Anticipation. Blissful anticipation. The feeling once remembered as the night before Christmas. Of waking up every 15 minutes and checking to see if Santa came yet, but alas…we anticipate. It’s the feeling of thinking about something and planning for something and waiting for something and dreaming of something and feeling nervous about something going horribly wrong like in that one nightmare where you slept through it only to watch the bus drive away with you standing on a lonely street corner with a comical look on your face as if your insides had been kicked out. It’s such a good feeling it’s almost painful. And as it approaches, the anticipation heightens…the breathing deepens…the adrenalin rushes through your veins until it entirely consumes you. You can’t focus or function properly because you know…..you, know that in a short time…now a very short time, she will be there. She will be there and when she is everything will be okay. Nothing matters anymore at that point. Nothing but that moment. It is the ultimate in carpe diem, carpe noctem, then carpe diem all over again. There is only the distant worry…the OTHER kind of anticipation. The knowledge that it will end…as all good things do, so they say. And yet even as I know the sadness that will come is but transient, it comes as little consolation as the antibliss of that antiblissful anticipation slowly creeps up on you. Suppression is seemingly one’s only recourse and we must! I must. For I cannot bear to miss a single moment of what I have when I have it because I can remember before when I didn’t have it and I foresee the future when I will have it not once more and I know, as much as anyone can know, the all I can do, as limited as I then seem to be, is live. Live in that moment. Because love wins. It doesn’t always. No. thanks for that by the way. But it can and it should, this I believe I am smart enough to know now as I knew then. It’s just as the child and his love of Santa Clause and Christmas. It isn’t just a love of presents but a love of such a happiness that is experienced by all on such a joyous occasion as Christmas. Similarly it isn’t simply a love of a person, it’s a love of love. That feeling and connection and passion that trumps all other emotions carries with it the ability to love harder and feel stronger and be better than you knew you could. It allows for an interplay between two people that is by all accounts read and experienced absolutely unparalleled in our world and within our human capacity. What am I babbling about? It’s not rhetorical. I don’t entirely know. A cursory look back over the words on this page scream of starving artists rambling to whomever will listen on a some sunny street-corner in SoCal. And yet, I don’t care. Maybe those artists are on to something. Maybe what they lack financially they more than make up for in wisdom and happiness and understanding that many if not all take for granted…what the ancient Greeks would call eudaimonia. But what do I know? I’m just a guy sitting in an office basking in the blissful anticipation that is now filling the room, leaving no space left for anything else, subtly effecting everything it touches until it becomes too much, too much for anyone to handle but it’s okay because at that point, at that exact moment at which one has waited and waited and cannot wait any longer…the wait will be over. The anticipation will be paused, if only momentarily, if only to resume again after a short commercial break. But in the mean time, all will be well.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Relaps
I find myself here again. Here again. Again. Why? It would seem, to any reasonable, logical person, that of which I often claim to be, that time heals all wounds. A man smarter than I once said that you know; and clichés are supposed to be true right? If it weren’t my sad, pathetic excuse for a nostalgic love-life it might be funny really. A smell, a song, a road I haven’t driven on in a while brings me right back to years and years ago when pain was my only link—my only safety tether secured by a cheap 39 cent plastic carabineer—to her. And now it seems so stupid, so 7th grade, so tight-jeans-and-eyeliner of me to still be writing, thinking, shit basically a whole album worth of music was released in tribute to what turned out to be one self-centered User. Am I over it? Am I over her? Ya. I’ve moved on (more convincing myself). I’ve dated lots of other women. I allow myself the possibility every day to be awestruck by a member of a gender that experience has shown me to not always be the nicest when playing the cat’s cradle heartstring edition. And yet, here I is. This time it was a park. A place we used to frequent.
As I drove around the windy parking lot slowing frequently for the plethora of unnecessary speed bumps listening to a radio station whose name hits a little too close to home for my comfort on this day a song I used to know comes through my speakers. It was a song from a band we used to listen to, the words to which seemed to stream through my brain and out my mouth at the very instant they were sung…no verse remembered but to the moment it was to resonate through my car. The sounds mixed with the sight of that old park mixed with the highlight reel of our time together now playing in my head causes a golf ball-sized knot to form just below where I would imagine my stomach is. A smile flashes across my face as a fleeting happy memory hightails it from one ear clear through to the other and…and…now it’s got me. After four some-odd years of relative ‘sobriety’ I relapse. I’m told from AA that it’s “part of the process” and yet that offers me little consolation on my drive home.
I am now basking in it, figuring I might as well enjoy the misery while it lasts; it is, after all, the only connection I have left. A friend pointed out recently that I hold on to loathing her very existence as a way of keeping the connection open and the ‘relationship’ alive. I disagreed on principle at the time, but he’s probably right, as usual, always right, I hate him. And now I'm back to that ever-familiar feeling of almost-nausea I have come to associate with love. Optimism is such the ignorant man’s sport, the luxury of those who are already happy. Ha. That’s not even a little bit true. I’ve seen the impoverished happier than the wealthy more times than I can count. Yet it’s still hard to tell myself that my time will come when there really is no proof of that at all. Statistically most people get married and at least claim to be in love at the time so I guess, looking at the numbers, there is hope. But any statistician will tell you that one cannot extrapolate a statistic to an individual case, of which I am. So I'm back to realism…which is simply cynicism in disguise (and not a very good one either). And nothing seems to help. One would assume that venting it would help. Or maybe suppressing it. Maybe just a fake-it-‘til-you-make-it method will do the trick. Sorry folks, no such luck. I've tied them all. It’s just a waiting game now, now, now on this ridiculously long drive home, which seems much longer than the drive there, I find myself sitting in my car, engine idling, behind a grocery store where once-upon-a-time-ago we spray painted our initials in black and pink behind a dumpster. As I stare blankly at the faded lettering of our less-than delinquent youth wondering how I got there (and how frightening it is that I drove my car so absentmindedly as to not remember driving it) I am caught by the sharp sting of my best friend inside my head giving me a look of disapproval that could make a Jewish mother proud. Rubbing my bruised ego (which, oddly enough, is located on my left shoulder for some reason) I put my foot firmly on the gas and zoom-zoom off down the road allowing the roaring breeze from all the open windows to hit me square in the face, through my hair, and out the back of the car hopefully taking with it the stench of pathetic I accumulated over the last few minutes. As the electric guitars, base, and drums of the new rock n’ roll song I like fills my car there seems to be no room left in the cabin for nostalgia. I smile. I smile for real this time because I know I have survived an attack, not of panic but of reminiscence, and, though there will be more as I am not the strong shell I pretend to be, here’s to the thought that better days are still to come…how, with whom, and when are still sadly, irritatingly, tangibly yet to be seen.
As I drove around the windy parking lot slowing frequently for the plethora of unnecessary speed bumps listening to a radio station whose name hits a little too close to home for my comfort on this day a song I used to know comes through my speakers. It was a song from a band we used to listen to, the words to which seemed to stream through my brain and out my mouth at the very instant they were sung…no verse remembered but to the moment it was to resonate through my car. The sounds mixed with the sight of that old park mixed with the highlight reel of our time together now playing in my head causes a golf ball-sized knot to form just below where I would imagine my stomach is. A smile flashes across my face as a fleeting happy memory hightails it from one ear clear through to the other and…and…now it’s got me. After four some-odd years of relative ‘sobriety’ I relapse. I’m told from AA that it’s “part of the process” and yet that offers me little consolation on my drive home.
