, because I have plenty of good friends. It's just that it seems like I don't have any that actually live in Manhattan. And if they do live in Manhattan, than they don't have the time to hang out. Sooner or later, I'll be required to get married just by virtue of the fact there won't be anyone to hang out with.
I keed. I'll get married one day because I want to.
But my neighbors, I'm kind of excited about it. I'm extending an olive branch of communication to the faceless voices I hear in the hall. I wonder if they actually exist.
Anyway, I'm there, walking around, looking for this card, and this guy starts talking to me.
"Hey, are there ATMs in here?"
I'm trying to remember if I saw any.
"Are there ATMs in here?"
"Um, I don't know."
"You don't know?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"I don't know."
He looks me up and down and makes this disgusted face, as if I've offended him in some way.
It's only after I walk away, leaving him staring after me, that I realize he thought I worked there. I get dressed up and then someone assumes I'm a CVS employee. Makes no sense. I didn't know CVS employees dressed this good. *Patting myself on the back.
It's funny though, and I enjoy random things like that, so I'm laughing about it. Then, as I'm walking down the aisle, I hear this woman yelling - "excuse me, excuse me."
I keep walking and she keeps yelling.
"Excuse me!"
I turn around and she asks, "do you work here."
I'm still laughing from the last guy, so I just shake my head and say, "nah, I don't."
For a second she's apologetic, but as I find with "older" people, they don't really allow themselves to get embarrassed all that much.
Part of me wanted to see how many requests for help I could tally in that short visit, but it ended with two. Maybe it's because I tried acting like a customer from then on out, conspicuously holding up my Starbucks gift card so that people could see that I was buying something. I also ended up getting blank note cards that I wanna drop off at the apartments of the neighbors I've never seen. I find it odd that after living in my building for over a year, I've actually only seen the people on my floor 6, maybe 7 times. I know there's a Russian woman that lives in the corner, and then there's a Latino family that lives on the other end of the hall. At one point I think my next door neighbor was an older black gentleman, but either he died or moved, because I haven't seen him since the screaming incident (don't remember if I blogged about it since I can't find it in old posts, but basically, I once heard him screaming "help" from behind the walls and ended up calling the cops. Turns out he had fallen out of his wheelchair or something). And that's about it. So basically, I have like 7 apartments on my floor and I only vaguely know the residents in 2 of them (plus my own - I live there).
There's something wrong with that. Occasionally I'll hear the odd laughter or scurrying or sound of the trash chute being opened and closed (although all the trash always ends up on the floor of the compactor room which pisses me off). But I hardly ever see anybody. This is all in contrast to what it was like in college when people didn't even go back inside their rooms. I miss that socialness. It's kind of lonely when you just got yourself in your room and you don't even really know anybody in the building. I don't even see people in the laundry room.
I once gave my card to a nice older gentleman who worked at the UN and he was like - "yes, we will have lunch Mr. Ruvym Gilman" (he spoke like that because he was African). But then he never called. It kind of upset me since he seemed like a cool person to get to know in my building.
Anyway, so I got these blank note card (which, by the way, are very hard to find in general stores like CVS. I could always go to a Kate's Paperie or a Papyrus, but I'm not ready to invest $20 in cards to people I don't know), and now I'm going to write them all little notes and be like, "hi, I'm your neighbor. You don't know me, but I just wanted to tell you that I exist. Feel free to make me dinner or some cookies whenever you feel like it. My mom and my grandmother will thank you since they're convinced I have a really bad diet (I do). Thanks!"
Imagine. I might actually live next to interesting people, who might even have the potential to become friends. It's possible. Do I sound desperate? I'm really not, because I have plenty of good friends. It's just that it seems like I don't have any that actually live in Manhattan. And if they do live in Manhattan, than they don't have the time to hang out. Sooner or later, I'll be required to get married just by virtue of the fact there won't be anyone to hang out with.
I keed. I'll get married one day because I want to.
But my neighbors, I'm kind of excited about it. I'm extending an olive branch of communication to the faceless voices I hear in the hall. I wonder if they actually exist.
Monday, December 17, 2007
The Flicker
Today I'm loving candles. It was really getting that free menorah for Hanukkah that turned me on to them. I never actually lit my own candles until a week or so ago, and because I have a bunch left over, I just decided to light them tonight. I wonder if that's sacrilegious or something, lighting Hanukkah candles on non-Hanukkah days. I'm utilitarian about it - I like candles and I didn't use all of them, so why not give it a go?
There's a little something frightening about it, the way I have these flames dancing inside my room. On a few occasions I've put objects (see: plastic bags) uncomfortably close to them. That's really the last thing I need. As if these past few months haven't been shitty enough, burning down my room is not something I want to add to the list. Still, there's gotta be some primal essence that draws us to the look of a flame. This past Saturday, the house I was at had a fire place, and after dinner we lit it so we could roast some marshmallows indoors. I just sat and stared at the thing for near-on 30 minutes. It's always been like that for me. The three trips I've taken to Israel have all included a bonfire with music and hookah. I can think of few situations that are more inherently human than that. I mean, you combine fire with drums and guitar, talking and hookah smoke, and you really have some of the purest elements of human interaction.
It's things like that which make me miss Israel. Have I mentioned I'm looking for ways to go back there, yet again. Except this time I think I'm over the whole group trip thing. We shall see how exactly I get to play this out.
As for the whole fire-obsession, something tells me I won't be getting a fireplace any time soon, even if I do cut-and-run off to Brooklyn with a couple of friends. In the mean time, I might have to do some Amazon candle-shopping. I'm thinking a few of those big ones, that take weeks to burn out. I'm telling you, this whole candle thing is really relaxing me right now. Maybe this is what I've been missing in my life. Maybe I just need some candles and one of those alarm clocks that wakes you up with the sound of wind blowing through trees and water running in a stream. Maybe I'm running out of other ideas.
