As my friend reflected to me yesterday (at least I think it was yesterday...), it's been two years now since I graduated from college. That means I'm entering my third year as a ronin...er, NEET. In other words, I'm a failure of a human being. Well, at least as far as society is concerned (and believe me, the feeling is mutual). So why is it so hard for me to "get a life"?
Supposedly, high school prepares you for college, and as far as I could tell, college prepares you for graduate school. So how do you get prepared for the real world? I would have gone to graduate school, but my aptitude for the sciences, which I had been training in, tapered off. I'm still not sure if it's simply a matter of losing interest, or if my mental faculties have in some way been compromised, but nowadays I don't even want to think about a math problem - and I used to enjoy them so much!
We could go into why this happened, but the reasons are many, and not very clear. Part of it has to do with grinding mindlessly through pages-long equations, with little perspective. Part of it has to do with the realization that studying science will not lead to finding the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. (And if you tell me the answer is forty-two, I'll smack you). And part of it has to do with meeting a girl so much smarter than me, that I figured if I was struggling through problems she could manage with ease, then there was no point in me being a scientist as long as people like her were around.
So I decided to focus on a more creative subject, where I could make contributions without being the best in the field. I turned to my hobby, playing guitar. I graduated college with no plans for the future ahead, except the vague idea that I was gonna learn to play well enough to get by. Maybe start a band, maybe join a band, but ultimately, hopefully, to play some gigs and make some money doing something I enjoy.
A year ago, I had resolved to complete my first real album of original compositions, but when the first year anniversary of my college graduation rolled around, I was far from finished writing and recording the material planned for the album. It was exciting at first, trying to record my songs, but it eventually became very dull working in the studio, and I completely lost interest in wrestling with trying to record a good track. I enjoy playing the guitar, but I don't even have the motivation to pick it up every day, which is really something I should do if I plan on being a guitarist. Put another check in the "failure" column.
The real problem here is my inability to interact with the world around me. Specifically, the human part. I feel woefully inept at wedging my way into the world, with no confidence to strike out on my own. And yet, I'm terribly fearful and generally clueless when it comes to reaching out for help. On the one hand, there seems to be a focus on independence - relying on one's own strengths to make it in the world and do what needs to be done. I do not have this quality. On the other hand, there's a concession for getting by "with a little help from my friends". Power of love and friendship, and all that. But I'm not good with people, and I don't have a support network. Think of all those tv shows and movies where the hero derives his strength from his friends to win the day. What about the lonely guy sitting in the alley? How can you expect him to be a hero?
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
21 May, 2008
06 March, 2008
A Little Self-Psychoanalysis
The bottom line is, I'm afraid to enter unfamiliar situations alone. That's why though I want to leave this house and find a place for myself outside in the world, I'm absolutely terrified to do so. What am I so afraid of? I don't have any confidence in my ability to depend on myself. I fear not being able to take care of myself, that I won't remember all the important things I need to do, or that I won't have the knowledge or the ability to do them. I'm afraid I'll end up lost and confused, with noone to turn to. Alone, and vulnerable.
And considering the way I am, these fears are not completely unfounded. Considering that I'm too nervous to call up a doctor and make an appointment, let alone go in for one; considering that I don't like going out and shopping for something because I'm afraid a salesperson will ask me what I'm looking for, and I'll feel uncomfortable interacting with a stranger... And I always feel bad walking out of a store empty-handed, partly because I feel bad not buying anything, and partly because I'm paranoid that they'll think I'm trying to shoplift.
And when it comes to bureaucracy, I'm clueless. I've gotten speeding tickets twice in my life. The first time wasn't too bad, beyond that depressing feeling of being 'punished' by our political 'parents', and that's because I was able to pay the ticket online. But the second time, the officer didn't write down a total charge, and so as far as I could tell, I had to go in and see somebody about it. It wasn't as bad as having to go to court, but even just having to find the building, get there during the day, and talk to the right people to get the matter settled, was a nightmare. It went perfectly smoothly, and I should be able to use that experience to bolster my morale, but instead, I severely dread ever having to do something like that again.
I don't want to have to depend on other people to guide me and show me the way and constantly tell me that I'm safe and everything will be alright, but that's exactly what I feel like I need. I hate this idea because it's so cliche, but I guess it makes some amount of sense - I'm like a child lost in an adult's world. I think back on the first day of the school year, throughout my childhood, especially when moving to a new school building, and that uncertainty about the environment, where things are located, who I'm gonna be surrounded by, what I'm expected to do... By the end of the year, and by the end of your tenure at a specific location, you get familiar with the area, and become comfortable. Think about your senior year of high school versus your freshman year, or your senior year of college versus your freshman year. You gradually come to master your environment, and the uncertainty gives way to comfort.
In that sense, the adult world is still very much unfamiliar to me, and uncomfortable. I can even imagine myself coming to master it, getting used to it, and seeing it as not such a threatening place - and sometimes I use that illusion when I'm forced out there, which may actually give other people the impression that I'm more in control than I really feel. But even so, everytime I'm faced with the reality or even just the thought of actually having to go out there, the uncertainty is right there. So I avoid it. Not going to school was never given to me as an option. I forced myself through it because I didn't even postulate the possibility of anything else. Being a child, and not being in control of my own decisions, there was no choice. But now, it's different. Despite all the pressure on me to get a job and to operate in society, I am in fact an adult now, and I am expected to be in control of my own decisions. Nobody is forcing me to work, and so the possibility of not working, and not being a significant part of society, even if unreasonable, exists, and it's the path of least resistance.
Psychiatrists, at least in the popular image, like to trace present problems back to past traumas. I remember when I was a young child, being separated from my mother for the first times - being dropped off at daycares, and preschool. I remember a feeling of absolute terror and despair. Being separated from everything that represented safety and comfort in my life, and being thrown into an unfamiliar situation with a bunch of strangers. Being lost and confused, feeling alone, and perhaps even abandoned. Although I may have gotten better at dealing with situations where I'm cut off from my lifelines - considering that it's rather hard to get through life without being exposed to those sorts of situations - that feeling of dread has never left me. I should be able to recognize that that daycare is not nearly as venomous as my fears make it out to be, and I can accept that on a logical basis, but deep down, my instinctive reaction is the same. I feel like if I go out into the world alone, something bad is going to happen; I won't be able to cope. My fear blows the entire situation out of proportion, and in the face of this drastic challenge, I turn and hide.
It's not rational.
"Adult child, don't hide, just run - go!"
And considering the way I am, these fears are not completely unfounded. Considering that I'm too nervous to call up a doctor and make an appointment, let alone go in for one; considering that I don't like going out and shopping for something because I'm afraid a salesperson will ask me what I'm looking for, and I'll feel uncomfortable interacting with a stranger... And I always feel bad walking out of a store empty-handed, partly because I feel bad not buying anything, and partly because I'm paranoid that they'll think I'm trying to shoplift.
And when it comes to bureaucracy, I'm clueless. I've gotten speeding tickets twice in my life. The first time wasn't too bad, beyond that depressing feeling of being 'punished' by our political 'parents', and that's because I was able to pay the ticket online. But the second time, the officer didn't write down a total charge, and so as far as I could tell, I had to go in and see somebody about it. It wasn't as bad as having to go to court, but even just having to find the building, get there during the day, and talk to the right people to get the matter settled, was a nightmare. It went perfectly smoothly, and I should be able to use that experience to bolster my morale, but instead, I severely dread ever having to do something like that again.
I don't want to have to depend on other people to guide me and show me the way and constantly tell me that I'm safe and everything will be alright, but that's exactly what I feel like I need. I hate this idea because it's so cliche, but I guess it makes some amount of sense - I'm like a child lost in an adult's world. I think back on the first day of the school year, throughout my childhood, especially when moving to a new school building, and that uncertainty about the environment, where things are located, who I'm gonna be surrounded by, what I'm expected to do... By the end of the year, and by the end of your tenure at a specific location, you get familiar with the area, and become comfortable. Think about your senior year of high school versus your freshman year, or your senior year of college versus your freshman year. You gradually come to master your environment, and the uncertainty gives way to comfort.
In that sense, the adult world is still very much unfamiliar to me, and uncomfortable. I can even imagine myself coming to master it, getting used to it, and seeing it as not such a threatening place - and sometimes I use that illusion when I'm forced out there, which may actually give other people the impression that I'm more in control than I really feel. But even so, everytime I'm faced with the reality or even just the thought of actually having to go out there, the uncertainty is right there. So I avoid it. Not going to school was never given to me as an option. I forced myself through it because I didn't even postulate the possibility of anything else. Being a child, and not being in control of my own decisions, there was no choice. But now, it's different. Despite all the pressure on me to get a job and to operate in society, I am in fact an adult now, and I am expected to be in control of my own decisions. Nobody is forcing me to work, and so the possibility of not working, and not being a significant part of society, even if unreasonable, exists, and it's the path of least resistance.
Psychiatrists, at least in the popular image, like to trace present problems back to past traumas. I remember when I was a young child, being separated from my mother for the first times - being dropped off at daycares, and preschool. I remember a feeling of absolute terror and despair. Being separated from everything that represented safety and comfort in my life, and being thrown into an unfamiliar situation with a bunch of strangers. Being lost and confused, feeling alone, and perhaps even abandoned. Although I may have gotten better at dealing with situations where I'm cut off from my lifelines - considering that it's rather hard to get through life without being exposed to those sorts of situations - that feeling of dread has never left me. I should be able to recognize that that daycare is not nearly as venomous as my fears make it out to be, and I can accept that on a logical basis, but deep down, my instinctive reaction is the same. I feel like if I go out into the world alone, something bad is going to happen; I won't be able to cope. My fear blows the entire situation out of proportion, and in the face of this drastic challenge, I turn and hide.
It's not rational.
"Adult child, don't hide, just run - go!"
26 January, 2008
Zharth (or Between)
In 7th Grade, in my English class, during the unit on Greek/Roman Mythology, we were at one point required to create a new myth based on gods and characters from the mythology we had been studying. It was a narrative assignment. I regret not having a copy of the narrative I wrote on hand, but I can remember bits and pieces of it. The most important part is that I made an effort to invent the name for one of the characters. I wanted it to be unique, but I also wanted it to sound cool. The result was 'zharth'. I liked the 'zh' sound, because it's pretty exotic in our language (pronounced like the 's' in 'measure' - *not* like a regular 'z'). And the 'th' is to be pronounced like in 'breathe' (as opposed to 'breath'). The name is soft, and a little dark, and you have to take your time pronouncing it to get it right. Overall, I think it has a subtlely commanding effect, and its uniqueness allows it to stand out without relying on flair and cheap tactics.
In the narrative/myth, I tried a pretty unorthodox technique to try and give the opening a bang. I sort of jumped right into the middle of the action, then I stepped back and walked the reader up to that action to give it its context. I liked it, but the teacher unsurprisingly hated the effect. I don't remember if my myth had some kind of moral or something, but what happened was that a mortal was taken to Mount Olympus to hold court with Zeus. For some reason I can't remember. I was rushed, trying to finish typing up the story on the computer at the last minute, as class was ending, so I ended up cutting a lot out of the end of the story in the 'final copy' just to get it finished and turned in. But the most important part of the story is in the middle, where the mortal meets with Poseidon, and agrees to escort a mute character named Zharth to Mount Olympus. Reason unknown (in the story - this time it's not because I forgot). Zharth really had nothing to do with the story, I just threw him in there for some reason, to add a little intrigue, or something. But since then, he's become vastly important, as I have adopted his name and developed his personality after my own. Alternatively, you could say that by inventing the character Zharth, I was placing myself into the story, in a nonessential role - a cameo of sorts.
In the cult classic PC game Realms of the Haunting, there's a scene toward the end, where you're talking to Abaddon (Keeper of the Key to the Abyss) just before entering the first level of Sheol. You ask if your adversary has been through the gate yet, and Abaddon explains that he knows people not by their name, but by their soul signature. The soul signature of the one who went before you was Lies - undoubtedly the one you feared, Belial. I've really taken to the idea of a person having a soul signature, which sums up that person's being in a single word. In practice, it's obviously very simplistic, but there's a certain poetry about it. Personally, I'd like to think that my soul signature is Truth, as that is the one virtue I admire most. However, that may be more of an ideal, and if there was one word I'd use to describe my whole existence, it would be Between. So I spent some time further characterizing Zharth - an expression of my soul being - as "The One Who Walks Between". Surely you've heard of the concept of the Happy Medium - well, Zharth is the Unhappy Medium, always torn between two worlds, yearning for both, but belonging to neither.
I see the concept of Between everywhere, when I think about my life and my personality. I am a middle child, second of three sons. I am caught between the conservative ethics of my older brother, and the liberal views of my younger brother. I want to be normal, but I'm attached to my eccentricity. I like to fit in, but I want to stand out. I desire company, but I require solitude. I've studied science, but I'm pursuing art. I respect logic, but I admire intuition. I love the sun, but I am a child of the night. I care for people, but I'm afraid to show it. I want to succeed, but I'd rather relax.
And I just retook the Jungian Types Test (http://webspace.ship.edu/cgboer/jungiantypestest.html), and once again, the only trait I'm *not* on the borderline for is Introversion. I am Introverted, slightly Intuiting over Sensing, slightly Thinking over Feeling, and slightly Judging over Perceiving. Results are comparable to the last time I took the test, almost two years ago.
In the narrative/myth, I tried a pretty unorthodox technique to try and give the opening a bang. I sort of jumped right into the middle of the action, then I stepped back and walked the reader up to that action to give it its context. I liked it, but the teacher unsurprisingly hated the effect. I don't remember if my myth had some kind of moral or something, but what happened was that a mortal was taken to Mount Olympus to hold court with Zeus. For some reason I can't remember. I was rushed, trying to finish typing up the story on the computer at the last minute, as class was ending, so I ended up cutting a lot out of the end of the story in the 'final copy' just to get it finished and turned in. But the most important part of the story is in the middle, where the mortal meets with Poseidon, and agrees to escort a mute character named Zharth to Mount Olympus. Reason unknown (in the story - this time it's not because I forgot). Zharth really had nothing to do with the story, I just threw him in there for some reason, to add a little intrigue, or something. But since then, he's become vastly important, as I have adopted his name and developed his personality after my own. Alternatively, you could say that by inventing the character Zharth, I was placing myself into the story, in a nonessential role - a cameo of sorts.
In the cult classic PC game Realms of the Haunting, there's a scene toward the end, where you're talking to Abaddon (Keeper of the Key to the Abyss) just before entering the first level of Sheol. You ask if your adversary has been through the gate yet, and Abaddon explains that he knows people not by their name, but by their soul signature. The soul signature of the one who went before you was Lies - undoubtedly the one you feared, Belial. I've really taken to the idea of a person having a soul signature, which sums up that person's being in a single word. In practice, it's obviously very simplistic, but there's a certain poetry about it. Personally, I'd like to think that my soul signature is Truth, as that is the one virtue I admire most. However, that may be more of an ideal, and if there was one word I'd use to describe my whole existence, it would be Between. So I spent some time further characterizing Zharth - an expression of my soul being - as "The One Who Walks Between". Surely you've heard of the concept of the Happy Medium - well, Zharth is the Unhappy Medium, always torn between two worlds, yearning for both, but belonging to neither.