I am now basking in it, figuring I might as well enjoy the misery while it lasts; it is, after all, the only connection I have left. A friend pointed out recently that I hold on to loathing her very existence as a way of keeping the connection open and the ‘relationship’ alive. I disagreed on principle at the time, but he’s probably right, as usual, always right, I hate him. And now I'm back to that ever-familiar feeling of almost-nausea I have come to associate with love. Optimism is such the ignorant man’s sport, the luxury of those who are already happy. Ha. That’s not even a little bit true. I’ve seen the impoverished happier than the wealthy more times than I can count. Yet it’s still hard to tell myself that my time will come when there really is no proof of that at all. Statistically most people get married and at least claim to be in love at the time so I guess, looking at the numbers, there is hope. But any statistician will tell you that one cannot extrapolate a statistic to an individual case, of which I am. So I'm back to realism…which is simply cynicism in disguise (and not a very good one either). And nothing seems to help. One would assume that venting it would help. Or maybe suppressing it. Maybe just a fake-it-‘til-you-make-it method will do the trick. Sorry folks, no such luck. I've tied them all. It’s just a waiting game now, now, now on this ridiculously long drive home, which seems much longer than the drive there, I find myself sitting in my car, engine idling, behind a grocery store where once-upon-a-time-ago we spray painted our initials in black and pink behind a dumpster. As I stare blankly at the faded lettering of our less-than delinquent youth wondering how I got there (and how frightening it is that I drove my car so absentmindedly as to not remember driving it) I am caught by the sharp sting of my best friend inside my head giving me a look of disapproval that could make a Jewish mother proud. Rubbing my bruised ego (which, oddly enough, is located on my left shoulder for some reason) I put my foot firmly on the gas and zoom-zoom off down the road allowing the roaring breeze from all the open windows to hit me square in the face, through my hair, and out the back of the car hopefully taking with it the stench of pathetic I accumulated over the last few minutes. As the electric guitars, base, and drums of the new rock n’ roll song I like fills my car there seems to be no room left in the cabin for nostalgia. I smile. I smile for real this time because I know I have survived an attack, not of panic but of reminiscence, and, though there will be more as I am not the strong shell I pretend to be, here’s to the thought that better days are still to come…how, with whom, and when are still sadly, irritatingly, tangibly yet to be seen.
Monday, February 22, 2010
What Love Is; An Essay on the Logic of Love
Love can best be described as a folder; a filing folder that is kept throughout the entirety of everyone’s life. While not everyone is capable of love, for the sake of argument we’ll say that everyone on earth has a folder. Much like when starting some home improvement project, little clippings of things get placed into the folder so that when it comes time to start building, we know the things that we like. This folder is begun at birth and from that point forward is never empty again. That is to say, from the day we are born we never go into a relationship with a completely blank slate. We begin placing little tidbits of things into the folder right from the beginning. These “tidbits” are really more like qualities, feelings, emotions, and other characteristics that have been experienced throughout life and make up one’s idea about what love is. Sometimes these characteristics aren’t even so much thing liked as things not liked. That is to say it is possible to have a relationship or interaction and decide that the trait experienced is definitely not one that will be included in the overall picture of what love is, thusly, a tidbit of what not to do is placed in the folder. Interestingly, though unexpectedly, this folder is subject to change (though rarely ever radical change) throughout the course of life. Things are always being added and taken out of the folder. Every time a new person enters one’s life or a new situation arises involving human interaction we decided that we like or dislike what has happened, decide why we liked or disliked it, and then stow that little “tidbit” away in the folder.
The question then arises, when is the folder complete? At any given moment the folder is complete. To go back to the analogy, any time the contractor is ready to start building there is a folder full of clippings to pull out which, together, paint a complete picture of what is appealing. At any time someone could walk into our life and at any time we have a complete idea of what we want love to be and thus what we want our lover to be.
So, every time someone walks into our lives there are only a couple (three to be exact) different things that can happen. The first and least likely by a long shot is what we have euphemistically entitled “love at first sight.” This is the equivalent of spending years and years compiling an extensive folder of everything you want and don’t want in your remodel project and then walking into a kitchen you’ve never seen before and realizing almost instantly that that kitchen is exactly what is in your folder. Every do and don’t has been followed to a “T,” nothing need be changed, and it is exactly what you want. If your folder of clippings were given to an artist with the instructions “paint me the perfect kitchen using all of the likes and dislikes in this folder,” this kitchen he would paint just so happens to be the kitchen you are standing in. This is the unlikely event that would need to transpire for the illusive “love at first sight” to occur. A person would need to walk into one’s life and possess every trait that was in the folder at that very moment in time as well as not possess every negative trait contained therein. Being as though, as previously mentioned, the folder is constantly changing, it is next to impossible for this to happen.
The next possible course of action one can take with a new person in their life is the most common. They are a partial match. They possess some of the qualities liked and some of the qualities disliked. From this we do a couple of things. First, we take away from the encounter/interaction/relationship new clipping to add to the folder. Second, depending on the ratio of good qualities possessed to bad qualities possessed we make friends, acquaintances, business partners, lab partners, and even boyfriends and girlfriends. We even decide who we dislike from such interactions. The majority of all the people that come in and out of our lives pass through this option. Transitioning nicely to the third and final option is the note that people can change statuses. This is possible for two reasons. First, because our folder is constantly changing thus the ratio between good qualities possessed and bad is always changing. Someone who comes into our live simply as an acquaintance can, theoretically, change into a good friend simply because the criteria they were being judged on changes in their favor. The second way it can change is similar to the first. Because the folder is always changing, and because the folder changes with many of the interactions we have, it is possible for one person, or rather one person’s quality traits to affect one’s folder such that they change their own status. We often call this, growing on someone.
The third and final option is simply just the change in statuses just discussed, taken to the extreme. This is the one option that gives hopeless romantics everywhere hope. In this option someone who initially did not meet all of the qualifications in the folder, because of their own influence on the folder, becomes the epitome of what one is looking for. This can happen in all varying degrees; obviously some more likely than others. The most often way this happens is someone is almost there to begin with. That is, they enter one’s life meeting almost all of the qualifications we have in our folder at the time in our life. These usually end up our boyfriends and girlfriends to begin with. Then, because of their influence on our folder, we then come to realize that we love them. This scenario becomes more and more unlikely, however, as the person’s starting ratio gets lower and lower. For example, if someone enters our life and we can simply tolerate them, no more and no less, we rarely end up in love with this person. It would be very unlikely for this person to influence our folders so much that they end up becoming the physical representation of what we know love to be. Even more unlikely (bordering on impossible) is to fall in love with an enemy. This brings up an unfortunate observation. In almost all cases, our folders can only be influenced be one person to a point. Our folders almost never change radically at one time or by one person. Because of this, we must conclude that it is not possible to love just anyone. Some people simply will never be compatible because our folder of qualifications will never be in line with their qualities.