Either way, it's definitely a mood setter. Not that I'd be setting the mood for anyone other than myself, but even I deserve a sexy mood in my own room. Perhaps I can get a little collegiate and get myself some Christmas lights, Chinese lanterns, and silk pashminas to throw over lamps. Next time you see this place (even though practically no one has) it'll be the sexiest pad in the unnamed area sandwiched between Gramercy and Murray Hill that I call home. I like to call it "Bellevue" because it's next to the hospital. Now it doesn't get any more sexy than that.
There's a little something frightening about it, the way I have these flames dancing inside my room. On a few occasions I've put objects (see: plastic bags) uncomfortably close to them. That's really the last thing I need. As if these past few months haven't been shitty enough, burning down my room is not something I want to add to the list. Still, there's gotta be some primal essence that draws us to the look of a flame. This past Saturday, the house I was at had a fire place, and after dinner we lit it so we could roast some marshmallows indoors. I just sat and stared at the thing for near-on 30 minutes. It's always been like that for me. The three trips I've taken to Israel have all included a bonfire with music and hookah. I can think of few situations that are more inherently human than that. I mean, you combine fire with drums and guitar, talking and hookah smoke, and you really have some of the purest elements of human interaction.
It's things like that which make me miss Israel. Have I mentioned I'm looking for ways to go back there, yet again. Except this time I think I'm over the whole group trip thing. We shall see how exactly I get to play this out.
As for the whole fire-obsession, something tells me I won't be getting a fireplace any time soon, even if I do cut-and-run off to Brooklyn with a couple of friends. In the mean time, I might have to do some Amazon candle-shopping. I'm thinking a few of those big ones, that take weeks to burn out. I'm telling you, this whole candle thing is really relaxing me right now. Maybe this is what I've been missing in my life. Maybe I just need some candles and one of those alarm clocks that wakes you up with the sound of wind blowing through trees and water running in a stream. Maybe I'm running out of other ideas.
Either way, it's definitely a mood setter. Not that I'd be setting the mood for anyone other than myself, but even I deserve a sexy mood in my own room. Perhaps I can get a little collegiate and get myself some Christmas lights, Chinese lanterns, and silk pashminas to throw over lamps. Next time you see this place (even though practically no one has) it'll be the sexiest pad in the unnamed area sandwiched between Gramercy and Murray Hill that I call home. I like to call it "Bellevue" because it's next to the hospital. Now it doesn't get any more sexy than that.
The Weekends That Mean So Little, The Ones That Mean So Much
Seemed like everyone and their mom was having a holiday party this weekend. Makes sense, seeing as how Christmas is - sort of - next weekend and how New Years is - kind of - the weekend after that. I went to two pretty good ones on Saturday (on opposite sides of town - 18th and 1st early on, and then 165th and Fort Washington afterwards), but Friday I decided to take a spiritual breather and go for a real-deal Shabbat at a rabbi's house. I like doing that sort of thing every now and then, taking myself out of the "real world" so I can psychologically recharge. But these Shabbats are always a challenge for me. I have an inherent inability to shut down, to just sit back and relax. Shabbat, with its incessant eating and its hours upon hours of sleeping and napping, makes me uncomfortable. There's just too little going on. As I see it, I only have two weekend days to begin with, and I love to be able to write/have some coffee on Saturdays. Writing, however, is not allowed, and so it's like you're cutting out a whole day of doing something I care about. Sundays just aren't the same. I heard the argument that because you can't do these things on Saturday, you show up on Sunday being all crazy psyched about it and getting even more done than you otherwise would. Well, if this Sunday was any test, then that statement is wrong, because I was, in fact, exhausted and disinterested today, and didn't end up doing any writing.
Still, I find great value in the concept. Dissociating from the rest of the world is a nice thing. You take yourself out of the rat race and just try to chill. I can see myself really loving it if I had a family. It would give me a chance to spend time with them, to avoid all outside calling, distractions. I'd stay off the Internet, keep the TV off (even though I don't have one now), etc. But as for where I am in my life right now, I don't see as much benefit from all of it. Cutting myself off from all my friends for a day is not that cool. And because I'm not much of a party animal anyway, it's not like I need the Sabbath to help me stay in. Fact is, I end up missing out on a day of coffee and thinking. That's not such a bad thing. It's a spiritual experience for me that I can't see being replaced by sitting around and talking/eating all day. And in general I'm not much of an eater. I like to eat and jet. I like to eat standing up. And all this sitting around makes me feel like a blob. Great food, don't get me wrong, but I just need some room to breath.
Today is a significant day. Three months ago today, everything changed. Has it really been this long? Can I really call it "long"? Honestly, it feels like this is a different life, as if I'm a different person. It's sort of scary, thinking how a quarter of a year just flashes like that. I wonder what three months from now will look like. Will I be saying, "six months ago, everything changed"? Everything that has happened, everything that I feel now, I expected it all. It was the sort of situation where you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't. You make a decision and know that it's an awful decision, but the "you" that's making it seems to have little other choice. The "you" of today is a different person, a better person, thanks to that decision. He has learned from everything. But this growth wouldn't have been possible without that initial choice. Except now it's ironic. Because you want to do something with these new understandings, with these new conclusions, and yet there's nothing to be done. You have made them disappear, the people that meant something. So really, what value does it all have? Nothing. At least not now. Maybe one day. But not now.
Still, I find great value in the concept. Dissociating from the rest of the world is a nice thing. You take yourself out of the rat race and just try to chill. I can see myself really loving it if I had a family. It would give me a chance to spend time with them, to avoid all outside calling, distractions. I'd stay off the Internet, keep the TV off (even though I don't have one now), etc. But as for where I am in my life right now, I don't see as much benefit from all of it. Cutting myself off from all my friends for a day is not that cool. And because I'm not much of a party animal anyway, it's not like I need the Sabbath to help me stay in. Fact is, I end up missing out on a day of coffee and thinking. That's not such a bad thing. It's a spiritual experience for me that I can't see being replaced by sitting around and talking/eating all day. And in general I'm not much of an eater. I like to eat and jet. I like to eat standing up. And all this sitting around makes me feel like a blob. Great food, don't get me wrong, but I just need some room to breath.