I see the concept of Between everywhere, when I think about my life and my personality. I am a middle child, second of three sons. I am caught between the conservative ethics of my older brother, and the liberal views of my younger brother. I want to be normal, but I'm attached to my eccentricity. I like to fit in, but I want to stand out. I desire company, but I require solitude. I've studied science, but I'm pursuing art. I respect logic, but I admire intuition. I love the sun, but I am a child of the night. I care for people, but I'm afraid to show it. I want to succeed, but I'd rather relax.
And I just retook the Jungian Types Test (http://webspace.ship.edu/cgboer/jungiantypestest.html), and once again, the only trait I'm *not* on the borderline for is Introversion. I am Introverted, slightly Intuiting over Sensing, slightly Thinking over Feeling, and slightly Judging over Perceiving. Results are comparable to the last time I took the test, almost two years ago.
19 January, 2008
Musical Discoveries
Inspired by a post by Satanic Thoreau, which characteristically turned out to be way fucking longer than I was expecting, I've decided to discuss where I discovered some of my favorite musical artists.
Classic Rock (Popular)
Most of the classic rock artists I'm into I discovered from a combination of my parents' listening habits as I was being raised (more of a subconscious inspiration), and the stuff I heard on RRK, which was (alas, no longer) the classic rock station in this area when I first *consciously* started recognizing music and acquiring a taste for it (around the end of my high school years). But here are a few specific stories:
Led Zeppelin
Stairway To Heaven was one of the first songs that I really got into in a big way. During the first semester of my senior year in high school, I spent a lot of time at home after school sitting in the dark and listening to RRK. I was "earning my chops" as a listener, in terms of getting to know all the most popular classic rock tracks (at least on big name radio, anyway). But everytime Stairway To Heaven came on - which was relatively frequently - I went into a total trance. It was practically a spiritual experience. The magic of the song, and the power and emotion of the solo. Once, a little later, after acquiring a girlfriend, I pulled the car into the driveway when Stairway came on. She was anxious to get inside, so she shut the radio off - cutting off my reverie. I was pissed.
As far as the rest of Zep's catalog, in addition to what RRK played, they did a Top 50 Albums countdown over Thanksgiving weekend that year. I got introduced to a lot of good albums on that countdown (as opposed to just songs), and I actually used it as a guide for writing up my Christmas list, since before then I didn't really know what albums were good. The albums on that countdown that made the biggest impression on me were Zep's.
Another formulating experience, if I haven't mentioned it already, was the weekend with the ZoSocar. One weekend that December, my brother 'traded' cars with me for the weekend, because he wanted to take the van up to Canada. So I got to drive his white Firebird. It was a sweet ride. He left Zep's fourth album in the CD player, so naturally, driving the car meant listening to the album. It was an amazing experience, that I am sure only increased the magic of that album.
Pink Floyd
I discovered Pink Floyd pretty much the same way as Led Zeppelin, though there wasn't necessarily one song that stood out for me as much as Stairway To Heaven did. But I do remember one Floyd-related incident from my childhood. I was in some way familiar with Dark Side of the Moon, because I remember I would sometimes beg my mom to put it on so I could listen to my favorite part, which was the ambient portion at the very beginning of the song Time. Floyd was probably the band I was most consciously aware of during the early years. In the discovery period, during the end of my high school years, I attached myself to Pink Floyd because they seemed a bit more sophisticated than the average rock band, and also because their music had a certain emotion to it - something a bit more introspective and atmospheric - which attracted me. I remember driving back from the mall one day, by myself, and Hey You came on the radio, and I thought back on my experiences, since I was approaching graduation, and I just had this feeling that Pink Floyd had some underlying connection to me.
The Doors
Something about The Doors reminds me of our family vacations to Deep Creek Lake in my childhood. It probably has a lot to do with hearing them a lot during those vacations. But it might also have to do with a very important experience that has stuck in my memory all these years. We were just coming off the lake as a storm broke out. While our relatives were tying up the boat, my brothers and I ran ahead to the cottages for cover. The doors were locked and nobody answered. We ran along the road from our parents' cottage to our grandparents' cottage, and the van drove right up to us, coming back from shopping. They opened the door and we climbed in out of the rain, and Riders on the Storm was playing on the CD player. Perfect.
The Who
The Who was actually the first rock concert I ever went to. But it wasn't me, it was my brother, that suggested it to my dad in the first place. I wanted to get a better idea of who The Who was - in essence, which of the songs I knew from the radio was actually The Who. I heard Who Are You one day, and I remember coming to the realization that "this is The Who". So I've kind of always felt a little behind the curve in my appreciation for The Who, but there's something very unique about the band, particularly Pete Townshend's approach to playing the guitar, that I've come to appreciate more and more over the years.
The Rolling Stones
The Rolling Stones is my dad's favorite band, so my awareness of them is pretty self-explanatory. They don't really have a searing guitar god - Keith Richards has always been more of the rhythm/song-writing type - so I've always spent less attention on them than other bands. But there's no doubt that they have a solid groove, as well as being just downright cool. And listening to them a lot, and learning about them on the side, from my dad's influence, I've learned to appreciate them more and more.
Neil Young
My first encounter with Neil Young was the song Cinnamon Girl which came on every once in awhile on the radio. I remember separating it in my mind from Brown-Eyed Girl, since the title was similar in structure. But between the two, Cinnamon Girl was more interesting because it was electric and had a rock edge. Another time, in a rare occurence, I heard Down By The River playing on the radio, and I was captivated by the electric jamming and groovy atmosphere. Yet another time, I heard Like A Hurricane, and I wasn't sure it was Neil Young, but I had a pretty good idea that it was, because I could hear the stylistic similarities to Down By The River. I tried to look it up, but kept getting Rock You Like A Hurricane, which obviously wasn't right.
I knew my dad had some Neil Young in his collection, so I looked through it one night, and discovered the album Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, with the song Down By The River - bingo! Listening to the album, I heard Cowgirl in the Sand for the very first time, and it blew me away. I loved it, but I didn't become totally obsessed with the song until my freshman year in college, sitting in the window, watching the students pass by down below, listening to the song on repeat for hours, waiting for just a glimpse of heaven.
Other Classic Rock/Blues
Robin Trower and Ten Years After
I'm lumping these two together only because I 'discovered' them simultaneously. Ten Years After has more or less been my dad's second favorite band, and my introduction to them during the Woodstock film (Alvin Lee totally smoking on the guitar throughout I'm Going Home) whetted my appetite for more. As for Robin Trower, I heard about him from an online classic rock forum, and decided he was worth checking out. So sometime during my college days, I ordered a TYA album and a Trower album. When they arrived, I took them to the library to listen to while doing some homework (I'm thinking this must have been sophomore year). I was entranced by Trower, and TYA blew me away. One of the TYA songs, You Give Me Loving, actually sounded familiar to me. It was bizarre, because I know I hadn't consciously heard the song before, but the riff must have been burned into my brain subconsciously from listening to TYA a lot during childhood, as I'm sure I did.
Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac
My first introduction to Peter Green was waking up halfway in the middle of the night, with the radio still playing, and hearing the song Oh Well, including the full acoustic portion. It mesmerized me, and I made a point to jot down the name of the song and the band, that the DJ announced after it ended, on a strip of paper so I would remember it the next morning. I woke up and looked at the piece of paper, and told myself that there was no way that song was by Fleetwood Mac, the band that did the Rumours album. So I shrugged it off for the time being.
I don't recall how Peter Green re-entered my consciousness, but I was curious, perhaps still wondering about that Oh Well song, so I went and bought the BBC Sessions featuring not just Fleetwood Mac, but Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac. I was sold instantly, after listening to it. Peter Green, with his heart-rending soulful blues licks, and his melancholic sensibilities, immediately became one of my favorite artists of all time. He's an amazing musician, and the very personal songs he sings, I feel like it could have been me that wrote those songs. There's a deep connection there.
Michael Bloomfield
I came upon Michael Bloomfield in a roundabout way. It's pretty ironic, actually. One day, jumping into (or maybe just before getting out of) the car at Guitar Center, I heard on the radio - a rare occurrence, indeed - the version of Season of the Witch which turned out to be by Al Kooper and Stephen Stills. Not at first, but this gradually led me to the Super Session album, from which the track comes, which features some of Bloomfield's best playing. The session was conceived for just that purpose, and Stills' contribution came only after Bloomfield skipped out halfway through the proceedings. So by chance, I was drawn to Super Session by one of the non-Bloomfield tracks!
And then there was the Monterey Pop Festival DVD. Bloomfield plays on it with a band called Electric Flag. But what caught my attention even more, was the Paul Butterfield Blues Band's performance on Driftin' and Driftin'. Once again, I just barely missed Bloomfield, because shortly before Monterey, he had quit the Butterfield Blues Band to form Electric Flag! Still, I got interested in the Butterfield Blues Band, and bought the anthology, half of which features Bloomfield on guitar. So from both this and Super Session, I came to discover, in a roundabout fashion, the genius of Michael Bloomfield, forgotten blues virtuoso guitar god of the sixties (and to a decidedly lesser extent, the seventies).
Other Genres
Joe Bonamassa (Modern Blues Rock)
I don't recall exactly how I came across Grooveyard Records, but when I did, I realized that here was a potential treasure trove of modern music that could appeal to my guitar-driven blues-influenced rock sensibilities. I downloaded all of the sample tracks from the various albums they were offering, and I listened to them, paring them down to the very best four. Then, I ordered the albums those best tracks were from. This is how I discovered Lance Lopez, also. One of those first tracks was A New Day Yesterday from Joe Bonamassa's live album of that title. I got the album and I've been a dedicated fan ever since. He's my favorite modern guitarist.
Shannon Curfman (Modern Blues Rock)
One day during my senior year in college, I was sitting at my desk in my room, reading from a hometown mag I had just got in the mail. I scanned through it for anything interest-catching. Well, in the live performances section of the magazine, there was an article about an upcoming performance by a young female blues rocker. My interest was piqued. When I read that she had recorded a blues album at age 15, I was fascinated. I couldn't get home to see her perform that time, but I bought her album and got a chance to see her next time 'round.
Silvertide (Modern Classic-style Rock)
When Silvertide were just getting popular over in Philly, there was a Philly-based member on an online Zeppelin forum I frequented at the time. He was advertising the band, but I pretty much ignored them at first. Finally, this member sent me an audio track or two, and I was really impressed. I also visited the band's website and heard a few more songs, and I was hooked. I got a chance to see the band live as an opening act, and I eagerly anticipated their first album release. Afterward, I even hoofed it out across the stateline to see them perform for a future live DVD release, which never happened. Unfortunately, the band faded into the void behind lies of a second album. Nobody knows if they will ever resurface, but at this time, it looks highly doubtful. Ah well, they were good while they lasted.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor (Post-Rock)
My initial foray into the post-rock and, more generally, the ambient and atmospheric music genres, came out of my discovery of the band Godspeed You! Black Emperor. And that occurred while initially watching zombie horror flick 28 Days Later. Despite their anti-publicity stance, Godspeed allowed one of their songs to be used in the movie - and to breathtaking effect. It certainly made an impression on me. Not only did I fashion the main riff of the first "original" song I wrote on guitar after the riff in that song, but I tracked the song down (which doesn't appear on the film soundtrack, by the way), and I've been a fan of the band ever since. The post-apocalyptic soundscapes that journey from very loud to very quiet sections entrances me.
Classic Rock (Popular)
Most of the classic rock artists I'm into I discovered from a combination of my parents' listening habits as I was being raised (more of a subconscious inspiration), and the stuff I heard on RRK, which was (alas, no longer) the classic rock station in this area when I first *consciously* started recognizing music and acquiring a taste for it (around the end of my high school years). But here are a few specific stories:
Led Zeppelin
Stairway To Heaven was one of the first songs that I really got into in a big way. During the first semester of my senior year in high school, I spent a lot of time at home after school sitting in the dark and listening to RRK. I was "earning my chops" as a listener, in terms of getting to know all the most popular classic rock tracks (at least on big name radio, anyway). But everytime Stairway To Heaven came on - which was relatively frequently - I went into a total trance. It was practically a spiritual experience. The magic of the song, and the power and emotion of the solo. Once, a little later, after acquiring a girlfriend, I pulled the car into the driveway when Stairway came on. She was anxious to get inside, so she shut the radio off - cutting off my reverie. I was pissed.
As far as the rest of Zep's catalog, in addition to what RRK played, they did a Top 50 Albums countdown over Thanksgiving weekend that year. I got introduced to a lot of good albums on that countdown (as opposed to just songs), and I actually used it as a guide for writing up my Christmas list, since before then I didn't really know what albums were good. The albums on that countdown that made the biggest impression on me were Zep's.
Another formulating experience, if I haven't mentioned it already, was the weekend with the ZoSocar. One weekend that December, my brother 'traded' cars with me for the weekend, because he wanted to take the van up to Canada. So I got to drive his white Firebird. It was a sweet ride. He left Zep's fourth album in the CD player, so naturally, driving the car meant listening to the album. It was an amazing experience, that I am sure only increased the magic of that album.
Pink Floyd
I discovered Pink Floyd pretty much the same way as Led Zeppelin, though there wasn't necessarily one song that stood out for me as much as Stairway To Heaven did. But I do remember one Floyd-related incident from my childhood. I was in some way familiar with Dark Side of the Moon, because I remember I would sometimes beg my mom to put it on so I could listen to my favorite part, which was the ambient portion at the very beginning of the song Time. Floyd was probably the band I was most consciously aware of during the early years. In the discovery period, during the end of my high school years, I attached myself to Pink Floyd because they seemed a bit more sophisticated than the average rock band, and also because their music had a certain emotion to it - something a bit more introspective and atmospheric - which attracted me. I remember driving back from the mall one day, by myself, and Hey You came on the radio, and I thought back on my experiences, since I was approaching graduation, and I just had this feeling that Pink Floyd had some underlying connection to me.
The Doors
Something about The Doors reminds me of our family vacations to Deep Creek Lake in my childhood. It probably has a lot to do with hearing them a lot during those vacations. But it might also have to do with a very important experience that has stuck in my memory all these years. We were just coming off the lake as a storm broke out. While our relatives were tying up the boat, my brothers and I ran ahead to the cottages for cover. The doors were locked and nobody answered. We ran along the road from our parents' cottage to our grandparents' cottage, and the van drove right up to us, coming back from shopping. They opened the door and we climbed in out of the rain, and Riders on the Storm was playing on the CD player. Perfect.