Alright, so now we know how we fall in love and how unlikely it is that we not only meet someone who meets all of our qualifications that we have assembled over our entire lives but that we meet them at the exact moment in our lives when those qualities match up with the qualities they possess. The part of this equation we are now missing is that this has to happen twice. However unlikely it is that we meet Mr. or Ms. Right at exactly the right time, they have to experience the exact same phenomenon for there to be mutual love. You have to also have walked into their life at the exact right moment and possess all of the things they are looking for at that moment. If and only if these two things happen to coexist can there ever be two people in love with each other. If we accept this to be true, than it is truly a miracle that anyone falls in love with anyone that loves them back.
A final point that need be addressed in this discussion is the point of rationality and logic. Many claims are made about love such as that it is blind or that it is mysterious or that it follows no rules and is irrational and illogical. This is simply not true. For love to be illogical and irrational it would have to be random and random it most certainly is not. I pretend to make no assumptions about the way we meet people or the fait that causes people to come in and out of our lives when they do. I simply observe about the reasons we make the decisions we do. Everyone’s folder isn't different; that’s how people fall in love; they have the same folder at the same time, but everyone’s rationale for the things they put in their folder are unique and further, are rational regardless of whether or not the tidbit placed in the folder is rational. For example, a person who grows up in a home where their father abused their mother may look for abusive people when they are older. While it is not rational or logical to want to be with someone who is abusive, the reason they put that tidbit into their folder is perfectly logical. We can follow why they put it there and where it came from. Thusly, if everyone’s folder is based on logic and rationality and the only way to fall in love is via the folder, we can conclude that love is rational and logical. Further, because we know that everyone’s folder was reached though different circumstances, no two the same, it is impossible to predict what someone’s folder contains. In fact, the claim could be easily made and argued that almost no one knows what is in their own folder at any given moment. We often find ourselves looking back at past relationships and interactions wondering why we ever liked or disliked a certain person. This is proof that we didn’t know what was in our folder at the time, and still don’t know. All we know now is that it has changed such that if that person were to reenter our lives we would not categorize them the same way we did when we met them the first time.
In summary, it is not possible to know what love is specifically though we can see quite clearly where it comes from and how it came to be. It can be fallen into and out of because of many different factors though there are a few things for certain. Once someone has found another person who has the same folder as them at the exact same time, in other words, when someone finds their soul mate, often their folder stops growing, or, rather, doesn’t grow as fast and often grows along with the other person’s. It is so rare and so improbable for two people to catch each other at the exact right moment in life to fall in love that when it happens people try to hold onto it forever (known as marriage). And while it is possible to get confused and think we are in love when we are not, more often than not we find ourselves settling for something that is not love—for someone who meets some fraction of the tidbits in our folder, but not all of them. This common occurrence ends mostly in divorce as it is very hard to live with someone knowing that they aren't right. They don’t meet all of your qualifications and thus don’t make you happy—don’t complete us.
I don’t pretend to offer advice because I am in no position to give it. All I have is insight gained through much debate, thought, input and desire to understand. My opinion on this subject, much like my folder itself, is still evolving and changing; though for now I believe I am content with my understanding of what love is.
Addendum
When two people are married their folders don’t stop growing, rather, they continue to grow, however, the main contributing factors to the folder are coming from the person they are in love with. That is, as we get to know the one’s we love better, and as they change, their new qualities need be added to our folder for us to continue loving them. This seemingly happens naturally.
Because of this, we can then conclude that when we fall in love, we are falling in love with all of the qualities that we know about. Because of this, it is possible to actually be in love with someone or, sometimes, the idea of someone, until we know all of their qualities (who they really are). Unfortunately it seems that it is possible to whole heartedly believe that we are in love, and actually be in love, though upon finding out about a quality we were previously unaware of, we realize that the person we thought we were in love with actually does not meet all the requirements in our folder…and then we don’t so much fall out of love as realize that we are not in love with the person that we thought we were in love with.
Addendum II
The claim is made that you never know what’s in your own folder however the claim is also made that a person has to meet all of the qualifications in one’s folder. This raises the questions, how can you know if someone meets all of the qualifications if you don’t know what all of those qualifications are. Well, the easy answer is, you just know. While this doesn’t sound very satisfying, it makes sense. When someone annoys you, you know it. When someone is compatible with you, you also just know. When I say you don’t know what’s in your folder, what I really mean is that it is difficult to say or actually verbalize all of the things. There are a lot of them and they are of varying levels of importance and, as mentioned, are constantly changing. Because of this, is can be said that we don’t really know but when it comes down to figuring out if someone meets or doesn’t meet certain requirements, it will be rather easy.
The question then arises, when is the folder complete? At any given moment the folder is complete. To go back to the analogy, any time the contractor is ready to start building there is a folder full of clippings to pull out which, together, paint a complete picture of what is appealing. At any time someone could walk into our life and at any time we have a complete idea of what we want love to be and thus what we want our lover to be.
So, every time someone walks into our lives there are only a couple (three to be exact) different things that can happen. The first and least likely by a long shot is what we have euphemistically entitled “love at first sight.” This is the equivalent of spending years and years compiling an extensive folder of everything you want and don’t want in your remodel project and then walking into a kitchen you’ve never seen before and realizing almost instantly that that kitchen is exactly what is in your folder. Every do and don’t has been followed to a “T,” nothing need be changed, and it is exactly what you want. If your folder of clippings were given to an artist with the instructions “paint me the perfect kitchen using all of the likes and dislikes in this folder,” this kitchen he would paint just so happens to be the kitchen you are standing in. This is the unlikely event that would need to transpire for the illusive “love at first sight” to occur. A person would need to walk into one’s life and possess every trait that was in the folder at that very moment in time as well as not possess every negative trait contained therein. Being as though, as previously mentioned, the folder is constantly changing, it is next to impossible for this to happen.
The next possible course of action one can take with a new person in their life is the most common. They are a partial match. They possess some of the qualities liked and some of the qualities disliked. From this we do a couple of things. First, we take away from the encounter/interaction/relationship new clipping to add to the folder. Second, depending on the ratio of good qualities possessed to bad qualities possessed we make friends, acquaintances, business partners, lab partners, and even boyfriends and girlfriends. We even decide who we dislike from such interactions. The majority of all the people that come in and out of our lives pass through this option. Transitioning nicely to the third and final option is the note that people can change statuses. This is possible for two reasons. First, because our folder is constantly changing thus the ratio between good qualities possessed and bad is always changing. Someone who comes into our live simply as an acquaintance can, theoretically, change into a good friend simply because the criteria they were being judged on changes in their favor. The second way it can change is similar to the first. Because the folder is always changing, and because the folder changes with many of the interactions we have, it is possible for one person, or rather one person’s quality traits to affect one’s folder such that they change their own status. We often call this, growing on someone.