Today is a significant day. Three months ago today, everything changed. Has it really been this long? Can I really call it "long"? Honestly, it feels like this is a different life, as if I'm a different person. It's sort of scary, thinking how a quarter of a year just flashes like that. I wonder what three months from now will look like. Will I be saying, "six months ago, everything changed"? Everything that has happened, everything that I feel now, I expected it all. It was the sort of situation where you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't. You make a decision and know that it's an awful decision, but the "you" that's making it seems to have little other choice. The "you" of today is a different person, a better person, thanks to that decision. He has learned from everything. But this growth wouldn't have been possible without that initial choice. Except now it's ironic. Because you want to do something with these new understandings, with these new conclusions, and yet there's nothing to be done. You have made them disappear, the people that meant something. So really, what value does it all have? Nothing. At least not now. Maybe one day. But not now.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Golden Globe Nominations
How could they? What the hell were they thinking? No "Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford?" They're our of their minds.
The Golden Globe Nominations came out today and "Jesse James" went practically unrepresented. Casey Affleck got a best-supporting nomination, but that's it. Meanwhile, here I am saying that it was, hands-down, the best movie I saw all year, and I've seen a lot of movies. Fine so most of the other nominees I haven't seen, and I'm particularly excited for "There Will be Blood" and Daniel Day Lewis being a bad ass. But even of the other movies that were nominated that I have seen, I gotta tell you, "Jesse" was better than "No Country for Old Men." Although I'm totally down with the Javier Bardem nomination. That role instantly made him one of the greatest villains in movie history. See it if you haven't. But the film as a whole was merely good, not great. "Jesse" was great. And Brad Pitt, let me tell you, amazing. Seriously. That guy should get more credit for his acting skills. I mean, yeah, he's in the news all the time because of his personal shit, and he's a pretty face, but the dude can act. Think about it - "Legends of the Fall," "Fight Club," "Seven," "12 Monkeys," "Seven Years in Tibet." Yes, that's a lot of movies with numbers, but he's great at what he does. This was defintiely his best though. Affleck was good too, but it was Pitt's movie.
I'm also not so thrilled about "Across the Universe" getting a "Best Comedy/Musical" nomination. I mean, it was probably expected given that it was the most high-profile musical of the year, but it wasn't that good of a movie.
Like I said, I'm holding out for "There Will be Blood." I'm guessing I'll love it, and if I do, that'll make it the second "period piece" from the year that I will love. Plus I'm already thinking about DDL's outfit from the film as a costume for Halloween 2008. Too much like this year's costume? We'll have to see.
The Golden Globe Nominations came out today and "Jesse James" went practically unrepresented. Casey Affleck got a best-supporting nomination, but that's it. Meanwhile, here I am saying that it was, hands-down, the best movie I saw all year, and I've seen a lot of movies. Fine so most of the other nominees I haven't seen, and I'm particularly excited for "There Will be Blood" and Daniel Day Lewis being a bad ass. But even of the other movies that were nominated that I have seen, I gotta tell you, "Jesse" was better than "No Country for Old Men." Although I'm totally down with the Javier Bardem nomination. That role instantly made him one of the greatest villains in movie history. See it if you haven't. But the film as a whole was merely good, not great. "Jesse" was great. And Brad Pitt, let me tell you, amazing. Seriously. That guy should get more credit for his acting skills. I mean, yeah, he's in the news all the time because of his personal shit, and he's a pretty face, but the dude can act. Think about it - "Legends of the Fall," "Fight Club," "Seven," "12 Monkeys," "Seven Years in Tibet." Yes, that's a lot of movies with numbers, but he's great at what he does. This was defintiely his best though. Affleck was good too, but it was Pitt's movie.
I'm also not so thrilled about "Across the Universe" getting a "Best Comedy/Musical" nomination. I mean, it was probably expected given that it was the most high-profile musical of the year, but it wasn't that good of a movie.
Like I said, I'm holding out for "There Will be Blood." I'm guessing I'll love it, and if I do, that'll make it the second "period piece" from the year that I will love. Plus I'm already thinking about DDL's outfit from the film as a costume for Halloween 2008. Too much like this year's costume? We'll have to see.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Sent
I had been contemplating it for months, and finally I decided it was what I had to do. So I wrote it, and then I sent it. And even now, with it waiting to be picked up tomorrow morning, I don't feel like I said everything I wanted to say. I don't feel as if I expressed myself very well. Perhaps in trying to say so much, I ended up saying very little. There's no way to know. Everything rests in the interpretation, regardless of the original intent.
And so that's how I see that life is just one big mess of people not understanding one another. I say something, but you don't hear my words, you hear the way that I said it, and suddenly what I meant is worthless, because you have absorbed only what you think I meant. It reminds me of a part from from "Prufrock:"
So, it would seem, the best you can hope for is that someone's misunderstanding of you is close enough to what you intended that it might not make a difference. How often does that happen? I always pride myself on being a good communicator, but honestly, I think I'm worthless at it when it comes to certain people and certain situations. When it matters most, I don't say the right things, or a clam up altogether. It's unreal how much of a coward I can be.
I'm still remembering that mailbox where I dropped it off. I felt compelled to find just the right one, so I passed a few and didn't approach them. Then I saw it on 13th and 5th, from a distance. But then as I got closer, I didn't know if it was some sort of joke mailbox. The thing was covered in spray paint. The Postal Service logos were peeling and partially ripped off. When you pulled down the drop flap, there was no posted schedule of pick-up times. I actually said "what the hell" out loud and looked around me, half-expecting that I was on some hidden camera show. I pushed it a little, to see if it was some art student project, seeing as how it's so close to the New School. Should I drop it in this thing? Does the Post Office actually take the mail from here? For whatever reason, it had felt like the right one, so I ended up sliding the letter in after all. I wonder if it's foreboding. I wonder if the shoddy nature of it all means something. It could just be an odd mailbox, nothing more. Or it could be the mess I've made of it all.