The Who
The Who was actually the first rock concert I ever went to. But it wasn't me, it was my brother, that suggested it to my dad in the first place. I wanted to get a better idea of who The Who was - in essence, which of the songs I knew from the radio was actually The Who. I heard Who Are You one day, and I remember coming to the realization that "this is The Who". So I've kind of always felt a little behind the curve in my appreciation for The Who, but there's something very unique about the band, particularly Pete Townshend's approach to playing the guitar, that I've come to appreciate more and more over the years.
The Rolling Stones
The Rolling Stones is my dad's favorite band, so my awareness of them is pretty self-explanatory. They don't really have a searing guitar god - Keith Richards has always been more of the rhythm/song-writing type - so I've always spent less attention on them than other bands. But there's no doubt that they have a solid groove, as well as being just downright cool. And listening to them a lot, and learning about them on the side, from my dad's influence, I've learned to appreciate them more and more.
Neil Young
My first encounter with Neil Young was the song Cinnamon Girl which came on every once in awhile on the radio. I remember separating it in my mind from Brown-Eyed Girl, since the title was similar in structure. But between the two, Cinnamon Girl was more interesting because it was electric and had a rock edge. Another time, in a rare occurence, I heard Down By The River playing on the radio, and I was captivated by the electric jamming and groovy atmosphere. Yet another time, I heard Like A Hurricane, and I wasn't sure it was Neil Young, but I had a pretty good idea that it was, because I could hear the stylistic similarities to Down By The River. I tried to look it up, but kept getting Rock You Like A Hurricane, which obviously wasn't right.
I knew my dad had some Neil Young in his collection, so I looked through it one night, and discovered the album Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere, with the song Down By The River - bingo! Listening to the album, I heard Cowgirl in the Sand for the very first time, and it blew me away. I loved it, but I didn't become totally obsessed with the song until my freshman year in college, sitting in the window, watching the students pass by down below, listening to the song on repeat for hours, waiting for just a glimpse of heaven.
Other Classic Rock/Blues
Robin Trower and Ten Years After
I'm lumping these two together only because I 'discovered' them simultaneously. Ten Years After has more or less been my dad's second favorite band, and my introduction to them during the Woodstock film (Alvin Lee totally smoking on the guitar throughout I'm Going Home) whetted my appetite for more. As for Robin Trower, I heard about him from an online classic rock forum, and decided he was worth checking out. So sometime during my college days, I ordered a TYA album and a Trower album. When they arrived, I took them to the library to listen to while doing some homework (I'm thinking this must have been sophomore year). I was entranced by Trower, and TYA blew me away. One of the TYA songs, You Give Me Loving, actually sounded familiar to me. It was bizarre, because I know I hadn't consciously heard the song before, but the riff must have been burned into my brain subconsciously from listening to TYA a lot during childhood, as I'm sure I did.
Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac
My first introduction to Peter Green was waking up halfway in the middle of the night, with the radio still playing, and hearing the song Oh Well, including the full acoustic portion. It mesmerized me, and I made a point to jot down the name of the song and the band, that the DJ announced after it ended, on a strip of paper so I would remember it the next morning. I woke up and looked at the piece of paper, and told myself that there was no way that song was by Fleetwood Mac, the band that did the Rumours album. So I shrugged it off for the time being.
I don't recall how Peter Green re-entered my consciousness, but I was curious, perhaps still wondering about that Oh Well song, so I went and bought the BBC Sessions featuring not just Fleetwood Mac, but Peter Green's Fleetwood Mac. I was sold instantly, after listening to it. Peter Green, with his heart-rending soulful blues licks, and his melancholic sensibilities, immediately became one of my favorite artists of all time. He's an amazing musician, and the very personal songs he sings, I feel like it could have been me that wrote those songs. There's a deep connection there.
Michael Bloomfield
I came upon Michael Bloomfield in a roundabout way. It's pretty ironic, actually. One day, jumping into (or maybe just before getting out of) the car at Guitar Center, I heard on the radio - a rare occurrence, indeed - the version of Season of the Witch which turned out to be by Al Kooper and Stephen Stills. Not at first, but this gradually led me to the Super Session album, from which the track comes, which features some of Bloomfield's best playing. The session was conceived for just that purpose, and Stills' contribution came only after Bloomfield skipped out halfway through the proceedings. So by chance, I was drawn to Super Session by one of the non-Bloomfield tracks!
And then there was the Monterey Pop Festival DVD. Bloomfield plays on it with a band called Electric Flag. But what caught my attention even more, was the Paul Butterfield Blues Band's performance on Driftin' and Driftin'. Once again, I just barely missed Bloomfield, because shortly before Monterey, he had quit the Butterfield Blues Band to form Electric Flag! Still, I got interested in the Butterfield Blues Band, and bought the anthology, half of which features Bloomfield on guitar. So from both this and Super Session, I came to discover, in a roundabout fashion, the genius of Michael Bloomfield, forgotten blues virtuoso guitar god of the sixties (and to a decidedly lesser extent, the seventies).
Other Genres
Joe Bonamassa (Modern Blues Rock)
I don't recall exactly how I came across Grooveyard Records, but when I did, I realized that here was a potential treasure trove of modern music that could appeal to my guitar-driven blues-influenced rock sensibilities. I downloaded all of the sample tracks from the various albums they were offering, and I listened to them, paring them down to the very best four. Then, I ordered the albums those best tracks were from. This is how I discovered Lance Lopez, also. One of those first tracks was A New Day Yesterday from Joe Bonamassa's live album of that title. I got the album and I've been a dedicated fan ever since. He's my favorite modern guitarist.
Shannon Curfman (Modern Blues Rock)
One day during my senior year in college, I was sitting at my desk in my room, reading from a hometown mag I had just got in the mail. I scanned through it for anything interest-catching. Well, in the live performances section of the magazine, there was an article about an upcoming performance by a young female blues rocker. My interest was piqued. When I read that she had recorded a blues album at age 15, I was fascinated. I couldn't get home to see her perform that time, but I bought her album and got a chance to see her next time 'round.
Silvertide (Modern Classic-style Rock)
When Silvertide were just getting popular over in Philly, there was a Philly-based member on an online Zeppelin forum I frequented at the time. He was advertising the band, but I pretty much ignored them at first. Finally, this member sent me an audio track or two, and I was really impressed. I also visited the band's website and heard a few more songs, and I was hooked. I got a chance to see the band live as an opening act, and I eagerly anticipated their first album release. Afterward, I even hoofed it out across the stateline to see them perform for a future live DVD release, which never happened. Unfortunately, the band faded into the void behind lies of a second album. Nobody knows if they will ever resurface, but at this time, it looks highly doubtful. Ah well, they were good while they lasted.
Godspeed You! Black Emperor (Post-Rock)
My initial foray into the post-rock and, more generally, the ambient and atmospheric music genres, came out of my discovery of the band Godspeed You! Black Emperor. And that occurred while initially watching zombie horror flick 28 Days Later. Despite their anti-publicity stance, Godspeed allowed one of their songs to be used in the movie - and to breathtaking effect. It certainly made an impression on me. Not only did I fashion the main riff of the first "original" song I wrote on guitar after the riff in that song, but I tracked the song down (which doesn't appear on the film soundtrack, by the way), and I've been a fan of the band ever since. The post-apocalyptic soundscapes that journey from very loud to very quiet sections entrances me.
10 January, 2008
Drugs
(This is a continuation of the discussion started in the previous entry titled "Hippie Ideals")
Hippies used drugs to expand their consciousness. It was a vital component of the whole intellectual revolution. Drugs let people step outside themselves, and helped them to feel the oneness of the universe. It mellowed them out, and gave them spiritual awakenings. I believe that drugs were an integral part of everything the hippie movement stood for. But that was also its downfall.
As sure as drugs can lift you up, they can also bring you down. And as the hippies were lifted up, they were soon brought down, hard. Adventure and experiment and expansion became addiction. Slavery of a whole other kind. Without drugs, I believe the movement wouldn't have been nearly as successful, or nearly as widespread. But the drugs destroyed the idealism of it all, in the end. The ideas behind the revolution were solid, and they would have stood strong on their own merits, but it was drugs that put so many people in the right state of mind to support it. This is the thing. I believe in a lot of the hippies' ideas, but from a purely non drug-influenced standpoint. So to me, personally, I feel the drugs are unnecessary. Though I understand that most people need them to get to this point.
Ah, drugs. I don't do drugs. Most people are surprised by that. I have long hair, and I sometimes dress like a hippie - which usually includes ripped jeans, tie-dye shirts, and round sunglasses. I'm a musician, I play guitar, and my favorite music is classic rock. I wear contacts a lot, which often irritate my eyes, causing them to become bloodshot. To a lot of people that don't know me very well, I am the stereotypical stoner.* But I already said that I don't do drugs. Not even casually. And it's not necessarily that I'm so against them that I don't think anybody should ever do them - it's just that I don't believe they're for me.
Here's where the tired rebuttal comes in - "but how do you know if you've never tried them?" Right, I've never tried drugs. I might have had maybe a sip or two of wine in my entire life (which tasted terrible, by the way), but I've never had a can of beer. I've never smoked a cigarette (frankly, I think they're disgusting). I've never smoked a joint, either. I've never taken a hit. I've never dropped acid. I've never taken pills, and I don't even like to take medicine for health purposes, unless the pain or discomfort becomes unbearable.
Now it's time to dig deep into my psyche. Why? Why not even a little try? It couldn't hurt, right? Sure, there's the fear of getting addicted, but I have enough faith in my self-discipline that I could at least try it without falling into an addiction. So, why not try?
I was good friends with a jam band in college. Their guitarist actually borrowed my guitar for their first real gig together at a Battle of the Bands in a local frat house. I've even sat in their 'circle' on occasion, but I've always passed up the chance to 'join in'. At one of their last shows before half the band (as well as myself) were to graduate, they did a round of shots in the bar they were playing in, before starting the show. They begged me to join, in celebration of all the times we'd had, but I refused. I feel bad about refusing, but I just wasn't about to take some alcohol. Especially not for the first time, in that kind of environment. But I was totally with them, just not on a chemical level.
The main reason I don't do drugs now is because I've resolved myself to avoid them. And part of the reason for that is that I've come so far without falling into that subculture. I feel like that's something unique, something that sets me apart from the average, and something that I shouldn't just throw away. But how did I come this far? A lot of it was the result of just not being a very social person. In high school, I never went to parties where people hung out and had beer and lots of fun. I wasn't part of that scene, or any scene, really. I didn't get into cigarettes because I was never one of those cool kids, or bad kids, that would try that. Nobody even really gave me the opportunity - but that's not to say I would have taken it, if they had.
Another part of my stance is just the whole image of that scene. I don't want to be part of the druggy scene, the stoner scene, or the drinker's scene. Going to bars and clubs is not for me. Furthermore, I've had some exposure to people on the influence of various kinds of drugs, and it doesn't impress me. Maybe it's really cool to be on their side of the portal. Maybe it feels great and all that. But from my side, it doesn't look so inviting. People that are high think that everything's so funny, and that everything's so deep and meaningful. But when you're talking to a clear-headed person, it's just a pain. It's like, yeah, okay, it's the drugs talking, you're not making any sense, and you just don't realize it because your head isn't clear. And drunks? Maybe they're funny sometimes, but I generally just think they're obnoxious. Slurred speech? I don't wanna exert extra effort just to understand what you're trying to say, especially when it doesn't mean a whole lot, anyway. Some drugs might make people more social, maybe even more friendly, but I don't want people to be paying lots of attention to me. I don't want them to be telling me funny stories that I have no interest in, when I'm preoccupied with something else. And I really don't want them to be hugging me and telling me how much they love me, especially when I don't even know who they are.
The key to it is that phrase, 'clear-headed'. I have a great amount of respect in truth, and I just don't believe, like some people might believe, that drugs get you closer to that truth. I feel that they just put more layers between you and that truth. So for me, what's the point? Maybe, if it made me feel good, then there might be some reason to try it. But what's the benefit in the long run? I don't want to deal with hangovers, or withdrawal, or hugging a toilet seat puking my brains out, or hacking up a lung, or anything like that. And maybe this is just the result of the perspective mainstream society has on (illegal) drugs, but I don't particularly want to deal with the types of people that peddle drugs, either.
I've thought about it, and if there was one drug that I would ever want to try, then I might consider trying acid, just from all the things I've heard about it. My one friend, who fantasizes about taking ecstasy by the way, always counters with stories of 'bad trips'. But does that mean there are no good trips? Anyhow, just the descriptions of the kind of experiences you can have on acid have made me curious, but get this straight, I'm not exactly looking for a source. I'm not about to give up the drug-free existence I currently have just for an experience like that. Yeah, some people say it can be life-changing. But again, I don't want my life to be changed by a surreal experience that occurred when my faculties were functioning on a whole different level than they normally do. I want to be wowed by something I can understand. Something I can reason about. Something that *I* can react to, not the drugs.
I'm the one steering this ride, and I'm not about to hand the controls over to someone else.
Still, I'm a lot more open about drug use than mainstream society is, and if you choose to take drugs, I have no problem with that. All you gotta understand is that I might decide not to hang around you as much. Depending on all kinds of factors. And that's all there is to it.
* On a somewhat lighter note, here are some experiences I've had where people have mistaken me for a druggy (and in some cases, a drug-dealer - no joke):
Back in college, when my best friend was just starting to get to know me, I had him over to my dorm room once. He must have got the impression, as many do, that I was a druggy, because, as he told me later, when I offered him some of my "special homemade brownies", he declined. I had no idea what the situation looked like at the time, because for me, I was just being a good host and offering some of the brownies my Grandma had made and sent to me. But now I look back on it and smile at the humorous misunderstanding. Luckily, that experience didn't hamper our developing friendship.
I was walking with that same friend once, heading back to our dorms after either shopping or eating at some place out on the main road (probably Wal-Mart), and a fazed-out dude walked up to us. I happened to be wearing a Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt - since, as you may know, Pink Floyd is one of my favorite bands. Well, the dude asked me where he could score some drugs. I told him I didn't know, but he insisted that he could tell that I was the kind of person who would know. He didn't give up, so all I could think to do was send him off in the opposite direction. I directed him toward the Dunkin' Donuts way down the street. I told him to keep walking til he got to the main road and he'd see it. I was referring to the donuts, of course. Lucky for us, he bought the story and headed off. I was a little worried at what he might have done if I hadn't given him any kind of satisfactory answer. It's a good thing neither one of us ever saw him again.
I went to a movie by myself once, fairly recently, at the dollar cinema. The girl working at the box office looked like a high school student, total goth-type. She took one look at me and asked me if I was high. I told her no, and she was like "for real?" As she got me my ticket, she mentioned that she was gonna go smoke some pot as soon as she got off. She must have realized I was telling the truth about not being high, because as I was walking into the main part of the theatre, she quickly said, in a worried voice, "don't tell anybody, okay?" I said it was cool. I'm not gonna bust somebody on that. I'm no druggy, but I'm not a narc, either.