The third and final option is simply just the change in statuses just discussed, taken to the extreme. This is the one option that gives hopeless romantics everywhere hope. In this option someone who initially did not meet all of the qualifications in the folder, because of their own influence on the folder, becomes the epitome of what one is looking for. This can happen in all varying degrees; obviously some more likely than others. The most often way this happens is someone is almost there to begin with. That is, they enter one’s life meeting almost all of the qualifications we have in our folder at the time in our life. These usually end up our boyfriends and girlfriends to begin with. Then, because of their influence on our folder, we then come to realize that we love them. This scenario becomes more and more unlikely, however, as the person’s starting ratio gets lower and lower. For example, if someone enters our life and we can simply tolerate them, no more and no less, we rarely end up in love with this person. It would be very unlikely for this person to influence our folders so much that they end up becoming the physical representation of what we know love to be. Even more unlikely (bordering on impossible) is to fall in love with an enemy. This brings up an unfortunate observation. In almost all cases, our folders can only be influenced be one person to a point. Our folders almost never change radically at one time or by one person. Because of this, we must conclude that it is not possible to love just anyone. Some people simply will never be compatible because our folder of qualifications will never be in line with their qualities.
Alright, so now we know how we fall in love and how unlikely it is that we not only meet someone who meets all of our qualifications that we have assembled over our entire lives but that we meet them at the exact moment in our lives when those qualities match up with the qualities they possess. The part of this equation we are now missing is that this has to happen twice. However unlikely it is that we meet Mr. or Ms. Right at exactly the right time, they have to experience the exact same phenomenon for there to be mutual love. You have to also have walked into their life at the exact right moment and possess all of the things they are looking for at that moment. If and only if these two things happen to coexist can there ever be two people in love with each other. If we accept this to be true, than it is truly a miracle that anyone falls in love with anyone that loves them back.
A final point that need be addressed in this discussion is the point of rationality and logic. Many claims are made about love such as that it is blind or that it is mysterious or that it follows no rules and is irrational and illogical. This is simply not true. For love to be illogical and irrational it would have to be random and random it most certainly is not. I pretend to make no assumptions about the way we meet people or the fait that causes people to come in and out of our lives when they do. I simply observe about the reasons we make the decisions we do. Everyone’s folder isn't different; that’s how people fall in love; they have the same folder at the same time, but everyone’s rationale for the things they put in their folder are unique and further, are rational regardless of whether or not the tidbit placed in the folder is rational. For example, a person who grows up in a home where their father abused their mother may look for abusive people when they are older. While it is not rational or logical to want to be with someone who is abusive, the reason they put that tidbit into their folder is perfectly logical. We can follow why they put it there and where it came from. Thusly, if everyone’s folder is based on logic and rationality and the only way to fall in love is via the folder, we can conclude that love is rational and logical. Further, because we know that everyone’s folder was reached though different circumstances, no two the same, it is impossible to predict what someone’s folder contains. In fact, the claim could be easily made and argued that almost no one knows what is in their own folder at any given moment. We often find ourselves looking back at past relationships and interactions wondering why we ever liked or disliked a certain person. This is proof that we didn’t know what was in our folder at the time, and still don’t know. All we know now is that it has changed such that if that person were to reenter our lives we would not categorize them the same way we did when we met them the first time.
In summary, it is not possible to know what love is specifically though we can see quite clearly where it comes from and how it came to be. It can be fallen into and out of because of many different factors though there are a few things for certain. Once someone has found another person who has the same folder as them at the exact same time, in other words, when someone finds their soul mate, often their folder stops growing, or, rather, doesn’t grow as fast and often grows along with the other person’s. It is so rare and so improbable for two people to catch each other at the exact right moment in life to fall in love that when it happens people try to hold onto it forever (known as marriage). And while it is possible to get confused and think we are in love when we are not, more often than not we find ourselves settling for something that is not love—for someone who meets some fraction of the tidbits in our folder, but not all of them. This common occurrence ends mostly in divorce as it is very hard to live with someone knowing that they aren't right. They don’t meet all of your qualifications and thus don’t make you happy—don’t complete us.
I don’t pretend to offer advice because I am in no position to give it. All I have is insight gained through much debate, thought, input and desire to understand. My opinion on this subject, much like my folder itself, is still evolving and changing; though for now I believe I am content with my understanding of what love is.
Addendum
When two people are married their folders don’t stop growing, rather, they continue to grow, however, the main contributing factors to the folder are coming from the person they are in love with. That is, as we get to know the one’s we love better, and as they change, their new qualities need be added to our folder for us to continue loving them. This seemingly happens naturally.
Because of this, we can then conclude that when we fall in love, we are falling in love with all of the qualities that we know about. Because of this, it is possible to actually be in love with someone or, sometimes, the idea of someone, until we know all of their qualities (who they really are). Unfortunately it seems that it is possible to whole heartedly believe that we are in love, and actually be in love, though upon finding out about a quality we were previously unaware of, we realize that the person we thought we were in love with actually does not meet all the requirements in our folder…and then we don’t so much fall out of love as realize that we are not in love with the person that we thought we were in love with.
Addendum II
The claim is made that you never know what’s in your own folder however the claim is also made that a person has to meet all of the qualifications in one’s folder. This raises the questions, how can you know if someone meets all of the qualifications if you don’t know what all of those qualifications are. Well, the easy answer is, you just know. While this doesn’t sound very satisfying, it makes sense. When someone annoys you, you know it. When someone is compatible with you, you also just know. When I say you don’t know what’s in your folder, what I really mean is that it is difficult to say or actually verbalize all of the things. There are a lot of them and they are of varying levels of importance and, as mentioned, are constantly changing. Because of this, is can be said that we don’t really know but when it comes down to figuring out if someone meets or doesn’t meet certain requirements, it will be rather easy.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Guns Don't Kill People, Husbands Who Come Home Early Do
Soo, the other day the College Republicans, a group I have thoroughly offended numerous times in a very public forum, decided to plan a stereotypical trip to the local shooting range in Virginia. As I am on their listserv and have admittedly never fired a handgun before I thought it could be fun to tag along so I signed up. I figured there would be a dozen or so people who would carpool out to this place, rent handguns, and “kill some paper.” So I get up nice and early last Sunday morning and went out to the meeting place where I met 47 other Reps who also had had a similar thought to my own. This was a rather interesting cross section of humanity too, not the stereotypical Republican, gun-loving hunters as one might think. There were big guys and very little guys, tiny blond chicks and even a nerdy looking asian kid with glasses…not the group I would have envisioned. Anyway, we were waiting for a while when a big yellow school bus pulls up and stops in front of us. We all look at each other thinking “no. this couldn’t possibly be how we are getting to a gun range!” but sure enough, it was $100 cheaper to get a school bus than a coach…so school bus it was (Reagan-nomics at its finest). Thinking this was ironic and wrong on a couple levels that I couldn’t really express to anyone around me, we headed off. Not to delve into a discussion of the idiot driver who took us to Virginia via downtown Maryland turning a 30 minute drive into an hour long scenic trek, we finally made it there. They asked who had shot before and I raised my hand (cause on a technicality I have shot before…just not a hand gun) and they put me in there first. So there I am with 5 other kids, in front of God any everyone, there with my Sig Saure 290 (I think) 9mm and 50 rounds staring down the sights at my paper target a whopping 15 feet away. It turns out I wasn’t that bad at it though I must say that the things that surprised me sound pretty stupid looking back. The sound, not surprisingly, is really loud. But I don’t just mean loud like gun-shot loud, I mean if I played the sound for someone who couldn’t see what it was, they might have guessed it was a civil war cannon firing. It was startlingly loud, even with ear plugs in! Also, the muzzle flash is actually this foot long fireball that shoots out the front of the gun. Also a little unsettling. Anyway, in the end, it turned out to be rather exhilarating. A hand gun is a shit ton of power in a very small package. Bottom line, I was God for 10 minutes declaring Jihad on that paper target (I'm going to hell for that).