And so that's how I see that life is just one big mess of people not understanding one another. I say something, but you don't hear my words, you hear the way that I said it, and suddenly what I meant is worthless, because you have absorbed only what you think I meant. It reminds me of a part from from "Prufrock:"
| And would it have been worth it, after all, | |
| After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, | |
| Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, | |
| Would it have been worth while, | 90 |
| To have bitten off the matter with a smile, | |
| To have squeezed the universe into a ball | |
| To roll it toward some overwhelming question, | |
| To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, | |
| Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— | 95 |
| If one, settling a pillow by her head, | |
| Should say: “That is not what I meant at all. | |
| That is not it, at all.” | |
| And would it have been worth it, after all, | |
| Would it have been worth while, | 100 |
| After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, | |
| After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— | |
| And this, and so much more?— | |
| It is impossible to say just what I mean! | |
| But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: | 105 |
| Would it have been worth while | |
| If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, | |
| And turning toward the window, should say: | |
| “That is not it at all, | |
| That is not what I meant, at all.” . . . . . | 110 |
| No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; | |
| Am an attendant lord, one that will do | |
| To swell a progress, start a scene or two, | |
| Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, | |
| Deferential, glad to be of use, | 115 |
| Politic, cautious, and meticulous; | |
| Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; | |
| At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— | |
| Almost, at times, the Fool. |
So, it would seem, the best you can hope for is that someone's misunderstanding of you is close enough to what you intended that it might not make a difference. How often does that happen? I always pride myself on being a good communicator, but honestly, I think I'm worthless at it when it comes to certain people and certain situations. When it matters most, I don't say the right things, or a clam up altogether. It's unreal how much of a coward I can be.
I'm still remembering that mailbox where I dropped it off. I felt compelled to find just the right one, so I passed a few and didn't approach them. Then I saw it on 13th and 5th, from a distance. But then as I got closer, I didn't know if it was some sort of joke mailbox. The thing was covered in spray paint. The Postal Service logos were peeling and partially ripped off. When you pulled down the drop flap, there was no posted schedule of pick-up times. I actually said "what the hell" out loud and looked around me, half-expecting that I was on some hidden camera show. I pushed it a little, to see if it was some art student project, seeing as how it's so close to the New School. Should I drop it in this thing? Does the Post Office actually take the mail from here? For whatever reason, it had felt like the right one, so I ended up sliding the letter in after all. I wonder if it's foreboding. I wonder if the shoddy nature of it all means something. It could just be an odd mailbox, nothing more. Or it could be the mess I've made of it all.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Jericho, If I Forget You
I wanted to give a shout out to my alma mater, Jericho Senior High School, the place where I spent what amounts to 4 pretty damn good years of my life. Apparently, according to US News and World Report, Jericho is the 58th best high school in the nation (out of ~18,000 schools). Not too shabby, except that when I went to school there, before they did all these rankings, and when we still had a bunch of amazing veteran teachers there, we were under the impression that we were one of the Top 10 high schools in the nation. It could very well have been the case. I haven't been back in years, mostly because all the teachers I knew, or the vast majority of them, are long gone. Does it make you old when all your high school teachers are retired? What a weird feeling. Speaking of which, our 10 year reunion is coming up in a year and half! 2009. I still remember the 5-year. Damn.
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Recycled, The Accordion, The Silence
Lately, one major sentiment has kept popping up - everything is recycled. I've gone to the same places, been in the same situations, and seen the same people, and even though it's a new year, and new things are happening, it all just seems like that old show I've seen before, playing out on a new stage, where I know how it's all going to turn out. Don't get me wrong, it's not about my friends or the things we like to do. I have no problems with any of that. But then it's just like, take this Matisyahu concert I went to. I'm standing there, and I'm thinking, "damn, I went to the same concert a year ago." And then I look around and the same people from that concert are here now, a year later. Besides that there's also a bunch of people that I know from somewhere else who are also here. It's not one big happy family because I don't like seeing all these people. It's like high school, but not, because we're all grown-up and some of us have gotten real grown up so that I'm thinking, "aren't you a little too old to be kicking back vodka tonics with this crowd acting like you're hot shit and trying to pick up teenagers?" Yeah, these voices actually run through my head. At some point, doesn't it all jut get really boring. Redundant even. Isn't it redundant? When everybody known everybody else, there's just too much of old names popping up, too much of hearing about who's dating who and how, a year ago, you could have never imagined that they would get together. I really don't want to be anywhere near any of this, this incestuous circle that I, personally, have always sought to avoid. It makes me feel like I've been standing still, and that someone only stripped away the best things. Now I'm left with the recycled bits and pieces, but only the ones I don't want. I need to leave. More than anything, I feel like I just need to leave.
And all these lives seem so small to me. And it's kind of sad.
But then you stand in the subway at Union Sq., buzzed off the shots of rum you had alone before heading out for the night, and some guy is playing "Dark Eyes" on an accordion. It's like out of a movie, "Amelie" or something. And "Dark Eyes" is just so soulful, it's a Russian folk song that I learned to play on the piano when I was 15. The notes bend and twist and rise and you know that no one else is getting it like you're getting it. To them it's just a guy on an accordion, but it's not. You don't have any singles to drop him, which makes you feel bad. It happens, what can you do? You lean in against the tiles and peek around the corner at him. He smiles at you, half-expecting that tip which you don't have. You dig around in your pockets magically hoping that somehow, something will turn up. It doesn't. He isn't playing for anyone other than you, and you have nothing to give him. It's sort of like love. Sometimes. The times when you're ashamed and you just walk away because you don't know what else to do. You're a fool. The subway comes and all you can do is say "thank you" in Russian and hope that this will be enough, that these parting words that connect you more than any dropped dollar from a foreign hand will be your redemption.