Not far removed in time from that experience (it may have even been the same day), I noticed some kids in the parking lot hanging out by a van playing hacky-sack, while I was walking into Border's. I happened to be wearing sandals, tight jeans, a tie-dye Led Zeppelin shirt, and my hippie sunglasses. They noticed me when I went into the store, but it was while I was walking back to my van when they decided to get my attention. They walked over nonchalantly at first. I tried to ignore them, just hoping that they didn't want anything to do with me. But they called to me, saying something about needing help getting a pickup. In my naivete, I thought they were talking about needing a ride. In my confusion, they got the impression that I wasn't who they were looking for. I don't know if they were being honest, or just trying to cover their mistake, but they said I actually looked like a guy they knew. In any case, they left me alone and I headed off. It was sort of awkward, but because they were pretty cool about it, it wasn't a big deal. But I figure it's only a matter of time before it happens again...
Hippies used drugs to expand their consciousness. It was a vital component of the whole intellectual revolution. Drugs let people step outside themselves, and helped them to feel the oneness of the universe. It mellowed them out, and gave them spiritual awakenings. I believe that drugs were an integral part of everything the hippie movement stood for. But that was also its downfall.
As sure as drugs can lift you up, they can also bring you down. And as the hippies were lifted up, they were soon brought down, hard. Adventure and experiment and expansion became addiction. Slavery of a whole other kind. Without drugs, I believe the movement wouldn't have been nearly as successful, or nearly as widespread. But the drugs destroyed the idealism of it all, in the end. The ideas behind the revolution were solid, and they would have stood strong on their own merits, but it was drugs that put so many people in the right state of mind to support it. This is the thing. I believe in a lot of the hippies' ideas, but from a purely non drug-influenced standpoint. So to me, personally, I feel the drugs are unnecessary. Though I understand that most people need them to get to this point.
Ah, drugs. I don't do drugs. Most people are surprised by that. I have long hair, and I sometimes dress like a hippie - which usually includes ripped jeans, tie-dye shirts, and round sunglasses. I'm a musician, I play guitar, and my favorite music is classic rock. I wear contacts a lot, which often irritate my eyes, causing them to become bloodshot. To a lot of people that don't know me very well, I am the stereotypical stoner.* But I already said that I don't do drugs. Not even casually. And it's not necessarily that I'm so against them that I don't think anybody should ever do them - it's just that I don't believe they're for me.
Here's where the tired rebuttal comes in - "but how do you know if you've never tried them?" Right, I've never tried drugs. I might have had maybe a sip or two of wine in my entire life (which tasted terrible, by the way), but I've never had a can of beer. I've never smoked a cigarette (frankly, I think they're disgusting). I've never smoked a joint, either. I've never taken a hit. I've never dropped acid. I've never taken pills, and I don't even like to take medicine for health purposes, unless the pain or discomfort becomes unbearable.
Now it's time to dig deep into my psyche. Why? Why not even a little try? It couldn't hurt, right? Sure, there's the fear of getting addicted, but I have enough faith in my self-discipline that I could at least try it without falling into an addiction. So, why not try?
I was good friends with a jam band in college. Their guitarist actually borrowed my guitar for their first real gig together at a Battle of the Bands in a local frat house. I've even sat in their 'circle' on occasion, but I've always passed up the chance to 'join in'. At one of their last shows before half the band (as well as myself) were to graduate, they did a round of shots in the bar they were playing in, before starting the show. They begged me to join, in celebration of all the times we'd had, but I refused. I feel bad about refusing, but I just wasn't about to take some alcohol. Especially not for the first time, in that kind of environment. But I was totally with them, just not on a chemical level.
The main reason I don't do drugs now is because I've resolved myself to avoid them. And part of the reason for that is that I've come so far without falling into that subculture. I feel like that's something unique, something that sets me apart from the average, and something that I shouldn't just throw away. But how did I come this far? A lot of it was the result of just not being a very social person. In high school, I never went to parties where people hung out and had beer and lots of fun. I wasn't part of that scene, or any scene, really. I didn't get into cigarettes because I was never one of those cool kids, or bad kids, that would try that. Nobody even really gave me the opportunity - but that's not to say I would have taken it, if they had.
Another part of my stance is just the whole image of that scene. I don't want to be part of the druggy scene, the stoner scene, or the drinker's scene. Going to bars and clubs is not for me. Furthermore, I've had some exposure to people on the influence of various kinds of drugs, and it doesn't impress me. Maybe it's really cool to be on their side of the portal. Maybe it feels great and all that. But from my side, it doesn't look so inviting. People that are high think that everything's so funny, and that everything's so deep and meaningful. But when you're talking to a clear-headed person, it's just a pain. It's like, yeah, okay, it's the drugs talking, you're not making any sense, and you just don't realize it because your head isn't clear. And drunks? Maybe they're funny sometimes, but I generally just think they're obnoxious. Slurred speech? I don't wanna exert extra effort just to understand what you're trying to say, especially when it doesn't mean a whole lot, anyway. Some drugs might make people more social, maybe even more friendly, but I don't want people to be paying lots of attention to me. I don't want them to be telling me funny stories that I have no interest in, when I'm preoccupied with something else. And I really don't want them to be hugging me and telling me how much they love me, especially when I don't even know who they are.
The key to it is that phrase, 'clear-headed'. I have a great amount of respect in truth, and I just don't believe, like some people might believe, that drugs get you closer to that truth. I feel that they just put more layers between you and that truth. So for me, what's the point? Maybe, if it made me feel good, then there might be some reason to try it. But what's the benefit in the long run? I don't want to deal with hangovers, or withdrawal, or hugging a toilet seat puking my brains out, or hacking up a lung, or anything like that. And maybe this is just the result of the perspective mainstream society has on (illegal) drugs, but I don't particularly want to deal with the types of people that peddle drugs, either.
I've thought about it, and if there was one drug that I would ever want to try, then I might consider trying acid, just from all the things I've heard about it. My one friend, who fantasizes about taking ecstasy by the way, always counters with stories of 'bad trips'. But does that mean there are no good trips? Anyhow, just the descriptions of the kind of experiences you can have on acid have made me curious, but get this straight, I'm not exactly looking for a source. I'm not about to give up the drug-free existence I currently have just for an experience like that. Yeah, some people say it can be life-changing. But again, I don't want my life to be changed by a surreal experience that occurred when my faculties were functioning on a whole different level than they normally do. I want to be wowed by something I can understand. Something I can reason about. Something that *I* can react to, not the drugs.
I'm the one steering this ride, and I'm not about to hand the controls over to someone else.
Still, I'm a lot more open about drug use than mainstream society is, and if you choose to take drugs, I have no problem with that. All you gotta understand is that I might decide not to hang around you as much. Depending on all kinds of factors. And that's all there is to it.
* On a somewhat lighter note, here are some experiences I've had where people have mistaken me for a druggy (and in some cases, a drug-dealer - no joke):
Back in college, when my best friend was just starting to get to know me, I had him over to my dorm room once. He must have got the impression, as many do, that I was a druggy, because, as he told me later, when I offered him some of my "special homemade brownies", he declined. I had no idea what the situation looked like at the time, because for me, I was just being a good host and offering some of the brownies my Grandma had made and sent to me. But now I look back on it and smile at the humorous misunderstanding. Luckily, that experience didn't hamper our developing friendship.
I was walking with that same friend once, heading back to our dorms after either shopping or eating at some place out on the main road (probably Wal-Mart), and a fazed-out dude walked up to us. I happened to be wearing a Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt - since, as you may know, Pink Floyd is one of my favorite bands. Well, the dude asked me where he could score some drugs. I told him I didn't know, but he insisted that he could tell that I was the kind of person who would know. He didn't give up, so all I could think to do was send him off in the opposite direction. I directed him toward the Dunkin' Donuts way down the street. I told him to keep walking til he got to the main road and he'd see it. I was referring to the donuts, of course. Lucky for us, he bought the story and headed off. I was a little worried at what he might have done if I hadn't given him any kind of satisfactory answer. It's a good thing neither one of us ever saw him again.
I went to a movie by myself once, fairly recently, at the dollar cinema. The girl working at the box office looked like a high school student, total goth-type. She took one look at me and asked me if I was high. I told her no, and she was like "for real?" As she got me my ticket, she mentioned that she was gonna go smoke some pot as soon as she got off. She must have realized I was telling the truth about not being high, because as I was walking into the main part of the theatre, she quickly said, in a worried voice, "don't tell anybody, okay?" I said it was cool. I'm not gonna bust somebody on that. I'm no druggy, but I'm not a narc, either.
Not far removed in time from that experience (it may have even been the same day), I noticed some kids in the parking lot hanging out by a van playing hacky-sack, while I was walking into Border's. I happened to be wearing sandals, tight jeans, a tie-dye Led Zeppelin shirt, and my hippie sunglasses. They noticed me when I went into the store, but it was while I was walking back to my van when they decided to get my attention. They walked over nonchalantly at first. I tried to ignore them, just hoping that they didn't want anything to do with me. But they called to me, saying something about needing help getting a pickup. In my naivete, I thought they were talking about needing a ride. In my confusion, they got the impression that I wasn't who they were looking for. I don't know if they were being honest, or just trying to cover their mistake, but they said I actually looked like a guy they knew. In any case, they left me alone and I headed off. It was sort of awkward, but because they were pretty cool about it, it wasn't a big deal. But I figure it's only a matter of time before it happens again...
27 December, 2007
College Memories (1)
The college application process was a nightmare for me. It's not altogether unlike the whole resume scene. Tests are one thing, but what I had trouble with the most was the recommendation letters. Asking somebody to write something like that for me was a huge hurdle, especially considering that I was the kind of person who tended not to make a huge impression on or have much personal connection with my teachers. The "college essay" was also something that I antagonized over. What is it even supposed to be about? I don't remember exactly what I ended up writing, but I think I just described a few aspects of my unique personality - you know, in an attempt to stand out.
For the letters of recommendation, since I was considering studying physics, I figured it would be a good idea to ask one of my physics teachers. There was the teacher of my current AP course, and then there was the teacher of my previous honors course. I felt a little bit closer to the teacher of my previous course, so I resolved to ask her for a letter of recommendation. It was really hard for me, but I forced myself to do it, and she accepted my request. For the second required letter of recommendation, I turned to the one teacher that probably knew me best (which is still to say, not a whole lot) - my Japanese teacher, V-sensei. It helped that she openly admired my intelligence. I had no problem convincing her to write me a recommendation.
I kind of waited till the last minute to apply to colleges. (Well, my older brother waited till the last minute; I guess you could say I waited till the last hour). It was a pain in the neck for me, and although my dad had made a point to take me to some college fairs so that I had tons of brochures to look through, I had a hard time figuring out where exactly I wanted to go. I eventually picked out four places, and applied to each one. Harvard was at the top, and Penn State was at the bottom - since my dad graduated from there, and my older brother was currently enrolled, I figured I'd have no problem getting in. Harvard flat out rejected me (although some 4 or so other kids from my high school had already been accepted to Harvard that year, probably on early decision, so they probably reached some kind of quota). Of the remaning two colleges, one put me on a waiting list, and the other accepted me. Oh, and Penn State also accepted me, as expected. So, ditching the waiting list college, I had two places to choose from - Penn State, and Bucknell University.
In the spring, I took a day trip up to Bucknell with my dad, and my girlfriend tagged along (she was already primed to enroll in a college in California - if things had progressed between us a few months earlier, I might have actually considered applying to a college in CA), on admissions day. The weather was cool and gloomy, with a little bit of drizzle here and there. I remember making a point to catch the trial physics lecture. Tom Solomon was the professor, and he definitely made an impression on me, talking about Chaos Theory and related issues. I was still undecided about my major (as I figure most people are at this stage), but I was toying with the idea of studying computer science. Unfortunately, there was a complicated split between the computer science associated with the engineering college and the computer science associated with the arts and sciences college, and it became this huge issue for my dad, who wanted to make sure that I was in the right position to pursue what it was I wanted to study. Of course, the issue wasn't nearly such a big deal, but my dad was determined to clarify the details, and I got incredibly embarrassed and somewhat frustrated at all the questions he insisted on asking various people.
It actually got pretty bad, and I kind of broke down, and started saying that I didn't even really want to go to college anyway, that I was only doing it because it was expected of me. My girlfriend tried to console me, and I felt a little better, and kind of just rode the rest of the day out. It was a mixed experience.
But among the cool things that happened that day, in addition to the neat physics lecture, I got to meet the anime society at the club fair. They had a really cool Evangelion wall scroll hanging up at their booth, which is the same wall scroll I had hanging up in my room back home. I talked with them very briefly (pretty sure it was the pres and vice pres of the club at the time), and became excited at the idea of joining an anime club. Another interesting experience that day was walking between the lower dorms and hearing Black Dog from Led Zeppelin's fourth album blaring from the direction of Larison Hall. That made an impression on me.
On another day, I went up, just with my dad this time, to visit Penn State main campus. My experience was much less personal, partly because it's a much bigger place (like 10 times the size and population of Bucknell), and partly because it wasn't explicitly the day for prospectives to check out the campus. But my dad knew the place well, and he showed me around. The main impression was: huge. It was like a city. It definitely didn't have the homely feel of Bucknell, but with size comes diversity, which breeds opportunity. Still, I felt more comfortable in a smaller place with less people. Plus, having the opportunity to attend a college like Bucknell seemed like one not to be missed. I mean, so many people go to Penn State, it just seemed like it would mean more to attend Bucknell. And that's the decision I made.
While I was deciding which classes to request for my first semester, I got the idea that I definitely wanted to major in physics. My concern was that if I didn't get off to a good start, then I wouldn't be sufficiently prepared by the end of my time at Bucknell to go to grad school. Like, if I didn't start right away, I wouldn't have time to earn the right credits, or that I'd have to get an arts degree instead of a science degree, and that that would give me a disadvantage trying to advance higher in the system. So instead of letting things work themselves out naturally, I made a point of entering the university as a physics major.
Among the other classes I requested, Japanese was one. Having finally got a chance to formally study Japanese in my final year in high school, I was anxious to continue my education in that language. As fate would have it, I ended up being forced to take a year off from my studies in Japanese, only to return to the language in my sophomore year. But the good thing about that is that I ended up studying with some really cool students.
For my required "freshman seminar", I had to pick a list of favorites from the available choices. There was a physics-oriented seminar, but the one that really caught my eye was more concerned with philosophy and psychology. It was titled "Distortions of Reality", and is definitely one of the greatest courses I've ever taken. And the professor was an unendingly fascinating individual himself. I also requested a general philosophy course, since I had always been interested in philosophy, and there had never been any philosophy courses in my high school - the closest I could get was a psychology course in my senior year.