Deep Breath.
Another observation. Tiny blond girls who have never shot guns will surprise you. We had the choice of 3 gun types: a 22 (the smallest gun with little recoil, smaller bullets, and less noise), a 9mm (a powerful gun with a decent kick and a nice big bullet that makes a nice big bang), and a 357 magnum revolver (a big, mean looking gun that fired a big bullet, made a loud noise, and had a shit ton of kick as there is no slide to absorb any of it). As to be expected, the smaller guys among us picked the 22, still an intimidating gun, nothing wrong with it. Most of us picked the 9mm as it is the typical gun you see on television and in movies. Very generic. However, most of the girls, including one tiny blond chick who I was very excited to see fire any gun, picked the 357 magnum! What the fuck?! I couldn’t believe it. She walked confidently into the range, loaded the 6 rounds into the revolver, cocked the hammer, aimed at the target (all of 10 ft away) fired, nearly hit herself in the face and then seemingly screamed, put the gun down, and jumped all at the same time. It was possibly one of the best things I'd seen in a while. The long lead up to that moment definitely didn’t disappoint. To her credit, however, she then stepped back up and fired the remaining 5 shots nearish to the target without screaming or jumping. I think I'm in love.
Breath.
Last observation. Outside the range in the store area there was a poster made clearly by very young children saying: “Dear Mr. Gilbert, The children at Beth Sholom Early Childhood Center thank you for donating all the bullet casings to their school. As you can see from the pictures, we used them to make beautiful menorahs to celebrate Chanuah.” (Check it) It was then signed by 20ish very young children (Dana, one of the children , wrote her name in all capital letters and wrote the N backwards). Attached to the poster were 3 pictures of makeshift menorahs made by creating 9 blocks of colored clay with brass bullet casings pressed in used as candle holders. Now, upon seeing this I commented out loud to anyone who was listening “wow. Something seems wrong with that.” As it turns out, people were listening…so much so that I almost started a riot. About half of the CR’s agreed that yes, something about that poster was wrong on some level and about half were adamant that no, nothing was wrong with that. These people, I theorize, grew up with guns. They have fond memories of hunting with their fathers when they were younger. They grew up with guns in their houses. I have no problem with this. However, there seems to be a symbolism issue with combining a religious symbol (especially a religion often wrapped up in violent conflict) with a symbol of violence…and then add in there the fact that these are very very young children and you seem to have three things that really shouldn’t mix (religion, young kids, and guns). I mean, lets not kid ourselves, I'm all for the second amendment, but this seems a bit excessive. Not sure that there is a better way to put it other than that it just rubbed me the wrong way, but it was entertaining to watch the rest of the CR’s duke it out amongst themselves INSIDE A GUN RANGE! Haha
As always…please no one read this…
Deep Breath.
Another observation. Tiny blond girls who have never shot guns will surprise you. We had the choice of 3 gun types: a 22 (the smallest gun with little recoil, smaller bullets, and less noise), a 9mm (a powerful gun with a decent kick and a nice big bullet that makes a nice big bang), and a 357 magnum revolver (a big, mean looking gun that fired a big bullet, made a loud noise, and had a shit ton of kick as there is no slide to absorb any of it). As to be expected, the smaller guys among us picked the 22, still an intimidating gun, nothing wrong with it. Most of us picked the 9mm as it is the typical gun you see on television and in movies. Very generic. However, most of the girls, including one tiny blond chick who I was very excited to see fire any gun, picked the 357 magnum! What the fuck?! I couldn’t believe it. She walked confidently into the range, loaded the 6 rounds into the revolver, cocked the hammer, aimed at the target (all of 10 ft away) fired, nearly hit herself in the face and then seemingly screamed, put the gun down, and jumped all at the same time. It was possibly one of the best things I'd seen in a while. The long lead up to that moment definitely didn’t disappoint. To her credit, however, she then stepped back up and fired the remaining 5 shots nearish to the target without screaming or jumping. I think I'm in love.
Breath.
Last observation. Outside the range in the store area there was a poster made clearly by very young children saying: “Dear Mr. Gilbert, The children at Beth Sholom Early Childhood Center thank you for donating all the bullet casings to their school. As you can see from the pictures, we used them to make beautiful menorahs to celebrate Chanuah.” (Check it) It was then signed by 20ish very young children (Dana, one of the children , wrote her name in all capital letters and wrote the N backwards). Attached to the poster were 3 pictures of makeshift menorahs made by creating 9 blocks of colored clay with brass bullet casings pressed in used as candle holders. Now, upon seeing this I commented out loud to anyone who was listening “wow. Something seems wrong with that.” As it turns out, people were listening…so much so that I almost started a riot. About half of the CR’s agreed that yes, something about that poster was wrong on some level and about half were adamant that no, nothing was wrong with that. These people, I theorize, grew up with guns. They have fond memories of hunting with their fathers when they were younger. They grew up with guns in their houses. I have no problem with this. However, there seems to be a symbolism issue with combining a religious symbol (especially a religion often wrapped up in violent conflict) with a symbol of violence…and then add in there the fact that these are very very young children and you seem to have three things that really shouldn’t mix (religion, young kids, and guns). I mean, lets not kid ourselves, I'm all for the second amendment, but this seems a bit excessive. Not sure that there is a better way to put it other than that it just rubbed me the wrong way, but it was entertaining to watch the rest of the CR’s duke it out amongst themselves INSIDE A GUN RANGE! Haha
As always…please no one read this…
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Welcome to my "blog," I "work" for the man, please, no one read this...
Welcome to my blog. Ya know, I vowed that I would never write one of these…mostly because there is really only harm that can come from them. I mean lets face it, the title speaks for itself…no one is going to read this anyway…but assuming someone does, how could that possibly help me? As the description says, I’m an aspiring politician. That means that someday someone will go over everything I've written since the 4th grade with a fine-tooth comb searching for things to use against me in a campaign. In creating a blog I am basically saying “if you want to find incriminating shit on me, here it is…all in one place with my name on it wrapped up in a pretty little bow for ya.” I mean, as it is I can't keep my mouth shut long enough to not get myself in trouble on a daily basis but here on the interwebs the shit I say will live forever. That’s a long time in case anyone was unsure. But…my mentor starts and stops a new blog every other day and a few other friends of mine have created blogs…I always just think its so pretentious though…that’s why all the stuff I have written previously has been on my facebook “notes.” I mean, creating a blog is like saying, “I think that the stuff I have to say is so good, so much better than the stuff real writers say, than I'm going to post it on the internet and pretend that someone’s reading it.” As if anyone cares. As if anyone reads it. No one does. Some crazy-large percentage of the blogs on the internet today go unread for the entirety of their sad, pathetic existence…and yet every day people get up and write on their blog as if its their business. At political events now they have a whole section cornered off called “bloggers ally” where people come with their laptops and “live blog” the event. This is basically just an excuse to be on your computer during an event…but the premise here is that this is akin to the media. No it isn’t. There are tons of columnists that write every day and it actually is there job. Bloggers are just regular people. And all regular people have opinions that no one cares about. Opinions are like assholes, someone smarter than me once said, everyone has one and they all stink. In this case it’s all about the severity of that stink, to continue this rather unnecessary metaphor, and whether or not you are willing to endure to stink due to the experience of the…wow, alright, well, moving on.