I don't call because I don't know what to say. I didn't always avoid conversation like this, but somewhere along the way the words that are spoken became scarier to me than the ones unsaid. My dad says, "you were always scared of everything as a little boy." I guess not much has changed.
And all these lives seem so small to me. And it's kind of sad.
But then you stand in the subway at Union Sq., buzzed off the shots of rum you had alone before heading out for the night, and some guy is playing "Dark Eyes" on an accordion. It's like out of a movie, "Amelie" or something. And "Dark Eyes" is just so soulful, it's a Russian folk song that I learned to play on the piano when I was 15. The notes bend and twist and rise and you know that no one else is getting it like you're getting it. To them it's just a guy on an accordion, but it's not. You don't have any singles to drop him, which makes you feel bad. It happens, what can you do? You lean in against the tiles and peek around the corner at him. He smiles at you, half-expecting that tip which you don't have. You dig around in your pockets magically hoping that somehow, something will turn up. It doesn't. He isn't playing for anyone other than you, and you have nothing to give him. It's sort of like love. Sometimes. The times when you're ashamed and you just walk away because you don't know what else to do. You're a fool. The subway comes and all you can do is say "thank you" in Russian and hope that this will be enough, that these parting words that connect you more than any dropped dollar from a foreign hand will be your redemption.
I don't call because I don't know what to say. I didn't always avoid conversation like this, but somewhere along the way the words that are spoken became scarier to me than the ones unsaid. My dad says, "you were always scared of everything as a little boy." I guess not much has changed.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Kosha Boy
Thanks to Todd for finding this. Thing is, I hate Soulja Boy, which is why I love this so much:
Tortured
Walking towards the L train after the 4th Matisyahu concert of my life, my friend says to me:
"You're very tortured."
"What?"
"You, you're tortured. That's how I would describe you as a person."
"I come off as someone who's tortured?"
I have to be honest, as soon as he said it, the word really worked for me. What's up with that? It's as if I thought "this is where I need to be right now." Actually, it's kind of sad that my friends should see me as tortured. Yeah, I share, but the last thing I want to do is become "that guy" that's just depressive and annoying to be around. I don't think I'm there yet but I might be digging deeper everyday. Still, he tells me:
"Although, I have to say, I think I like it."
He likes it because some people like to listen to the ragging mess of crap I have going through my mind on a daily basis. Another friend tells me I'm a very cognitive/cerebral person and that I break everything down to try to understand it. Basically, this is a nice way of saying that I'm rational to a fault, and therefore, emotionally cold. I don't know if he's right, but he's not wrong. I have just become a mass of hyper-analyzing. I don't reach any conclusions or form any new understandings. Rather I just play out the same set of facts in my head and try to rearrange them with nuance, I try to change the endings. You like how I just invented that word, don't you? Hyper-analyzing. That's me.
So at this concert, I'm just remembering how I went last year, on 12/19. I know this because I got a glow-in-the-dark bracelet that at one point used to say "Matisyahu - 12/19/2006." Then it got worn off and now it's just a blank bracelet. I haven't taken it off all this time. And of course, it wouldn't be a complete sentence if I didn't also say that going to see the same guy performing almost a year later, also during Hanukkah, reminded me of what was going on in my life then, and what's going on in my life now. Compare and contrast, pro and con. And this is how I find myself being described as tortured. Although lets be honest, it is way too intense of a word. I've gotta be one cocky bastard if I think that it actually applies to me. I don't. I didn't say it. My friend did.
Really, I'm not tortured. Not by any means. Yes, I'm a bit confused. A bit, what's the word? Befuddled. I am befuddled. Is that so bad? At 25 (almost 26, oh Lord), don't I have a right to be as befuddled as I want? Not that I want to be, but you know what I mean. I just think there's a greater allowance for it at this age. I'm in my "I don't know what the hell is going on with me, I'm just trying to figure shit out" phase. Problem is, I feel like I've been here for a really long time. What's really long? Hard to say, but its been a while. And you know what? It's not too hot. I don't really like it. And yes, it's so displeasing to me that I'm making subconscious cringing faces as I type it. Cringe, cringe. Cringe. I've been told that I do that when I get into what I'm typing. Is that endearing? Is it less endearing when I point it out like that? I'm really not endearing, not in the least. Just ask anybody who's had to deal with me on a serious emotional level. I'm disgruntled and difficult and opinionated and immature and confusing and not endearing. Seriously, if I'm here a year from now, someone, please, just slap me and tell me to stop being such a neurotic mess.
"You're very tortured."
"What?"
"You, you're tortured. That's how I would describe you as a person."
"I come off as someone who's tortured?"
I have to be honest, as soon as he said it, the word really worked for me. What's up with that? It's as if I thought "this is where I need to be right now." Actually, it's kind of sad that my friends should see me as tortured. Yeah, I share, but the last thing I want to do is become "that guy" that's just depressive and annoying to be around. I don't think I'm there yet but I might be digging deeper everyday. Still, he tells me:
"Although, I have to say, I think I like it."
He likes it because some people like to listen to the ragging mess of crap I have going through my mind on a daily basis. Another friend tells me I'm a very cognitive/cerebral person and that I break everything down to try to understand it. Basically, this is a nice way of saying that I'm rational to a fault, and therefore, emotionally cold. I don't know if he's right, but he's not wrong. I have just become a mass of hyper-analyzing. I don't reach any conclusions or form any new understandings. Rather I just play out the same set of facts in my head and try to rearrange them with nuance, I try to change the endings. You like how I just invented that word, don't you? Hyper-analyzing. That's me.