So my freshman schedule consisted of the freshman seminar mentioned above, the introductory philosophy course, and for my major, a combination of the introductory physics course, and Calculus III. I guess that last one requires a little explanation. I took AP Physics and AP Calculus (the higher of the two AP Calculus courses) my senior year in high school. I also took an AP Computer Science course (in C++). I managed to score a 5 on my AP Calculus exam, so Bucknell placed me considerably ahead in math. It was a mixed blessing. The higher I got in math in high school, the more I felt like I needed some extra time to get my bearings and really understand what I was doing. But I kept plowing ahead. And that continued into college. I was able to survive through Calculus and Differential Equations, and once I got to Logic (the mathematical, not the philosophical kind), it was a refreshing change of scenery. Instead of solving equations, which is more important to science, all of a sudden it was about proving (mathematical) statements, which was endlessly more interesting, and far easier for me. I regret not studying more and higher math in college, but on the other hand, it was a relief to finish my math requirements early, and open up spaces for some more interesting courses, like the ones that earned me minors in Japanese and philosophy.
For the letters of recommendation, since I was considering studying physics, I figured it would be a good idea to ask one of my physics teachers. There was the teacher of my current AP course, and then there was the teacher of my previous honors course. I felt a little bit closer to the teacher of my previous course, so I resolved to ask her for a letter of recommendation. It was really hard for me, but I forced myself to do it, and she accepted my request. For the second required letter of recommendation, I turned to the one teacher that probably knew me best (which is still to say, not a whole lot) - my Japanese teacher, V-sensei. It helped that she openly admired my intelligence. I had no problem convincing her to write me a recommendation.
I kind of waited till the last minute to apply to colleges. (Well, my older brother waited till the last minute; I guess you could say I waited till the last hour). It was a pain in the neck for me, and although my dad had made a point to take me to some college fairs so that I had tons of brochures to look through, I had a hard time figuring out where exactly I wanted to go. I eventually picked out four places, and applied to each one. Harvard was at the top, and Penn State was at the bottom - since my dad graduated from there, and my older brother was currently enrolled, I figured I'd have no problem getting in. Harvard flat out rejected me (although some 4 or so other kids from my high school had already been accepted to Harvard that year, probably on early decision, so they probably reached some kind of quota). Of the remaning two colleges, one put me on a waiting list, and the other accepted me. Oh, and Penn State also accepted me, as expected. So, ditching the waiting list college, I had two places to choose from - Penn State, and Bucknell University.
In the spring, I took a day trip up to Bucknell with my dad, and my girlfriend tagged along (she was already primed to enroll in a college in California - if things had progressed between us a few months earlier, I might have actually considered applying to a college in CA), on admissions day. The weather was cool and gloomy, with a little bit of drizzle here and there. I remember making a point to catch the trial physics lecture. Tom Solomon was the professor, and he definitely made an impression on me, talking about Chaos Theory and related issues. I was still undecided about my major (as I figure most people are at this stage), but I was toying with the idea of studying computer science. Unfortunately, there was a complicated split between the computer science associated with the engineering college and the computer science associated with the arts and sciences college, and it became this huge issue for my dad, who wanted to make sure that I was in the right position to pursue what it was I wanted to study. Of course, the issue wasn't nearly such a big deal, but my dad was determined to clarify the details, and I got incredibly embarrassed and somewhat frustrated at all the questions he insisted on asking various people.
It actually got pretty bad, and I kind of broke down, and started saying that I didn't even really want to go to college anyway, that I was only doing it because it was expected of me. My girlfriend tried to console me, and I felt a little better, and kind of just rode the rest of the day out. It was a mixed experience.
But among the cool things that happened that day, in addition to the neat physics lecture, I got to meet the anime society at the club fair. They had a really cool Evangelion wall scroll hanging up at their booth, which is the same wall scroll I had hanging up in my room back home. I talked with them very briefly (pretty sure it was the pres and vice pres of the club at the time), and became excited at the idea of joining an anime club. Another interesting experience that day was walking between the lower dorms and hearing Black Dog from Led Zeppelin's fourth album blaring from the direction of Larison Hall. That made an impression on me.
On another day, I went up, just with my dad this time, to visit Penn State main campus. My experience was much less personal, partly because it's a much bigger place (like 10 times the size and population of Bucknell), and partly because it wasn't explicitly the day for prospectives to check out the campus. But my dad knew the place well, and he showed me around. The main impression was: huge. It was like a city. It definitely didn't have the homely feel of Bucknell, but with size comes diversity, which breeds opportunity. Still, I felt more comfortable in a smaller place with less people. Plus, having the opportunity to attend a college like Bucknell seemed like one not to be missed. I mean, so many people go to Penn State, it just seemed like it would mean more to attend Bucknell. And that's the decision I made.
While I was deciding which classes to request for my first semester, I got the idea that I definitely wanted to major in physics. My concern was that if I didn't get off to a good start, then I wouldn't be sufficiently prepared by the end of my time at Bucknell to go to grad school. Like, if I didn't start right away, I wouldn't have time to earn the right credits, or that I'd have to get an arts degree instead of a science degree, and that that would give me a disadvantage trying to advance higher in the system. So instead of letting things work themselves out naturally, I made a point of entering the university as a physics major.
Among the other classes I requested, Japanese was one. Having finally got a chance to formally study Japanese in my final year in high school, I was anxious to continue my education in that language. As fate would have it, I ended up being forced to take a year off from my studies in Japanese, only to return to the language in my sophomore year. But the good thing about that is that I ended up studying with some really cool students.
For my required "freshman seminar", I had to pick a list of favorites from the available choices. There was a physics-oriented seminar, but the one that really caught my eye was more concerned with philosophy and psychology. It was titled "Distortions of Reality", and is definitely one of the greatest courses I've ever taken. And the professor was an unendingly fascinating individual himself. I also requested a general philosophy course, since I had always been interested in philosophy, and there had never been any philosophy courses in my high school - the closest I could get was a psychology course in my senior year.
So my freshman schedule consisted of the freshman seminar mentioned above, the introductory philosophy course, and for my major, a combination of the introductory physics course, and Calculus III. I guess that last one requires a little explanation. I took AP Physics and AP Calculus (the higher of the two AP Calculus courses) my senior year in high school. I also took an AP Computer Science course (in C++). I managed to score a 5 on my AP Calculus exam, so Bucknell placed me considerably ahead in math. It was a mixed blessing. The higher I got in math in high school, the more I felt like I needed some extra time to get my bearings and really understand what I was doing. But I kept plowing ahead. And that continued into college. I was able to survive through Calculus and Differential Equations, and once I got to Logic (the mathematical, not the philosophical kind), it was a refreshing change of scenery. Instead of solving equations, which is more important to science, all of a sudden it was about proving (mathematical) statements, which was endlessly more interesting, and far easier for me. I regret not studying more and higher math in college, but on the other hand, it was a relief to finish my math requirements early, and open up spaces for some more interesting courses, like the ones that earned me minors in Japanese and philosophy.
26 December, 2007
Friends
I've never considered myself that great at making or having friends. So it's pretty surprising when I look back through my life and find out just how many so-called friends I actually had. Although ultimately, I think the important point is the quality of the friendship. Having 'friends' doesn't make you a social person.
Childhood
I don't think I had much in the way of my own friends during my earlier years. I mostly just played with my older brother and tagged along with his friends. I do remember following him around with the neighborhood kids, kind of piggybacking on his playmates. I have vague recollections of a kid from either next door or a few doors down, that we may or may not have watched Barney with, and a kid over the fence at the back of our yard. But my memories of this period are hazy, so I'm not altogether certain.
First Best Friend
Going to school was traumatic for me. I remember crying my brains out the first time my mom dropped me off at pre-school and left. The two teachers tried to console me, but I was inconsolable. I guess it got to a point where I could 'handle' it, but I never really got the hang of mingling with the kids my age. I also have similar memories of some sort of daycare - traumatic memories of being left alone in a savage wilderness of strangers more or less my age.
Considering how I was, I find it absolutely unbelievable that I was able to even make a friend in first grade, let alone such a good one as I did. I remember we took some kind of writing test, possibly on learning the alphabet, or maybe vocabulary, and the teacher had some issue with the way I wrote my answers out. Like, they were sloppy or something, and I remember there was a good reason for it, but it was something I was too embarrassed to admit to, so ultimately, the teacher punished me by making me redo it, and then she made me stay inside for the first 15 minutes of recess or so. I was sitting inside waiting, and the boy in the seat next to me made himself known. I don't remember anything concrete, but we got to talking, and from then on, we became very good friends.
For the next few years, we seemed to hang out a lot, and had a lot of sleepovers at each other's places. I remember every time his mother called up our house to ask if I wanted to sleep over, I had paralyzingly conflicted feelings. I knew it would be fun, and I wanted to go, but I was always so terrified of the idea of being in an unfamiliar house for the whole night, and having to deal with another family's customs, and surviving experiences like using unfamiliar toilets (I actually had a huge problem with admitting that I had to go to the bathroom, and asking to be excused - it was terrible, and became quite embarrassing in at least one instance). So sometimes I would end up chickening out and saying that I just wasn't in the mood. Still, we did have many sleepovers. I even remember one double-sleepover, where he slept over my house one night, and then I went and slept over his house the very next night. That was something.
Most of what we did together, that I remember, consists of either fooling around playing the kind of games that kids play, terrorizing his big sister, or playing video games. And the one video game we played by far the most was Super Mario World. We must have taken to beating that game merely as an appetizer by the end of that period. I remember being uncomfortable around breakfasts, and I guess dinners, too, when those were included in the sleepover. I suppose it was a combination of (fear of) unfamiliar table habits, and unfamiliar (and possibly unappetizing) foods. I mean, what was I supposed to do when I was served something I didn't like? (And I was a *very* picky eater as a kid). I couldn't possibly just say, "I don't like this, can you make something else?" So in those cases, I had to grin and bear it, and just try to be the best and least troublesome houseguest I could be. At least, his mom seemed to genuinely like me.
I know we had a lot of fun in those few short years. I remember we had many good times at the local pool. We were also both in the Cub Scouts, so we typically tented together (and generally helped each other survive) during the annual summer camp. I remember always being kind of scared of summer camp, but I always enjoyed the experience and had mixed feelings about going home by the end of the week. I have memories of lying in the tent at night, just before going to sleep, and we would talk about random stuff through the darkness, until one of us fell asleep. He was always first. I have a good feeling that my childhood fear of being the last person awake originated from these experiences. Of course, the fear of being awake last didn't do a lot to help me fall asleep sooner...
Somewhere around third grade, as students we were given the option to start learning an instrument. I wouldn't have bothered, but my friend wanted to try it, so I agreed that we'd do it together. Turns out his mom ended up having him repeat a grade at that time, so I ended up doing the instrument thing on my own. Since I already agreed to it, I just went through with it, and that's how I started playing violin. The reason my friend repeated a grade had nothing to with academics. We were born in the same year, but while I was born in January, he was born in the following December, so we were actually almost a full year apart. He was closer in age to the students in the grade below us, and his mom felt that he would have a better school life if he was among his age group. At least that's how I understood it. I'm sorry to say that our friendship never recovered from this arrangement. Being in different grades, at that stage, really killed what connection we had. Suddenly we were parts of entirely different groups of kids.
That's not the only factor that tore us apart. I'm not sure of the reasons, but around this time, he just started acting very strangely in a lot of situations. It became gradually worse. It was harder to hang out with him, and the rest of the kids at school began reacting to that. Maybe I was imagining it, but it sort of became a stigma to hang out with him. I'm ashamed to admit it, but later on as I was transitioning from him to some new friends, I invited him to my birthday sleepover, and I was actually embarrassed to admit to the other guys that he was my friend. It eventually got to the point where we didn't even talk to each other anymore; we didn't even acknowledge each other's existence when we passed in the halls at school anymore. Whatever he was going through, the truth remains that after not having anything to do with him for a few years, in high school, he re-emerged in my consciousness, though only marginally, as he was well-known around the school as something of a queen, with a reputation embodied by the song "I Get Around". I never spoke to him or anything; we had obviously taken wildly divergent paths in our lives. But thinking back on our friendship, and how he turned out, it does make me wonder...
The Gang
Jumping back to elementary school, I'll introduce the 'new friends' that I mentioned above. This was later, like 4-6th grades, as opposed to 1-3rd. You can't understand how utterly cool it was for me to be part of this gang. And when I say gang, I mean like a group of friends, not a gang gang. Not that our gang was particularly respected or anything among our classmates, but for me, to be part of something social like this was amazing. There were four of us, all guys. We were almost like a superhero team or something. We had nicknames, and we passed each other secret notices, and we had secret meetings to discuss secret plans. Sometimes we'd meet up after school at one of our houses to hang out and play, and sometimes we'd all walk up to the pizza parlor for lunch for a special meeting (getting permission to walk to the pizza parlor for lunch, which was right up the street from the school, was always an immensely exciting privilege). I'm pretty sure we all knew each other from orchestra. This is the group that I associated with during those days, having smaller connections to their other friends, and it was those friendships that got me invited to the two Bar Mitzvah's I ever attended, which was an interesting affair, being so different to anything I was familiar with, having been raised Christian.
The highpoint of my friendship with these guys was the school field trip to Williamsburg in Junior High. The Williamsburg trip was probably the first time since scout camp that I had a chance to kind of live among peers for a few days, without parents. We stayed in a hotel, four people to a room, and we mostly stuck together while touring Williamsburg. Being that awkward-but-exciting Junior High period of life, this was the first time I really had any sort of sense of 'letting go' with friends and just having a good time. We were fooling around in the hotel room, and I got locked out for about a minute, just for fun. Unfortunately, the chaperone down the hall, watching to make sure all the kids stayed in their rooms and behaved, spotted me, and started coming in my direction by the time I was rushing back into the room. I told the other guys that the chaperone was coming, and we all freaked out, and I tried to hide, because I knew she was gonna want to have a word with me! I hid in the other room, I think I may have even crawled under the bed, and the chaperone came and knocked on the door, and she totally bitched us out. Then she left, and we all had a hell of a time making fun of her, acting like she was a fanged monster or something, considering her insufferable temper.
I also remember sleeping on the floor of the hotel room with a single pillow and no blankets. There were two beds and a foldout couch. I wasn't particularly keen on the idea of sharing, so I ended up on the floor. It was a miserable sleep, but you gotta take the bad with the good. For the rest of the trip, I made a big deal about calling the hotel the Un-Quality Suites.
After the relatively boring Williamsburg stuff, we all got to spend a day at Busch Gardens, which was a blast. At this point, I was still terrified of roller coasters, and of our group, only one other among us was also not a roller coaster rider. He was actually the one of the gang that I was closest with, and maybe that has something to do with the fact that we shared our fear of roller coasters by spending that day riding the weaker rides together. It was still a good time. I remember actually wanting to meet up with another friend that day, though. It was someone I was just getting to know, and he had said something about hanging out at Busch Gardens, but I never did find him that day. Oh well. We still became friends for a brief period, as I started to drift away from the gang.