Deep breath.
Where was I? Well, obviously I have decided to write this blog, mostly out of boredom, so what the hell hu, might as well write something down. Alright well, lets start with where I is…I’m at work. Productive use of work time? Hmm, well, the way I justify it is if they gave me work, I'd do it. Honestly, me and my job are what’s wrong with the government in a nutshell. You, the nonexistent people who aren’t reading this, you pay my salary. That’s right…I’m a government employee, a civil servant and I do nothing. Well, that’s not even true. I do a lot of things…its just that none of them have anything to do with civilly servicing the American people in any way…and yet they continue to pay me a sickening amount of money in my decently large office with a window and two desks and two computers and all the office supplies I want. Does anyone but me see a problem with this?! You liberals out there who want bigger government, am I what you’re envisioning as you dream off in your 100% hemp sheets at night?! Cause that’s what you'd get. More me’s! lots more me’s! The way I see it there are only two choices (don’t even start with a middle ground…cause there isn’t one). We can either cut down the size of government (which would really be a loss because the DMV, post office, and IRS are such pleasant government agencies) and risk losing a couple (million) people in the public sector to the big bad privet sector (ya know, that one that makes the world go round) OR we could expand the government possibly offer more serves to the people of this great nation and have thousands upon thousands more of me. In other words you have smaller and inefficient or bigger and inefficient. As I mentioned before, there is no middle ground. So which is it? I mean, its pretty cut and dry to me…but what do I know, I only work for “the man.”
Example: here in my office on 22nd St. in NW Washington DC (come find me, I dare you) we take lunch every day. There is, however, no set time to take lunch, only the rough parameters of “be back in an hour-ish.” So, because of this, people start taking lunch around 11am and don’t stop taking lunch until around 3:30pm. So say I actually had some work I had to get done (crazy I know). Say I needed to draft a memo and send it out. I would start my drafting around 10:30 (because in this hypothetical it’s a Tuesday and I watch last night’s episode of House when I come in on Tuesday mornings). I draft from 10:30 to 11:30. At 11:45 I realize that I need help so I go to the most experience memo-writer it the office for some advice…but much to my dismay she is at lunch. I decide to catch up on The Big Bang Theory (another show I like to watch) until she gets back. At 1:00 I take my lunch…during which time Ms. Memo-writer returns from lunch fashionably late. I return at 2ish and stop in to get my question answered. At 2:20 I feel the memo is complete and go to my boss to get her signature before I send it out…but much to my dismay, she’s at lunch. At 3:30ish I notice she has returned and ask for her signature. Now all I have to do take it to our supply guy to get it stamped addressed and sealed but you’ll never guess where he is. This sounds farfetched but I swear this happens all the time. Now a project that really needed to take an hour or two tops has taken all damn day and maybe/often into the next day because why? Because people needed to take lunch at different times all day long? Really?! That’s YOUR federal government hard at work (or at lunch)! And you want it bigger?! You want more people to be apart of that madness?! You want more people at lunch?! Why? Are they doing such a great job now that we figure we should reward their efforts?! Ill give you a hint, the answer rhymes with foe!
Deep breath.
Well, that’s enough for this first blog. Btw I included some of my older notes in here as well so check the archive. Wait, who am I talking to? No one’s reading this anyway. Whatever.
As always please, no one read this…
Deep breath.
Where was I? Well, obviously I have decided to write this blog, mostly out of boredom, so what the hell hu, might as well write something down. Alright well, lets start with where I is…I’m at work. Productive use of work time? Hmm, well, the way I justify it is if they gave me work, I'd do it. Honestly, me and my job are what’s wrong with the government in a nutshell. You, the nonexistent people who aren’t reading this, you pay my salary. That’s right…I’m a government employee, a civil servant and I do nothing. Well, that’s not even true. I do a lot of things…its just that none of them have anything to do with civilly servicing the American people in any way…and yet they continue to pay me a sickening amount of money in my decently large office with a window and two desks and two computers and all the office supplies I want. Does anyone but me see a problem with this?! You liberals out there who want bigger government, am I what you’re envisioning as you dream off in your 100% hemp sheets at night?! Cause that’s what you'd get. More me’s! lots more me’s! The way I see it there are only two choices (don’t even start with a middle ground…cause there isn’t one). We can either cut down the size of government (which would really be a loss because the DMV, post office, and IRS are such pleasant government agencies) and risk losing a couple (million) people in the public sector to the big bad privet sector (ya know, that one that makes the world go round) OR we could expand the government possibly offer more serves to the people of this great nation and have thousands upon thousands more of me. In other words you have smaller and inefficient or bigger and inefficient. As I mentioned before, there is no middle ground. So which is it? I mean, its pretty cut and dry to me…but what do I know, I only work for “the man.”
Example: here in my office on 22nd St. in NW Washington DC (come find me, I dare you) we take lunch every day. There is, however, no set time to take lunch, only the rough parameters of “be back in an hour-ish.” So, because of this, people start taking lunch around 11am and don’t stop taking lunch until around 3:30pm. So say I actually had some work I had to get done (crazy I know). Say I needed to draft a memo and send it out. I would start my drafting around 10:30 (because in this hypothetical it’s a Tuesday and I watch last night’s episode of House when I come in on Tuesday mornings). I draft from 10:30 to 11:30. At 11:45 I realize that I need help so I go to the most experience memo-writer it the office for some advice…but much to my dismay she is at lunch. I decide to catch up on The Big Bang Theory (another show I like to watch) until she gets back. At 1:00 I take my lunch…during which time Ms. Memo-writer returns from lunch fashionably late. I return at 2ish and stop in to get my question answered. At 2:20 I feel the memo is complete and go to my boss to get her signature before I send it out…but much to my dismay, she’s at lunch. At 3:30ish I notice she has returned and ask for her signature. Now all I have to do take it to our supply guy to get it stamped addressed and sealed but you’ll never guess where he is. This sounds farfetched but I swear this happens all the time. Now a project that really needed to take an hour or two tops has taken all damn day and maybe/often into the next day because why? Because people needed to take lunch at different times all day long? Really?! That’s YOUR federal government hard at work (or at lunch)! And you want it bigger?! You want more people to be apart of that madness?! You want more people at lunch?! Why? Are they doing such a great job now that we figure we should reward their efforts?! Ill give you a hint, the answer rhymes with foe!
Deep breath.
Well, that’s enough for this first blog. Btw I included some of my older notes in here as well so check the archive. Wait, who am I talking to? No one’s reading this anyway. Whatever.