So at this concert, I'm just remembering how I went last year, on 12/19. I know this because I got a glow-in-the-dark bracelet that at one point used to say "Matisyahu - 12/19/2006." Then it got worn off and now it's just a blank bracelet. I haven't taken it off all this time. And of course, it wouldn't be a complete sentence if I didn't also say that going to see the same guy performing almost a year later, also during Hanukkah, reminded me of what was going on in my life then, and what's going on in my life now. Compare and contrast, pro and con. And this is how I find myself being described as tortured. Although lets be honest, it is way too intense of a word. I've gotta be one cocky bastard if I think that it actually applies to me. I don't. I didn't say it. My friend did.
Really, I'm not tortured. Not by any means. Yes, I'm a bit confused. A bit, what's the word? Befuddled. I am befuddled. Is that so bad? At 25 (almost 26, oh Lord), don't I have a right to be as befuddled as I want? Not that I want to be, but you know what I mean. I just think there's a greater allowance for it at this age. I'm in my "I don't know what the hell is going on with me, I'm just trying to figure shit out" phase. Problem is, I feel like I've been here for a really long time. What's really long? Hard to say, but its been a while. And you know what? It's not too hot. I don't really like it. And yes, it's so displeasing to me that I'm making subconscious cringing faces as I type it. Cringe, cringe. Cringe. I've been told that I do that when I get into what I'm typing. Is that endearing? Is it less endearing when I point it out like that? I'm really not endearing, not in the least. Just ask anybody who's had to deal with me on a serious emotional level. I'm disgruntled and difficult and opinionated and immature and confusing and not endearing. Seriously, if I'm here a year from now, someone, please, just slap me and tell me to stop being such a neurotic mess.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
The Clouds in the Distance & Hanukkah
There was negative energy yesterday. From the moment I got out of bed I felt that the day would turn out badly. I try to bury all that under a nice big cup of iced coffee and waking up at 6:30 so I have time to do "my stuff" in the morning. "My stuff," in the last couple of weeks, has become studying Hebrew and writing. The writing part has always been there (the type of writing I do varies depending on my mood), but the studying Hebrew has become consistent of late. That makes me happy. Thanks to these mornings, I've now learned to say 1-1000 (with major gaps for complicated ones like 101-999) and "I want." What else do you really need?
But still the negativity lingered. Crappy stuff was going to go down, I knew it. That's when, standing around, I noticed the clouds rolling over the East River into Hudson, colliding with the ground and being tossed back into the air, pillars exploding upwards. It was a passing storm, the type we get a lot of this time of year. Cold air masses coming down from Canada colliding with warmer air filtering in from the Gulf. I know this because I am a Weather Channel junkie. It was standing there, watching it, that I got reminded of how much is actually going on in the world outside my little life. This is not me trying to be all existential; it's not about that. It's just that so often I let myself get upset or nervous about something that happens. But the reality is that it's all so relatively insignificant in the scope of things, even in the scope of my own life.
Don't sweat the small stuff. And really, most of it is small stuff. I'm trying to make that my mantra but it's not always easy. Fine, it's never easy. We kind of need a good kick in the ass every now and then.
The day creeped along and I still couldn't shake everything I was feeling. So, seeing as how it was the first day of Hanukkah (or Chanukah or however you spell it), I decided that I would go to see the lighting of the first candle in Central Park, home of the "world's biggest menorah." No joke. Maybe it was me just wanting to connect to something bigger than myself. I don't have many fond Hanukkah memories, but last year's holiday was special. It was the first time I spent it with a family (not my own) that did it properly, that lit the candles and said the prayers and made the sufganiyot. It makes me sad to think this Hanukkah won't be anything like that one.
And it was cold. Damn cold. I had this new coat on that I just got on Sunday, and it's supposed to be my super-ridiculously-warm-winter-coat, but I was still cold. Then because we were running on Jewish time, the 5:30 start was pushed back, not terribly, but enough that my toes got numb despite my argyle socks.
It was really nice, hearing the songs playing on the loud speaker, spreading out across Central Park. Schumer was there to light it and his speech was, thankfully, very short. I can't even imagine what it must have been like up on that cherry picker. I left feeling energized. It was what I needed.
I made all of these plans to light my own menorah at home, but when I finally got back late in the evening, I just didn't do it. There's something about the ritual of the lighting that doesn't seem as valuable when you're just doing it alone. The candles, the flame, it's supposed to be a visible thing, it's supposed to be shared. But seeing as how I also live on the 10th floor and face an internal courtyard, it's not like I could even put it in my window and have people on the street see it.
One more nice Hanukkah memory. Two years ago I spent it in Israel. Someone told me, "oh, you have to go around Jerusalem and see all the menorahs outside the homes, lined up in those small alleyways." And I did, and I still remember it, and I still remember the person who told me to do it.
So, look out for your clouds in the distance, and Happy Hanukkah.
PS - Check out Kitty's blog. She was generous enough to write a whole post about my writing. I have to say, she's got some pretty interesting stuff herself. I liked this one a lot. It's awesome when people write about their dating/relationship experiences. I don't do it myself, at least not explicitly, but it's always fun to read this sort of stuff. I think I'm adding a permanent link to her site.
But still the negativity lingered. Crappy stuff was going to go down, I knew it. That's when, standing around, I noticed the clouds rolling over the East River into Hudson, colliding with the ground and being tossed back into the air, pillars exploding upwards. It was a passing storm, the type we get a lot of this time of year. Cold air masses coming down from Canada colliding with warmer air filtering in from the Gulf. I know this because I am a Weather Channel junkie. It was standing there, watching it, that I got reminded of how much is actually going on in the world outside my little life. This is not me trying to be all existential; it's not about that. It's just that so often I let myself get upset or nervous about something that happens. But the reality is that it's all so relatively insignificant in the scope of things, even in the scope of my own life.