I think the primary reason for my drifting away from the gang was the fact that I finally quit orchestra to take computer programming in 8th grade. I had been looking forward to taking that class, and as fate would have it, it was one or the other - orchestra or computer programming - that's how the schedule was set up. So I had no choice but to quit orchestra. Granted, I had been looking for an excuse to quit orchestra for awhile, so I wasn't too shaken up about it. I just wasn't any good. I really enjoyed playing the violin, but only when I could actually play something right. And I absolutely hated practicing, so I was hardly ever able to play anything right. So it was frustrating, and extremely embarrassing during tests - we had to play a passage alone, while the entire orchestra sat in silence, listening. And then we were graded on how well we played. I remember taking a re-test once, and the orchestra teacher/conductor remarked at how much better I was playing. I chocked it up to a combination of more privacy during examination (re-tests were done more or less individually, just outside the room, while everyone else was practicing or working on something else) and actually having spent some time practicing, which I hadn't gotten around to before the first testing. That was probably the first class where I really struggled and had to make an effort just to stay in the game.
(As a side note, since I'm talking about orchestra, there's a connection here to the smart girl I mentioned in my 'Girls' entry, which I forgot to discuss there. Not only was she my math rival, but she was also my violin 'rival'. Although, we were pretty close to equal in mathematical skills. I remember testing for placement in the orchestra (like first chair, second chair, etc.), and for that we'd each go in to the teacher/conductor's private office to play a piece so he could judge our abilities against those of our peers. I remember that people were saying that either I or the smart girl had nailed first chair, simply for the reason that we were the only two people that left the office smiling (obviously a sign of confidence at our playing, right?). Well, for the smart girl it was true, since she unsurprisingly got first chair, but for me, I think it was more a matter of thinking "oh god, I'm so incredibly terrible, I can't believe I'm even in this class, this is all a big joke...". Maybe that and the fact that I had (and still have, to a degree) a habit of smiling uncontrollably when people look at me and when I'm submerged in a social environment. Either way, I got last chair (I don't even remember how many there were, but I was dead last). We were seated in pairs within the orchestra so as to balance out our skills. Therefore, as last chair, I got to sit right smack next to first chair, my crush, and we shared sheet music. Great, huh? Not so much. It was completely devaluing to be sitting there, playing terribly, just emphasizing how bad I was and how much better she was. It was torture. If it's any consolation, I think I convinced the rest of the orchestra that I was second chair, my proof being the fact that I was seated right next to first chair. My friends actually seemed to believe it, but in hindsight, they must have known how the system worked, since I'm pretty sure it was the same for violas and cellos as it was for violins, so they must have known I was last chair. Well, if that's true, I guess I respect them for letting me have my little illusion...)
(As another side note relating to my 'Girls' entry, 'The One' happened to also be in this orchestra, playing viola. But I was only casually aware of her during this period.)
Anyhow, there was a point where I was already starting to feel kind of excluded from the gang, even before I specifically moved on. Maybe it was because I spent so much time to myself, and hardly ever talked to people, but I think they thought that I had other friends, or something. Before the Williamsburg trip, the students had to choose who they wanted to room with, in groups of four. Nobody asked me, and I was way too shy to ask anyone myself. I agonized over it up to the last minute, and I still had noone to room with, but the deadline was there, so I managed to get my mom to call one of my friend's moms and ask about it, and they ended up arranging for me to join their group, displacing one of their members who had some other people to room with anyway, and their excuse (which I don't have any reason to disbelieve) was that they thought I had other friends and that I was rooming with those other friends.
Orchestra concerts were always a big deal. You got dressed up, you came to the school in the evening, and you got to show off your skills and play to an audience. It was always exciting, and incredibly nerve-racking. And then there would be the after-period. People would wind down from a good show by hanging out and partying and stuff, I guess. The gang usually went to this one family-type restaurant, and always had great stories to tell about their times there, and the crazy conversations they had. I don't think they ever once invited me. And I don't consider it a malicious action, just the sad nature of our friendship. I guess I was kind of drifting away, and even in the best times, I was so distant that I probably wasn't a major fixture anyway. Ah, well.
Programming
So this new friend (the one I tried unsuccessfully to meet up with at Busch Gardens) was a guy I met in my computer programming class. We had a short friendship, that kind of developed for a bit, then sort of stopped short at one point, for some reason. In the end, I don't think we were 100% compatible. It was probably more of a hang-out-in-class-and-goof-off-while-playing-games-on-the-BBS-since-we-finished-our-program-assignments-so-fast sort of thing. Honestly, I don't even have a lot of specific memories of him, so I'm just gonna have to move on.
The Ukrainian
There was another one-off friend in Junior High. I don't even remember how I met him (probably also from computer programming), but I do know that he was in my French class at one point. I didn't know him for very long, but I feel like he had a profound effect on my life. If I believed in these sorts of things, I might be tempted to believe he was some kind of angel. I mean, even if I didn't entirely want it at that point, he actually made an effort to help me become a better person. And most people just care about themselves, right? And he wasn't too pushy about it, so it's not like his help wasn't welcome.
The thing I remember most about him is that he liked going ice skating, and he got me to join him for the casual skate every Friday night for a period of time. It was pretty cool. I had fun ice skating (I wasn't fantastic about it, but I had taken lessons at a young age, so I could get by), and it was a major experience to actually have somewhere to go out to on a Friday night, you know?
The biggest change he made in my life was forcing me to get over my fear of roller coasters. We went to the local amusement park once with a couple other guys, and he pestered me to ride the big one. I refused, and one of the other guys with us was also afraid of coasters, so I didn't feel too out of place. But he persisted. For me, just standing in line for one of those things, knowing the inevitability of being pushed closer and closer to the thing, then being strapped in and taken for a wild ride with no escape if it got too extreme...it was terrifying. But eventually, he got the other scaredy-cat to ride the coaster, and I gauged his reaction to make my own decision. He had been afraid, like I was afraid, but after riding it, he thought it was great. So I figured, I have to get over this fear, because if I can, I'm sure I'll be able to enjoy riding these things. And that's exactly what happened. I remember, after deciding, I was standing in line and I said "I can't believe I'm doing this". But I was. I rode the coaster, and it was a huge blast. From then on, it took some time to shake off that fear of standing in line, but even then, I was able to ride it out, because I knew that once I got in the seat and the ride started, I'd be having fun.
At the end of the year, during yearbook time, when everyone was filling their pages up with friendly signatures, I was once again in that mode of extreme anxiety, desiring the simple companionship of a few nice words scribbled for posterity, but paralyzed and unable to actually ask anyone to sign my book. And of course, nobody ever seemed to come to me... In French class, I made the desperate move of actually asking my friend to sign my yearbook. As he did, he told me, as if it was something very important, that this was the first thing I had ever asked of him. Like, as if, I had this problem of speaking my mind and making my thoughts and feelings and desires known to other people, that I had some kind of barrier to being who I am and getting what I want. And of course, that is all true. I've never forgotten that comment, or the keen awareness that he had of my condition. I feel like he was the only one that was ever able to see my struggle better than I could see it myself. I wish I had known him longer, so that maybe he could have helped me even more. But I think his disappearance was the result of moving back to the Ukraine.
High School
I think friendships in high school started out relatively sparse. For me, I mean. There was the whole getting used to the system, and the fearing of the upper class bullies, who made themselves particularly intimidating in gym class. Luckily, I don't think I had any serious run-ins with them. In general, I think I was the kind of kid that people thought was cool or interesting, but didn't have any particular desire to seriously befriend. Like, all different kinds of cliques might respect me and say hey, that guy's cool, but none of them would ever actually make any sort of effort to become real friends or anything. It's kind of hard to explain. You'd think that might give me an extra boost of confidence, but it never really did. Because though it might seem that I was 'in' in certain types of circumstances, I was never *actually* 'in'. Although it could have been worse.
There are a lot of people not really worth talking about here. But one person that I became relatively chummy with, was this one kid who sat next to (or near) me in homeroom. We also had some computer programming classes together, but he always resented me for my natural skills. I'd finish my programs early, and he'd be in the lab after school, just catching up. I might have helped him a bit, but I probably spent more time mocking him. That was the great thing about our friendship. We enjoyed casually insulting each other, but I don't think there was ever any honest hatred between us. It was just a refreshingly low-stress arrangement. We spent countless minutes between classes, and in homeroom in the mornings, toward the later years, discussing the merits of rock vs. rap. Neither one of us wanted to budge, but though I've never lightened up to rap, he did eventually start taking an interest in rock. I made a compilation of good rock songs for him once or twice. We also spent a lot of time discussing casual philosophical topics.
He was actually a friend of, and part of the general clique that included, 'The One'. I remember over that winter break, so much happened from the last day of school before break, to the first day after break. Coming back, he mentioned my 'hookup', saying that he thought it was such an unexpected match. He asked me "why her?", and all I could say was that it just felt natural. I found out later that he had unresolved feelings for her.
Anyhow, he was a cool guy, in his own pathetic way. He actually came up to me once and casually mentioned how he had cut himself the night before. And I don't mean accidentally. I really couldn't understand it, and it disappointed me immensely, but that's just how he was. After moving on to college, I may have seen him once or twice - he actually showed up at "the den" once and got to see me perform a couple songs (that was the night I played The Rain Song in an alternate tuning), but that's it. I haven't seen him since then, and I'm not in a hurry to resurrect anything that connects me back to high school. With the exception of 'The One', I made a point after graduation to sever my ties to the school. No old-age high school buddies for me. Even 'The One' broke away from me, despite the commitment we thought we had to one another.
But it doesn't bother me, because I made some really great friends in college. But this entry is already pretty long, so I'll have to talk about them another time. There's still also the issue of my brothers, who have unsurprisingly played a major role in my life. All in due time.
Childhood
I don't think I had much in the way of my own friends during my earlier years. I mostly just played with my older brother and tagged along with his friends. I do remember following him around with the neighborhood kids, kind of piggybacking on his playmates. I have vague recollections of a kid from either next door or a few doors down, that we may or may not have watched Barney with, and a kid over the fence at the back of our yard. But my memories of this period are hazy, so I'm not altogether certain.
First Best Friend
Going to school was traumatic for me. I remember crying my brains out the first time my mom dropped me off at pre-school and left. The two teachers tried to console me, but I was inconsolable. I guess it got to a point where I could 'handle' it, but I never really got the hang of mingling with the kids my age. I also have similar memories of some sort of daycare - traumatic memories of being left alone in a savage wilderness of strangers more or less my age.
Considering how I was, I find it absolutely unbelievable that I was able to even make a friend in first grade, let alone such a good one as I did. I remember we took some kind of writing test, possibly on learning the alphabet, or maybe vocabulary, and the teacher had some issue with the way I wrote my answers out. Like, they were sloppy or something, and I remember there was a good reason for it, but it was something I was too embarrassed to admit to, so ultimately, the teacher punished me by making me redo it, and then she made me stay inside for the first 15 minutes of recess or so. I was sitting inside waiting, and the boy in the seat next to me made himself known. I don't remember anything concrete, but we got to talking, and from then on, we became very good friends.
For the next few years, we seemed to hang out a lot, and had a lot of sleepovers at each other's places. I remember every time his mother called up our house to ask if I wanted to sleep over, I had paralyzingly conflicted feelings. I knew it would be fun, and I wanted to go, but I was always so terrified of the idea of being in an unfamiliar house for the whole night, and having to deal with another family's customs, and surviving experiences like using unfamiliar toilets (I actually had a huge problem with admitting that I had to go to the bathroom, and asking to be excused - it was terrible, and became quite embarrassing in at least one instance). So sometimes I would end up chickening out and saying that I just wasn't in the mood. Still, we did have many sleepovers. I even remember one double-sleepover, where he slept over my house one night, and then I went and slept over his house the very next night. That was something.
Most of what we did together, that I remember, consists of either fooling around playing the kind of games that kids play, terrorizing his big sister, or playing video games. And the one video game we played by far the most was Super Mario World. We must have taken to beating that game merely as an appetizer by the end of that period. I remember being uncomfortable around breakfasts, and I guess dinners, too, when those were included in the sleepover. I suppose it was a combination of (fear of) unfamiliar table habits, and unfamiliar (and possibly unappetizing) foods. I mean, what was I supposed to do when I was served something I didn't like? (And I was a *very* picky eater as a kid). I couldn't possibly just say, "I don't like this, can you make something else?" So in those cases, I had to grin and bear it, and just try to be the best and least troublesome houseguest I could be. At least, his mom seemed to genuinely like me.
I know we had a lot of fun in those few short years. I remember we had many good times at the local pool. We were also both in the Cub Scouts, so we typically tented together (and generally helped each other survive) during the annual summer camp. I remember always being kind of scared of summer camp, but I always enjoyed the experience and had mixed feelings about going home by the end of the week. I have memories of lying in the tent at night, just before going to sleep, and we would talk about random stuff through the darkness, until one of us fell asleep. He was always first. I have a good feeling that my childhood fear of being the last person awake originated from these experiences. Of course, the fear of being awake last didn't do a lot to help me fall asleep sooner...
Somewhere around third grade, as students we were given the option to start learning an instrument. I wouldn't have bothered, but my friend wanted to try it, so I agreed that we'd do it together. Turns out his mom ended up having him repeat a grade at that time, so I ended up doing the instrument thing on my own. Since I already agreed to it, I just went through with it, and that's how I started playing violin. The reason my friend repeated a grade had nothing to with academics. We were born in the same year, but while I was born in January, he was born in the following December, so we were actually almost a full year apart. He was closer in age to the students in the grade below us, and his mom felt that he would have a better school life if he was among his age group. At least that's how I understood it. I'm sorry to say that our friendship never recovered from this arrangement. Being in different grades, at that stage, really killed what connection we had. Suddenly we were parts of entirely different groups of kids.
That's not the only factor that tore us apart. I'm not sure of the reasons, but around this time, he just started acting very strangely in a lot of situations. It became gradually worse. It was harder to hang out with him, and the rest of the kids at school began reacting to that. Maybe I was imagining it, but it sort of became a stigma to hang out with him. I'm ashamed to admit it, but later on as I was transitioning from him to some new friends, I invited him to my birthday sleepover, and I was actually embarrassed to admit to the other guys that he was my friend. It eventually got to the point where we didn't even talk to each other anymore; we didn't even acknowledge each other's existence when we passed in the halls at school anymore. Whatever he was going through, the truth remains that after not having anything to do with him for a few years, in high school, he re-emerged in my consciousness, though only marginally, as he was well-known around the school as something of a queen, with a reputation embodied by the song "I Get Around". I never spoke to him or anything; we had obviously taken wildly divergent paths in our lives. But thinking back on our friendship, and how he turned out, it does make me wonder...