As always please, no one read this…
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Professless Professors
There are things in education that I don’t understand. Before delving in, I guess I have to look at the bigger question which is why it is that people who are simply bad at teaching become teachers. This is evident in primary education as I remember a teacher back in grade school who simply didn’t like children. One would have to wonder why, if you didn’t enjoy the presents of small children, you would get into a field where you were forced to interact with them on a daily basis. This continues through high school and now, I'm realizing, right into college. Why do professors who are simply bad at “professing” becomes professors?
I can understand that sometimes this has to do with going into academia, teaching sometimes just comes with the territory. Not that I really appreciate someone coming to a university to do research and having to, begrudgingly, teach knowledge-hungry undergraduates, but I do understand. That’s not, however, what I'm talking about. I’m talking about the professor of, say, business ethics who is simply unable to adequately convey the apparent oxy moron of business ethics.
The handout I was given on day one of this class said the words “Ethics vs. Etiquette.” To which my professor explained that faults in etiquette rarely if ever lead to ethical problems. Alright. I understand. Probably could have gone without saying, but I get it. Moving on. But then he begins on an example, if you shake someone’s hand from another culture that don’t typically do that, you probably wont be acting unethically. Alright, that example was totally unnecessary, but again, in an effort to be extremely thorough I can understand. He then says, if you were at a formal dinner party, and used the wrong fork for your salad, no one will thing you are unethical. Alright, enough already! The whole class knew what he meant in the beginning and really knew after the first example but two examples?! Really?! And then, to put a finishing touch on his redundancy he asked, does everyone understand? No. No I don’t. Can you please give me another example to waste more time? Thanks.
He then moves on to the second thing on his hand out. The paper reads Ethics vs. Morality. After reading this out loud he says, we need to discuss the differences between ethics and morality…..long contemplative pause…..I don’t believe there is any difference between those two terms. What?! Than why the hell do we need to discuss the differences between them? There aren't any. And why did you write it down on this list of terms in need of discussion? He then goes on to discuss why everyone in his field agrees with him.
Day Two: Ethics needs to be based on fairness. If you are cutting the birthday cake at a child’s birthday party and you cut the pieces different sizes, what happens? The kids get upset because someone ends up with the small piece and says that’s not fair. If there are monkeys at the zoo and they reward some with grapes and others with cucumbers, the ones with cucumbers will get upset because they believe they were treated unfairly. If you sell 5 grams of cocaine and get arrested and sent to prison for 5 years and then you find out that someone else got caught selling 2 kilos of cocaine and is sentenced to one year in prison, what would you think? No, not that they’re Paris Hilton. You would think that it was not fair. I swear on my life, he actually used all of those examples, in succession, just like that! I get it! I understand! I know what fairness is!!! Leave me alone!
The Bill of Rights he says very dramatically. Who knows what that is? Really?! REALLY?!! You’re really going to ask an entire class of sophomores, juniors and seniors living and going to school in Washington DC, the capital of our freaking country, what the Bill of Rights is?
I just don’t get it. I just can’t fathom where this human being went so horribly wrong in life. I’m sure he is a very nice man, but he has no business in a college classroom; arguably not even in a high school class. And he’s got to know. He has to understand by the looks on people’s faces as he talks at them that they have gone a step beyond bored into the realm of thinking, “I’m paying how much money to go to this school and listen to you lecture me for an hour and 15 minutes twice a week at the end of which I leave feeling not only as though I've learned nothing but that you may have stolen an IQ point or two?” ….Fuck!
I can understand that sometimes this has to do with going into academia, teaching sometimes just comes with the territory. Not that I really appreciate someone coming to a university to do research and having to, begrudgingly, teach knowledge-hungry undergraduates, but I do understand. That’s not, however, what I'm talking about. I’m talking about the professor of, say, business ethics who is simply unable to adequately convey the apparent oxy moron of business ethics.
The handout I was given on day one of this class said the words “Ethics vs. Etiquette.” To which my professor explained that faults in etiquette rarely if ever lead to ethical problems. Alright. I understand. Probably could have gone without saying, but I get it. Moving on. But then he begins on an example, if you shake someone’s hand from another culture that don’t typically do that, you probably wont be acting unethically. Alright, that example was totally unnecessary, but again, in an effort to be extremely thorough I can understand. He then says, if you were at a formal dinner party, and used the wrong fork for your salad, no one will thing you are unethical. Alright, enough already! The whole class knew what he meant in the beginning and really knew after the first example but two examples?! Really?! And then, to put a finishing touch on his redundancy he asked, does everyone understand? No. No I don’t. Can you please give me another example to waste more time? Thanks.
He then moves on to the second thing on his hand out. The paper reads Ethics vs. Morality. After reading this out loud he says, we need to discuss the differences between ethics and morality…..long contemplative pause…..I don’t believe there is any difference between those two terms. What?! Than why the hell do we need to discuss the differences between them? There aren't any. And why did you write it down on this list of terms in need of discussion? He then goes on to discuss why everyone in his field agrees with him.
Day Two: Ethics needs to be based on fairness. If you are cutting the birthday cake at a child’s birthday party and you cut the pieces different sizes, what happens? The kids get upset because someone ends up with the small piece and says that’s not fair. If there are monkeys at the zoo and they reward some with grapes and others with cucumbers, the ones with cucumbers will get upset because they believe they were treated unfairly. If you sell 5 grams of cocaine and get arrested and sent to prison for 5 years and then you find out that someone else got caught selling 2 kilos of cocaine and is sentenced to one year in prison, what would you think? No, not that they’re Paris Hilton. You would think that it was not fair. I swear on my life, he actually used all of those examples, in succession, just like that! I get it! I understand! I know what fairness is!!! Leave me alone!
The Bill of Rights he says very dramatically. Who knows what that is? Really?! REALLY?!! You’re really going to ask an entire class of sophomores, juniors and seniors living and going to school in Washington DC, the capital of our freaking country, what the Bill of Rights is?
I just don’t get it. I just can’t fathom where this human being went so horribly wrong in life. I’m sure he is a very nice man, but he has no business in a college classroom; arguably not even in a high school class. And he’s got to know. He has to understand by the looks on people’s faces as he talks at them that they have gone a step beyond bored into the realm of thinking, “I’m paying how much money to go to this school and listen to you lecture me for an hour and 15 minutes twice a week at the end of which I leave feeling not only as though I've learned nothing but that you may have stolen an IQ point or two?” ….Fuck!
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Babies and Bitches
Babies. That’s right. Babies. No “that’s what she said,” no dirty joke (maybe a dirty diaper) no sexual innuendo…just a baby. Totally innocent, totally pure. It’s kind of amazing. I mean, we don’t think about this often, but at one point we were all there—totally at the whim of those around us…totally dependent on our parents without whom we would assuredly die.
As I sit here on an airplane approaching my ninth continuous hour of boredom I begin to contemplate babies…and here’s why.
Inevitably on every flight since the Wright Brothers there has been a crying/stinky/restless baby on the plane for the…enjoyment of all the other passengers. I had managed to avoid this to any extreme until now…I find myself sitting right next to what looks to be a one-year-old baby girl. As she sits there in her pink one-piece with a giant strawberry on it in her father’s lap she attempts a jerky, out-of-control wave at me as she had clearly been taught by her parents. I wave back, smile as any normal person would, and go back to listening to my music.