Don't sweat the small stuff. And really, most of it is small stuff. I'm trying to make that my mantra but it's not always easy. Fine, it's never easy. We kind of need a good kick in the ass every now and then.
The day creeped along and I still couldn't shake everything I was feeling. So, seeing as how it was the first day of Hanukkah (or Chanukah or however you spell it), I decided that I would go to see the lighting of the first candle in Central Park, home of the "world's biggest menorah." No joke. Maybe it was me just wanting to connect to something bigger than myself. I don't have many fond Hanukkah memories, but last year's holiday was special. It was the first time I spent it with a family (not my own) that did it properly, that lit the candles and said the prayers and made the sufganiyot. It makes me sad to think this Hanukkah won't be anything like that one.
And it was cold. Damn cold. I had this new coat on that I just got on Sunday, and it's supposed to be my super-ridiculously-warm-winter-coat, but I was still cold. Then because we were running on Jewish time, the 5:30 start was pushed back, not terribly, but enough that my toes got numb despite my argyle socks.
It was really nice, hearing the songs playing on the loud speaker, spreading out across Central Park. Schumer was there to light it and his speech was, thankfully, very short. I can't even imagine what it must have been like up on that cherry picker. I left feeling energized. It was what I needed.
I made all of these plans to light my own menorah at home, but when I finally got back late in the evening, I just didn't do it. There's something about the ritual of the lighting that doesn't seem as valuable when you're just doing it alone. The candles, the flame, it's supposed to be a visible thing, it's supposed to be shared. But seeing as how I also live on the 10th floor and face an internal courtyard, it's not like I could even put it in my window and have people on the street see it.
One more nice Hanukkah memory. Two years ago I spent it in Israel. Someone told me, "oh, you have to go around Jerusalem and see all the menorahs outside the homes, lined up in those small alleyways." And I did, and I still remember it, and I still remember the person who told me to do it.
So, look out for your clouds in the distance, and Happy Hanukkah.
PS - Check out Kitty's blog. She was generous enough to write a whole post about my writing. I have to say, she's got some pretty interesting stuff herself. I liked this one a lot. It's awesome when people write about their dating/relationship experiences. I don't do it myself, at least not explicitly, but it's always fun to read this sort of stuff. I think I'm adding a permanent link to her site.
Monday, December 03, 2007
I Find It Problematic
Starbucks has these seasonal sugar cookies that I'm obsessed with. I remember them best from my summer studying for the Bar when I'd camp out for up to 8 hours at one Starbucks and treat myself by buying the flower-shaped sugar cookie that they had at the time (in two different colors, if I remember correctly). During the fall, they were shaped like leaves. Then during the winter of 2006, nothing was better than a gingerbread latte and snowman cookie. I don't really remember seeing them for close to a year, that is, up until the last week. Now, they have them shaped like penguins. After seeing "Surf's Up," I've decided that penguins are pretty cool. I thought this before the movie, but the movie sort of put them on this whole new level for me. Now they're maybe one of my Top 10 animals. Maybe Top 5, it's hard to say.
I find it problematic that I went to three different Starbucks today in a failed attempt to find myself a penguin.
I find it problematic that I went to three different Starbucks today in a failed attempt to find myself a penguin.
Sunday, December 02, 2007
My Day
I woke up this morning with a chill in the room. You turn off your radiators and eventually the wind from outside that wafts in through the AC vents overwhelms the body heat that keeps your room warm. It's 65 degrees and walking around barefoot on wooden floors dressed in a tank top and boxers doesn't go over so well.
I have made promises to run on Sunday mornings. I have skipped 3 Sundays in a row (I blame laziness and Thanksgiving). I find that the snow cover outside is tempting me. I'm thinking it wouldn't be a big deal if we made it 4 Sundays in a row. But then again, there's something pure about it. I imagine Central Park nearly empty, and the idea of being alone with just the wind and the runny nose, pumps me up. (Check out this opening scene from "Birth" - the run was sort of like that, minus the dying and the being born).
Did I mention I don't actually run alone? I meet up with a friend named Ariel who's not the same Ariel that I usually mention. What are the chances that I would have two Ariel's in my life? Because things come in threes, I'm still waiting for that last one. Then again, there was a girl my brother's age who used to live in our neighborhood in Long Island. Her name is Ariel. I wonder if that counts? Also, the first Ariel, the one that I'm usually referring to (and I say first because I met him before I met Ariel II), has sort of asked people to start calling him Ari. So now he's more Ari than he is Ariel, but technically he's also still Ariel. I call him both.
Ariel II is a fun running partner. He listens well (because we talk when we run, because otherwise it would be pretty boring) and has interesting things to relate. He tells me I run fast, but I don't necessarily think that this is true. Still, sometimes I wonder whether the simple act of telling me I run fast, actually makes me run faster, and, in turn, makes me believe that I am indeed running fast. That reminds me of a line I heard in the movie I watched tonight (to be recounted later). In one clip the narrator says, "by acting like a man in love, he became a man in love." Do and then you shall feel. There's biblical weight in this idea.
Hot showers are nice, especially after cold runs. I stand around in it with my eyes closed. My fingers get unnecessarily pruny and maybe I've been in there for too long. The shower radio is on but I don't hear the music. My conditioner really makes my hair tingle. I inhale deeply.
Eventually I go to see a Tisch student-produced show. It's about lots and lots of gay stuff. It's a "reenvisioning" of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" where the woods represent some dirty gay hangout where everyone has sex with each other and the characters don't want the woods destroyed because they "feel" something there, it's about who they are. It doesn't help that the town next to the woods is called "Normal." I roll my eyes. I roll my eyes deeply.
I come back and make myself one of my two signature dishes - whole wheat pasta with tomato sauce and canned tuna. Trust me, the canned tuna element gives the sauce a meaty consistency. I have been making this dish since junior year, which means I have been making this dish for 5 years. It still tastes as good as it did back then. I make promises to cook "real" meals, but I refuse to cook if I'm going to be the only one eating it, and as life should have it, these days I would be the only one eating it. I kind of look forward to a time when I'll allow myself to cook.