The Gang
Jumping back to elementary school, I'll introduce the 'new friends' that I mentioned above. This was later, like 4-6th grades, as opposed to 1-3rd. You can't understand how utterly cool it was for me to be part of this gang. And when I say gang, I mean like a group of friends, not a gang gang. Not that our gang was particularly respected or anything among our classmates, but for me, to be part of something social like this was amazing. There were four of us, all guys. We were almost like a superhero team or something. We had nicknames, and we passed each other secret notices, and we had secret meetings to discuss secret plans. Sometimes we'd meet up after school at one of our houses to hang out and play, and sometimes we'd all walk up to the pizza parlor for lunch for a special meeting (getting permission to walk to the pizza parlor for lunch, which was right up the street from the school, was always an immensely exciting privilege). I'm pretty sure we all knew each other from orchestra. This is the group that I associated with during those days, having smaller connections to their other friends, and it was those friendships that got me invited to the two Bar Mitzvah's I ever attended, which was an interesting affair, being so different to anything I was familiar with, having been raised Christian.
The highpoint of my friendship with these guys was the school field trip to Williamsburg in Junior High. The Williamsburg trip was probably the first time since scout camp that I had a chance to kind of live among peers for a few days, without parents. We stayed in a hotel, four people to a room, and we mostly stuck together while touring Williamsburg. Being that awkward-but-exciting Junior High period of life, this was the first time I really had any sort of sense of 'letting go' with friends and just having a good time. We were fooling around in the hotel room, and I got locked out for about a minute, just for fun. Unfortunately, the chaperone down the hall, watching to make sure all the kids stayed in their rooms and behaved, spotted me, and started coming in my direction by the time I was rushing back into the room. I told the other guys that the chaperone was coming, and we all freaked out, and I tried to hide, because I knew she was gonna want to have a word with me! I hid in the other room, I think I may have even crawled under the bed, and the chaperone came and knocked on the door, and she totally bitched us out. Then she left, and we all had a hell of a time making fun of her, acting like she was a fanged monster or something, considering her insufferable temper.
I also remember sleeping on the floor of the hotel room with a single pillow and no blankets. There were two beds and a foldout couch. I wasn't particularly keen on the idea of sharing, so I ended up on the floor. It was a miserable sleep, but you gotta take the bad with the good. For the rest of the trip, I made a big deal about calling the hotel the Un-Quality Suites.
After the relatively boring Williamsburg stuff, we all got to spend a day at Busch Gardens, which was a blast. At this point, I was still terrified of roller coasters, and of our group, only one other among us was also not a roller coaster rider. He was actually the one of the gang that I was closest with, and maybe that has something to do with the fact that we shared our fear of roller coasters by spending that day riding the weaker rides together. It was still a good time. I remember actually wanting to meet up with another friend that day, though. It was someone I was just getting to know, and he had said something about hanging out at Busch Gardens, but I never did find him that day. Oh well. We still became friends for a brief period, as I started to drift away from the gang.
I think the primary reason for my drifting away from the gang was the fact that I finally quit orchestra to take computer programming in 8th grade. I had been looking forward to taking that class, and as fate would have it, it was one or the other - orchestra or computer programming - that's how the schedule was set up. So I had no choice but to quit orchestra. Granted, I had been looking for an excuse to quit orchestra for awhile, so I wasn't too shaken up about it. I just wasn't any good. I really enjoyed playing the violin, but only when I could actually play something right. And I absolutely hated practicing, so I was hardly ever able to play anything right. So it was frustrating, and extremely embarrassing during tests - we had to play a passage alone, while the entire orchestra sat in silence, listening. And then we were graded on how well we played. I remember taking a re-test once, and the orchestra teacher/conductor remarked at how much better I was playing. I chocked it up to a combination of more privacy during examination (re-tests were done more or less individually, just outside the room, while everyone else was practicing or working on something else) and actually having spent some time practicing, which I hadn't gotten around to before the first testing. That was probably the first class where I really struggled and had to make an effort just to stay in the game.
(As a side note, since I'm talking about orchestra, there's a connection here to the smart girl I mentioned in my 'Girls' entry, which I forgot to discuss there. Not only was she my math rival, but she was also my violin 'rival'. Although, we were pretty close to equal in mathematical skills. I remember testing for placement in the orchestra (like first chair, second chair, etc.), and for that we'd each go in to the teacher/conductor's private office to play a piece so he could judge our abilities against those of our peers. I remember that people were saying that either I or the smart girl had nailed first chair, simply for the reason that we were the only two people that left the office smiling (obviously a sign of confidence at our playing, right?). Well, for the smart girl it was true, since she unsurprisingly got first chair, but for me, I think it was more a matter of thinking "oh god, I'm so incredibly terrible, I can't believe I'm even in this class, this is all a big joke...". Maybe that and the fact that I had (and still have, to a degree) a habit of smiling uncontrollably when people look at me and when I'm submerged in a social environment. Either way, I got last chair (I don't even remember how many there were, but I was dead last). We were seated in pairs within the orchestra so as to balance out our skills. Therefore, as last chair, I got to sit right smack next to first chair, my crush, and we shared sheet music. Great, huh? Not so much. It was completely devaluing to be sitting there, playing terribly, just emphasizing how bad I was and how much better she was. It was torture. If it's any consolation, I think I convinced the rest of the orchestra that I was second chair, my proof being the fact that I was seated right next to first chair. My friends actually seemed to believe it, but in hindsight, they must have known how the system worked, since I'm pretty sure it was the same for violas and cellos as it was for violins, so they must have known I was last chair. Well, if that's true, I guess I respect them for letting me have my little illusion...)
(As another side note relating to my 'Girls' entry, 'The One' happened to also be in this orchestra, playing viola. But I was only casually aware of her during this period.)
Anyhow, there was a point where I was already starting to feel kind of excluded from the gang, even before I specifically moved on. Maybe it was because I spent so much time to myself, and hardly ever talked to people, but I think they thought that I had other friends, or something. Before the Williamsburg trip, the students had to choose who they wanted to room with, in groups of four. Nobody asked me, and I was way too shy to ask anyone myself. I agonized over it up to the last minute, and I still had noone to room with, but the deadline was there, so I managed to get my mom to call one of my friend's moms and ask about it, and they ended up arranging for me to join their group, displacing one of their members who had some other people to room with anyway, and their excuse (which I don't have any reason to disbelieve) was that they thought I had other friends and that I was rooming with those other friends.
Orchestra concerts were always a big deal. You got dressed up, you came to the school in the evening, and you got to show off your skills and play to an audience. It was always exciting, and incredibly nerve-racking. And then there would be the after-period. People would wind down from a good show by hanging out and partying and stuff, I guess. The gang usually went to this one family-type restaurant, and always had great stories to tell about their times there, and the crazy conversations they had. I don't think they ever once invited me. And I don't consider it a malicious action, just the sad nature of our friendship. I guess I was kind of drifting away, and even in the best times, I was so distant that I probably wasn't a major fixture anyway. Ah, well.
Programming
So this new friend (the one I tried unsuccessfully to meet up with at Busch Gardens) was a guy I met in my computer programming class. We had a short friendship, that kind of developed for a bit, then sort of stopped short at one point, for some reason. In the end, I don't think we were 100% compatible. It was probably more of a hang-out-in-class-and-goof-off-while-playing-games-on-the-BBS-since-we-finished-our-program-assignments-so-fast sort of thing. Honestly, I don't even have a lot of specific memories of him, so I'm just gonna have to move on.
The Ukrainian
There was another one-off friend in Junior High. I don't even remember how I met him (probably also from computer programming), but I do know that he was in my French class at one point. I didn't know him for very long, but I feel like he had a profound effect on my life. If I believed in these sorts of things, I might be tempted to believe he was some kind of angel. I mean, even if I didn't entirely want it at that point, he actually made an effort to help me become a better person. And most people just care about themselves, right? And he wasn't too pushy about it, so it's not like his help wasn't welcome.
The thing I remember most about him is that he liked going ice skating, and he got me to join him for the casual skate every Friday night for a period of time. It was pretty cool. I had fun ice skating (I wasn't fantastic about it, but I had taken lessons at a young age, so I could get by), and it was a major experience to actually have somewhere to go out to on a Friday night, you know?
The biggest change he made in my life was forcing me to get over my fear of roller coasters. We went to the local amusement park once with a couple other guys, and he pestered me to ride the big one. I refused, and one of the other guys with us was also afraid of coasters, so I didn't feel too out of place. But he persisted. For me, just standing in line for one of those things, knowing the inevitability of being pushed closer and closer to the thing, then being strapped in and taken for a wild ride with no escape if it got too extreme...it was terrifying. But eventually, he got the other scaredy-cat to ride the coaster, and I gauged his reaction to make my own decision. He had been afraid, like I was afraid, but after riding it, he thought it was great. So I figured, I have to get over this fear, because if I can, I'm sure I'll be able to enjoy riding these things. And that's exactly what happened. I remember, after deciding, I was standing in line and I said "I can't believe I'm doing this". But I was. I rode the coaster, and it was a huge blast. From then on, it took some time to shake off that fear of standing in line, but even then, I was able to ride it out, because I knew that once I got in the seat and the ride started, I'd be having fun.
At the end of the year, during yearbook time, when everyone was filling their pages up with friendly signatures, I was once again in that mode of extreme anxiety, desiring the simple companionship of a few nice words scribbled for posterity, but paralyzed and unable to actually ask anyone to sign my book. And of course, nobody ever seemed to come to me... In French class, I made the desperate move of actually asking my friend to sign my yearbook. As he did, he told me, as if it was something very important, that this was the first thing I had ever asked of him. Like, as if, I had this problem of speaking my mind and making my thoughts and feelings and desires known to other people, that I had some kind of barrier to being who I am and getting what I want. And of course, that is all true. I've never forgotten that comment, or the keen awareness that he had of my condition. I feel like he was the only one that was ever able to see my struggle better than I could see it myself. I wish I had known him longer, so that maybe he could have helped me even more. But I think his disappearance was the result of moving back to the Ukraine.
High School
I think friendships in high school started out relatively sparse. For me, I mean. There was the whole getting used to the system, and the fearing of the upper class bullies, who made themselves particularly intimidating in gym class. Luckily, I don't think I had any serious run-ins with them. In general, I think I was the kind of kid that people thought was cool or interesting, but didn't have any particular desire to seriously befriend. Like, all different kinds of cliques might respect me and say hey, that guy's cool, but none of them would ever actually make any sort of effort to become real friends or anything. It's kind of hard to explain. You'd think that might give me an extra boost of confidence, but it never really did. Because though it might seem that I was 'in' in certain types of circumstances, I was never *actually* 'in'. Although it could have been worse.
There are a lot of people not really worth talking about here. But one person that I became relatively chummy with, was this one kid who sat next to (or near) me in homeroom. We also had some computer programming classes together, but he always resented me for my natural skills. I'd finish my programs early, and he'd be in the lab after school, just catching up. I might have helped him a bit, but I probably spent more time mocking him. That was the great thing about our friendship. We enjoyed casually insulting each other, but I don't think there was ever any honest hatred between us. It was just a refreshingly low-stress arrangement. We spent countless minutes between classes, and in homeroom in the mornings, toward the later years, discussing the merits of rock vs. rap. Neither one of us wanted to budge, but though I've never lightened up to rap, he did eventually start taking an interest in rock. I made a compilation of good rock songs for him once or twice. We also spent a lot of time discussing casual philosophical topics.
He was actually a friend of, and part of the general clique that included, 'The One'. I remember over that winter break, so much happened from the last day of school before break, to the first day after break. Coming back, he mentioned my 'hookup', saying that he thought it was such an unexpected match. He asked me "why her?", and all I could say was that it just felt natural. I found out later that he had unresolved feelings for her.
Anyhow, he was a cool guy, in his own pathetic way. He actually came up to me once and casually mentioned how he had cut himself the night before. And I don't mean accidentally. I really couldn't understand it, and it disappointed me immensely, but that's just how he was. After moving on to college, I may have seen him once or twice - he actually showed up at "the den" once and got to see me perform a couple songs (that was the night I played The Rain Song in an alternate tuning), but that's it. I haven't seen him since then, and I'm not in a hurry to resurrect anything that connects me back to high school. With the exception of 'The One', I made a point after graduation to sever my ties to the school. No old-age high school buddies for me. Even 'The One' broke away from me, despite the commitment we thought we had to one another.
But it doesn't bother me, because I made some really great friends in college. But this entry is already pretty long, so I'll have to talk about them another time. There's still also the issue of my brothers, who have unsurprisingly played a major role in my life. All in due time.
24 December, 2007
Girls
I'll admit I haven't had the best of luck or the most experience with girls in my life, but I have had some, and I'm thankful for that. There were a number of girls throughout my life that have made an impact on me, and I'd like to take a moment to discuss the most important ones.
Childhood
The first girl I ever remember making an impression on me was the girl that lived across the street from the house my family lived in during the majority of my childhood (pre-kindergarten) years. My memories of this stage of my life are admittedly vague, so I don't recall a lot of details. I'm pretty sure she had a brother, who we (my older brother and I) played with a lot in that neighborhood. I'm not sure, but I think the girl was actually a little older than me, closer to my brother's age. We didn't really have much of a connection, I think, other than just being neighbors that played together sometimes. I mean, I was pretty young at this point, but I do specifically remember having some kind of admiration for her. Maybe it was my very first crush. Although, as I've said, I was quite young at the time. My most vivid memory is when her family moved away from us. It was probably the saddest memory I have from that young an age. The day after she moved away, we woke up and looked out on the front porch, and on it the word "goodbye" was written in chalk. I recall crying very hard.
The Best Babysitter In The World
Also from my childhood days of living in that house, I remember our regular babysitter, Stacey, who lived just down the street. She was absolutely the coolest person in the universe. Every time she came over to watch us, it was an absolute blast. She loved to play videogames, and she'd always bring over some titles, or we'd rent some for the occasion. Thinking back on it, she was a total 80's chick, but that kind of thing didn't really make an impression on me at the time. I think I can honestly say that I loved her, but it wasn't really in a romantic way. Heh, I guess it's like the way you love God. Or something like that. It was a disappointment as we got older and saw her less and less, particularly after she moved farther away. But those evenings of playing video games with Stacey have to be among the greatest times I've had in my life.
Within The Family
I'm not sure at what age this happened, though it was fairly young, but I specifically remember having a crush on one of my cousins. Obviously, nothing ever came of it, albeit to my disappointment, but I remember lying about liking some early pop boy band just so I could hang out with her. I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I think she might have had really long hair at a young age.