About three-fourths of the way through my flight a flight-attendant comes around to pass out those pesky immigration forms and the girl sitting in the seat in front of me asks the flight attended with an air of deserving, spoiled, annoyance if the flight attended could send someone over to fill out her form for her. Just to give a brief description to…paint a better picture…this girl is wearing tight grey Juicy sweatpants and a white wife-beater with a black lacy bra clearly showing through. She is wearing a decent amount of make-up (more than this average guy would assume necessary for an airplane ride) Channel sunglasses (and has been since take-off) and her clearly-bleached hair has been purposely made to look like it hasn’t been washed in a few days…We’ll call her Allota B. Otch.
Anyway, Ms. B. Otch asks this poor flight attendant, who has been working for the past 10ish hours now, to find someone to fill out her form for her (you know the form, the ¼ sheet of paper with about 10 yes/no questions on it plus a place for your name). The clearly exhausted attendant agrees and sends someone over to “help” Allota fill out her form. It was at this point that the baby let out an involuntary squeal of joy as her father tickled her so as to get the useless airplane telephone away from her before she dialed China. I look at the baby, then at the lovely piece of humanity sitting in front of me, then back to the baby and the only thought I have is…What went wrong?!
Allota wasn’t born a bitch. She was born a baby, helpless and innocent and all those other baby epithets, and now, approximately 17 years later she cant help but radiate classlessness (though still apparently helpless).
Why people?! Why are some of us like that? Ya know, I drive down the street and see an ambulance in my rear view mirror and watch all the cars pull over to let it by (despite the willingness many of them had to cut off/break check the Pontiac GTO in front of them only moments before) and get a warm sense of faith in my fellow humans. And then I see Ms. Allota B. Otch and it really puts a baseball-sized dent in my confidence in the human race.
Being a good person or a nice person or an understanding person or simply pretending to be just isn't that hard. Now that’s not to say that I am the beacon of purity when it comes to those things because I most certainly am not, but I make an effort, something that the baby is incapable of and the girl in front of me is seemingly incapable of. And again I have to ask…why? Just think of what it could do for our county or state or country or world if people exercised just a little bit more compassion and empathy toward our fellow humans. I mean, clearly the overwhelmed waitress didn’t mean to put mustard on your burger. The JambaJuice employee didn’t mean to put peanut butter in your all-fruit smoothie. The guy behind the counter at The Sharper Image didn’t mean to sell you an air-purifier (with a compass in it of course) that simply blows dirt around your house. It’s not the academic advisor’s fault that you didn’t sign up for an astronomy lab next semester and have to take the class over the summer. And, on a similar tract, it most certainly not the flight attendant’s fault that you have to fill out a customs form before you get to your final destination.
So Orange County, California, United States, World in/on which I live and breath and hopefully prosper with the rest of you…calm down, take a deep breath, and restore someone’s lost faith in humanity today.
Oh…and as for Ms. B. Otch, well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I swear I speak the truth. About a minute later an elderly gentleman walking down the isle stumbled a little bit next to seat 64C and spilled a glass of orange juice all over her. Needless to say she spent the remainder of the flight in the lavatory emerging only at the flight attendant’s insistence with a very large, very noticeable orange stain on her white shirt.
Karma’s a bitch…don’t piss it off.
As I sit here on an airplane approaching my ninth continuous hour of boredom I begin to contemplate babies…and here’s why.
Inevitably on every flight since the Wright Brothers there has been a crying/stinky/restless baby on the plane for the…enjoyment of all the other passengers. I had managed to avoid this to any extreme until now…I find myself sitting right next to what looks to be a one-year-old baby girl. As she sits there in her pink one-piece with a giant strawberry on it in her father’s lap she attempts a jerky, out-of-control wave at me as she had clearly been taught by her parents. I wave back, smile as any normal person would, and go back to listening to my music.
About three-fourths of the way through my flight a flight-attendant comes around to pass out those pesky immigration forms and the girl sitting in the seat in front of me asks the flight attended with an air of deserving, spoiled, annoyance if the flight attended could send someone over to fill out her form for her. Just to give a brief description to…paint a better picture…this girl is wearing tight grey Juicy sweatpants and a white wife-beater with a black lacy bra clearly showing through. She is wearing a decent amount of make-up (more than this average guy would assume necessary for an airplane ride) Channel sunglasses (and has been since take-off) and her clearly-bleached hair has been purposely made to look like it hasn’t been washed in a few days…We’ll call her Allota B. Otch.
Anyway, Ms. B. Otch asks this poor flight attendant, who has been working for the past 10ish hours now, to find someone to fill out her form for her (you know the form, the ¼ sheet of paper with about 10 yes/no questions on it plus a place for your name). The clearly exhausted attendant agrees and sends someone over to “help” Allota fill out her form. It was at this point that the baby let out an involuntary squeal of joy as her father tickled her so as to get the useless airplane telephone away from her before she dialed China. I look at the baby, then at the lovely piece of humanity sitting in front of me, then back to the baby and the only thought I have is…What went wrong?!
Allota wasn’t born a bitch. She was born a baby, helpless and innocent and all those other baby epithets, and now, approximately 17 years later she cant help but radiate classlessness (though still apparently helpless).
Why people?! Why are some of us like that? Ya know, I drive down the street and see an ambulance in my rear view mirror and watch all the cars pull over to let it by (despite the willingness many of them had to cut off/break check the Pontiac GTO in front of them only moments before) and get a warm sense of faith in my fellow humans. And then I see Ms. Allota B. Otch and it really puts a baseball-sized dent in my confidence in the human race.
Being a good person or a nice person or an understanding person or simply pretending to be just isn't that hard. Now that’s not to say that I am the beacon of purity when it comes to those things because I most certainly am not, but I make an effort, something that the baby is incapable of and the girl in front of me is seemingly incapable of. And again I have to ask…why? Just think of what it could do for our county or state or country or world if people exercised just a little bit more compassion and empathy toward our fellow humans. I mean, clearly the overwhelmed waitress didn’t mean to put mustard on your burger. The JambaJuice employee didn’t mean to put peanut butter in your all-fruit smoothie. The guy behind the counter at The Sharper Image didn’t mean to sell you an air-purifier (with a compass in it of course) that simply blows dirt around your house. It’s not the academic advisor’s fault that you didn’t sign up for an astronomy lab next semester and have to take the class over the summer. And, on a similar tract, it most certainly not the flight attendant’s fault that you have to fill out a customs form before you get to your final destination.
So Orange County, California, United States, World in/on which I live and breath and hopefully prosper with the rest of you…calm down, take a deep breath, and restore someone’s lost faith in humanity today.
Oh…and as for Ms. B. Otch, well, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I swear I speak the truth. About a minute later an elderly gentleman walking down the isle stumbled a little bit next to seat 64C and spilled a glass of orange juice all over her. Needless to say she spent the remainder of the flight in the lavatory emerging only at the flight attendant’s insistence with a very large, very noticeable orange stain on her white shirt.
Karma’s a bitch…don’t piss it off.
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