I rented "Paris, Je T'aime" which I've heard is great but which I'm hesitant about because Sunday nights depress me and Sunday nights with a movie about love stories is liable to depress me a bit more. But I bite my lower lip and press play. And yes I get sad, and yes, sometimes I cry, but it's really great. And other than my complete inability to spell "Je T'aime" from memory, no matter how many times I've reminded myself by glancing at the DVD box, I have no complaints about the film. Natalie Portman was in the segment that I think was my favorite. I don't think I've ever noticed how small she is. I'm still in love with her, so it's fitting that she should be in a movie about love. I wonder whether, if she knew I used to bike by her house on a near-regular basis, she would think I was creepy or would be in love with me too. I wonder whether I'll ever be able to say "in love" in a non-sarcastic way.
The night makes the room colder and I'm still not convinced that turning my heat back on is the way to go. Now I'm better equipped thanks to this long-sleeve t-shirt and NYU sweatpants I have on. The comforter on my bed will make me all sweaty. This can't be avoided, no matter how little I wear or how cold it actually is in the room. There's something beautiful in that consistency. I guess it's not so bad after all.
I have made promises to run on Sunday mornings. I have skipped 3 Sundays in a row (I blame laziness and Thanksgiving). I find that the snow cover outside is tempting me. I'm thinking it wouldn't be a big deal if we made it 4 Sundays in a row. But then again, there's something pure about it. I imagine Central Park nearly empty, and the idea of being alone with just the wind and the runny nose, pumps me up. (Check out this opening scene from "Birth" - the run was sort of like that, minus the dying and the being born).
Did I mention I don't actually run alone? I meet up with a friend named Ariel who's not the same Ariel that I usually mention. What are the chances that I would have two Ariel's in my life? Because things come in threes, I'm still waiting for that last one. Then again, there was a girl my brother's age who used to live in our neighborhood in Long Island. Her name is Ariel. I wonder if that counts? Also, the first Ariel, the one that I'm usually referring to (and I say first because I met him before I met Ariel II), has sort of asked people to start calling him Ari. So now he's more Ari than he is Ariel, but technically he's also still Ariel. I call him both.
Ariel II is a fun running partner. He listens well (because we talk when we run, because otherwise it would be pretty boring) and has interesting things to relate. He tells me I run fast, but I don't necessarily think that this is true. Still, sometimes I wonder whether the simple act of telling me I run fast, actually makes me run faster, and, in turn, makes me believe that I am indeed running fast. That reminds me of a line I heard in the movie I watched tonight (to be recounted later). In one clip the narrator says, "by acting like a man in love, he became a man in love." Do and then you shall feel. There's biblical weight in this idea.
Hot showers are nice, especially after cold runs. I stand around in it with my eyes closed. My fingers get unnecessarily pruny and maybe I've been in there for too long. The shower radio is on but I don't hear the music. My conditioner really makes my hair tingle. I inhale deeply.
Eventually I go to see a Tisch student-produced show. It's about lots and lots of gay stuff. It's a "reenvisioning" of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" where the woods represent some dirty gay hangout where everyone has sex with each other and the characters don't want the woods destroyed because they "feel" something there, it's about who they are. It doesn't help that the town next to the woods is called "Normal." I roll my eyes. I roll my eyes deeply.
I come back and make myself one of my two signature dishes - whole wheat pasta with tomato sauce and canned tuna. Trust me, the canned tuna element gives the sauce a meaty consistency. I have been making this dish since junior year, which means I have been making this dish for 5 years. It still tastes as good as it did back then. I make promises to cook "real" meals, but I refuse to cook if I'm going to be the only one eating it, and as life should have it, these days I would be the only one eating it. I kind of look forward to a time when I'll allow myself to cook.
I rented "Paris, Je T'aime" which I've heard is great but which I'm hesitant about because Sunday nights depress me and Sunday nights with a movie about love stories is liable to depress me a bit more. But I bite my lower lip and press play. And yes I get sad, and yes, sometimes I cry, but it's really great. And other than my complete inability to spell "Je T'aime" from memory, no matter how many times I've reminded myself by glancing at the DVD box, I have no complaints about the film. Natalie Portman was in the segment that I think was my favorite. I don't think I've ever noticed how small she is. I'm still in love with her, so it's fitting that she should be in a movie about love. I wonder whether, if she knew I used to bike by her house on a near-regular basis, she would think I was creepy or would be in love with me too. I wonder whether I'll ever be able to say "in love" in a non-sarcastic way.
The night makes the room colder and I'm still not convinced that turning my heat back on is the way to go. Now I'm better equipped thanks to this long-sleeve t-shirt and NYU sweatpants I have on. The comforter on my bed will make me all sweaty. This can't be avoided, no matter how little I wear or how cold it actually is in the room. There's something beautiful in that consistency. I guess it's not so bad after all.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Single Percent
"In the two years since he and I broke up, I've dated a few people for a month or two at a time and I was quite faithful for the allotted period and therefore not exactly single. But I had no eye toward the future and I admit I was loyal out of exhaustion, not love, so that has to count off a bit. And then last month, after all of autumn without any electric glances at anyone, I went off the pill and began to rent movies from the library. And now, the way you ask, after I haven't seen you in, oh, seven years, am I still single, makes my solitude stretch across a gap I had thought was not empty. But perhaps it was. It certainly is now."
-Deb Olin Unferth, "Single Percent," from "Minor Robberies," part of a three-book set entitled "One Hundred and Forty-Five Stories in a Small Box."
-Deb Olin Unferth, "Single Percent," from "Minor Robberies," part of a three-book set entitled "One Hundred and Forty-Five Stories in a Small Box."
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