Elementary School
Throughout elementary school, focusing on the later years when girls really started entering my consciousness in a significant way, there were two girls that impressed me. They were actually close friends who spent a lot of time hanging out together, and they were also two of the most popular girls in our grade - so naturally, I wasn't the only one thinking about them. The one was more the outgoing type, with a lot of style, and a certain amount of attitude. Basically the girl everyone wants. And the other was a lot shier, a bit of a more gentle beauty, with fairer skin and a softer voice. Of the two, I think I liked the shy girl better. Of course, considering who I am, I probably never once even so much as spoke in their direction. But I remember thinking that whether or not it was a good day depended on whether or not I had made any kind of contact (not necessarily physical) with a girl on any given day - any girl, really. (As a sidenote, I remember that later on, in high school, the outgoing girl ended up becoming the bad girl type, dating a lot of rebel-type guys, while the shy girl ended up getting serious with the smartest guy in our grade - he was an insufferably nice guy, but I always hated him for getting her, though I'm sure they deserved each other).
Ah, I just remembered another girl from elementary school that played a significant role in my life. She was tall, and probably had longer hair than average (though not necessarily really long), and she was a bit more playful than the rest. I remember, in the period before the kids really started thinking about dating, this one girl would sort of take on different boys, one at a time, to sort of be her pet. I pride myself on being one of her pets, although there wasn't a whole lot to it, besides getting more attention from a girl than I usually would. Which was a great thing.
Junior High
Junior High was a painfully awkward period of life. Once again, there were two girls that captured my attention. The one I liked more was the smart type - actually my rival in math class. The other one had really long, jet black hair. But I kind of lost interest in her when she got a buzz cut and went all punk/butch. As for the smart one, I remember two significant moments between us. One was at the end of the year, when I actually, for once, got up the nerve to ask her to sign my yearbook. We exchanged books, and returning them, we both shared a laugh after we realized we had both written something math-related. I guess it's not that much of a coincidence, in hindsight, but that didn't ruin the experience at the time. The other moment was at a school dance. You have to realize the effort it took me to actually go to the school dance. It's the kind of thing I'd fantasize about when I was at home alone on Saturday nights. But this one, I actually worked up the nerve to show up at. It was a Halloween dance, so I put on a cape and I may have put a colored streak in my hair. It was a hell of an experience, although nothing really great happened, except at the very end. The dance kind of ended a little earlier than I had told my dad to pick me up, so I was sort of hanging around as the adults and the student helpers tore things down. The smart girl was there as one of the helpers, and we were sitting on a table as things were winding down, and she mistook me for being one of the helpers since I was still around, and she made some comment about us doing a good job, and slapped me on the back, in that camaraderie kind of way. God, it's not much, is it? But to me, it was everything.
High School
High School is where things finally started to get interesting for me in the romance department. I had spent my whole life as a loner, lamenting my position outside of the social circle, believing that that was just my place and that it would never change. But then I watched Evangelion in a one-stop marathon, and it blew my mind. At the climax, mirroring Shinji's breakthrough, I discovered that what was actually important in life was people - specifically, *other* people. So from that point on, I started actually making a conscious effort to try to score some companionship (granted, in my terms, that doesn't necessarily mean much). That was in the fall, and the following spring, I met a girl online. It's kind of pathetic, but for me, I suppose it couldn't have happened any other way. The internet was the best place for me to meet someone and start to actually make an interpersonal connection - in a largely impersonal arena. We seemed pretty compatible at first, and we chatted regularly for awhile before we finally realized that we both wanted to be a couple, so that's what we did. I was 17 years old at the time (she was 15), and she's the one that awakened my sexuality. In the past, I had understood that looking at pretty girls felt good, but I didn't really 'get' what it was all about until, with her encouragement, I discovered the secret. I have to say, she was quite perverted. We had a lot of cyber-sex and played a lot of erotic cyber-games. It was fun, and it was the first time in my life I actually had someone that I could consider a romantic partner. Somebody who actually admitted to loving me. It was an amazing feeling. The relationship only lasted three months before she went on a vacation to Europe, and for some reason decided to end it before she left. I cried really freaking hard that night, but then the tears were gone, and the sadness was mostly behind me, only to be replaced by anger. She later told me that she was planning on resuming our relationship when she returned (it was only like a two week trip or something), but by that time, I had said some pretty mean things, since I was so pissed at her, and well, things ended kind of messily. I was ready to move on, though.
The One
Then the most amazing thing in my life happened. 1) I fell in love with a girl, 2) I actually mustered the courage to show her my affections, and 3) she actually returned my feelings sincerely! She was a girl I'd known from Junior High, but had never been real close to until senior year of high school, when things just sort of blossomed. It started on a field trip with the Japanese class (to an outdoor taiko concert in the city, actually). There were sparks, but I was still pretty timid. When Christmas rolled around, knowing that she considered herself to be a witch, I spied a deck of Tarot cards during my shopping that I knew she would love, so I picked it up. The difficult part was actually giving her the gift. Last day of classes before break, I was agonizing like crazy during that last period, almost dying from anxiety. Should I head to her locker after this class and give her the gift, or should I just forget it and go home? It was a back and forth battle. For once in my life, I did the right thing. I found her and gave her the gift. We got to talking, and she invited me to a New Years Party with her friends. The next day, she called to confirm details, and we ended up making plans to meet that night. It was magical, though still very innocent and repressed. Next day, we went to see a movie. Another of the most agonizingly anxious moments of my life. I had the urge to put my arm around her shoulders, you know, like the cool guys do in all those movies. But at this point, despite all the signals, I wasn't even sure if she was actually available. Halfway through the movie, I just did it. It was another one of the greatest moves of my life. Later that night, we shared a passionate kiss - my first. Then, just like that, it was Christmas.
We had to be separated for a few days, to spend time with our separate families. But the night before Christmas, I couldn't sleep at all. A strange idea started formulating in my head. I knew it was downright insane, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew - just knew - that I had to do it. I got out of bed, like 3 or 4 in the morning, took a shower, and then, before dawn, I drove over to her house. I remember seeing the light snow falling in the glow of the van's headlights. I got to the house and I parked out front. It was freezing, and it was really early. I turned the heat up high and I figured I'd wait till they got up. You see, I didn't have much of a plan at that point, I just knew that it was Christmas morning, and I had to see her. Before too long, the car battery gave out. I guess I should have kept it running. At that point I knew there was no turning back. The only way to get home would be to get help, so I knew it was just a matter of waiting till they got up. My bones were being chilled to ice.
Finally, around 6am-ish, I couldn't take it anymore. I went up to the door and rang the bell. I felt bad about waking them up, but they said they were just about to get up, anway, though I can't know for sure that they weren't just being polite in saying that. Anyway, I had a problem, and I needed help, and they knew who I was, so they were very welcoming. I had a cup of coffee to warm myself up (I wasn't in a position to be picky), I even got an impromptu gift (a cinnamon candle which I still have and burn every once in awhile), and most importantly, I got to see the girl of my heart on Christmas morning. After getting a jump, I headed on my way, in the brightest of spirits, to join my own family for Christmas. It was insane, but I don't regret it for an instant. Can you imagine any better Christmas gift? I can't.
So from there, things just got better and better. I confessed my love to her explicitly, and we got pretty serious after the New Years Eve party. Meaning the night of, as well as in the ensuing months. We went to the prom together, we graduated together, and we spent the summer in love. Then she moved to the west coast for college. We continued the relationship mostly by phone. I flew out to visit her just after Christmas that year (my first ride in a commercial jet - and alone!), and the experience was mostly positive. We definitely had some good times. I came home after a week or so, and after that things started to go downhill. In the spring, tensions mounted, and during a particularly bothersome sickness, the whole thing stopped short. Later that summer, she showed up on my doorstep, and we started back up again. Another semester over the phone, then that holiday season, it was over for good. It was just not working out. But I was ready to move on.
Epilogue
Even though it's already been a couple years, the latest one is still too recent, and I don't necessarily feel like dredging up the painful memories that I'm still trying to heal from. Another time. If you're anxious, try reading my poetry or listening to some of my songs.
Childhood
The first girl I ever remember making an impression on me was the girl that lived across the street from the house my family lived in during the majority of my childhood (pre-kindergarten) years. My memories of this stage of my life are admittedly vague, so I don't recall a lot of details. I'm pretty sure she had a brother, who we (my older brother and I) played with a lot in that neighborhood. I'm not sure, but I think the girl was actually a little older than me, closer to my brother's age. We didn't really have much of a connection, I think, other than just being neighbors that played together sometimes. I mean, I was pretty young at this point, but I do specifically remember having some kind of admiration for her. Maybe it was my very first crush. Although, as I've said, I was quite young at the time. My most vivid memory is when her family moved away from us. It was probably the saddest memory I have from that young an age. The day after she moved away, we woke up and looked out on the front porch, and on it the word "goodbye" was written in chalk. I recall crying very hard.
The Best Babysitter In The World
Also from my childhood days of living in that house, I remember our regular babysitter, Stacey, who lived just down the street. She was absolutely the coolest person in the universe. Every time she came over to watch us, it was an absolute blast. She loved to play videogames, and she'd always bring over some titles, or we'd rent some for the occasion. Thinking back on it, she was a total 80's chick, but that kind of thing didn't really make an impression on me at the time. I think I can honestly say that I loved her, but it wasn't really in a romantic way. Heh, I guess it's like the way you love God. Or something like that. It was a disappointment as we got older and saw her less and less, particularly after she moved farther away. But those evenings of playing video games with Stacey have to be among the greatest times I've had in my life.
Within The Family
I'm not sure at what age this happened, though it was fairly young, but I specifically remember having a crush on one of my cousins. Obviously, nothing ever came of it, albeit to my disappointment, but I remember lying about liking some early pop boy band just so I could hang out with her. I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I think she might have had really long hair at a young age.
Elementary School
Throughout elementary school, focusing on the later years when girls really started entering my consciousness in a significant way, there were two girls that impressed me. They were actually close friends who spent a lot of time hanging out together, and they were also two of the most popular girls in our grade - so naturally, I wasn't the only one thinking about them. The one was more the outgoing type, with a lot of style, and a certain amount of attitude. Basically the girl everyone wants. And the other was a lot shier, a bit of a more gentle beauty, with fairer skin and a softer voice. Of the two, I think I liked the shy girl better. Of course, considering who I am, I probably never once even so much as spoke in their direction. But I remember thinking that whether or not it was a good day depended on whether or not I had made any kind of contact (not necessarily physical) with a girl on any given day - any girl, really. (As a sidenote, I remember that later on, in high school, the outgoing girl ended up becoming the bad girl type, dating a lot of rebel-type guys, while the shy girl ended up getting serious with the smartest guy in our grade - he was an insufferably nice guy, but I always hated him for getting her, though I'm sure they deserved each other).
Ah, I just remembered another girl from elementary school that played a significant role in my life. She was tall, and probably had longer hair than average (though not necessarily really long), and she was a bit more playful than the rest. I remember, in the period before the kids really started thinking about dating, this one girl would sort of take on different boys, one at a time, to sort of be her pet. I pride myself on being one of her pets, although there wasn't a whole lot to it, besides getting more attention from a girl than I usually would. Which was a great thing.
Junior High
Junior High was a painfully awkward period of life. Once again, there were two girls that captured my attention. The one I liked more was the smart type - actually my rival in math class. The other one had really long, jet black hair. But I kind of lost interest in her when she got a buzz cut and went all punk/butch. As for the smart one, I remember two significant moments between us. One was at the end of the year, when I actually, for once, got up the nerve to ask her to sign my yearbook. We exchanged books, and returning them, we both shared a laugh after we realized we had both written something math-related. I guess it's not that much of a coincidence, in hindsight, but that didn't ruin the experience at the time. The other moment was at a school dance. You have to realize the effort it took me to actually go to the school dance. It's the kind of thing I'd fantasize about when I was at home alone on Saturday nights. But this one, I actually worked up the nerve to show up at. It was a Halloween dance, so I put on a cape and I may have put a colored streak in my hair. It was a hell of an experience, although nothing really great happened, except at the very end. The dance kind of ended a little earlier than I had told my dad to pick me up, so I was sort of hanging around as the adults and the student helpers tore things down. The smart girl was there as one of the helpers, and we were sitting on a table as things were winding down, and she mistook me for being one of the helpers since I was still around, and she made some comment about us doing a good job, and slapped me on the back, in that camaraderie kind of way. God, it's not much, is it? But to me, it was everything.
High School
High School is where things finally started to get interesting for me in the romance department. I had spent my whole life as a loner, lamenting my position outside of the social circle, believing that that was just my place and that it would never change. But then I watched Evangelion in a one-stop marathon, and it blew my mind. At the climax, mirroring Shinji's breakthrough, I discovered that what was actually important in life was people - specifically, *other* people. So from that point on, I started actually making a conscious effort to try to score some companionship (granted, in my terms, that doesn't necessarily mean much). That was in the fall, and the following spring, I met a girl online. It's kind of pathetic, but for me, I suppose it couldn't have happened any other way. The internet was the best place for me to meet someone and start to actually make an interpersonal connection - in a largely impersonal arena. We seemed pretty compatible at first, and we chatted regularly for awhile before we finally realized that we both wanted to be a couple, so that's what we did. I was 17 years old at the time (she was 15), and she's the one that awakened my sexuality. In the past, I had understood that looking at pretty girls felt good, but I didn't really 'get' what it was all about until, with her encouragement, I discovered the secret. I have to say, she was quite perverted. We had a lot of cyber-sex and played a lot of erotic cyber-games. It was fun, and it was the first time in my life I actually had someone that I could consider a romantic partner. Somebody who actually admitted to loving me. It was an amazing feeling. The relationship only lasted three months before she went on a vacation to Europe, and for some reason decided to end it before she left. I cried really freaking hard that night, but then the tears were gone, and the sadness was mostly behind me, only to be replaced by anger. She later told me that she was planning on resuming our relationship when she returned (it was only like a two week trip or something), but by that time, I had said some pretty mean things, since I was so pissed at her, and well, things ended kind of messily. I was ready to move on, though.
The One
Then the most amazing thing in my life happened. 1) I fell in love with a girl, 2) I actually mustered the courage to show her my affections, and 3) she actually returned my feelings sincerely! She was a girl I'd known from Junior High, but had never been real close to until senior year of high school, when things just sort of blossomed. It started on a field trip with the Japanese class (to an outdoor taiko concert in the city, actually). There were sparks, but I was still pretty timid. When Christmas rolled around, knowing that she considered herself to be a witch, I spied a deck of Tarot cards during my shopping that I knew she would love, so I picked it up. The difficult part was actually giving her the gift. Last day of classes before break, I was agonizing like crazy during that last period, almost dying from anxiety. Should I head to her locker after this class and give her the gift, or should I just forget it and go home? It was a back and forth battle. For once in my life, I did the right thing. I found her and gave her the gift. We got to talking, and she invited me to a New Years Party with her friends. The next day, she called to confirm details, and we ended up making plans to meet that night. It was magical, though still very innocent and repressed. Next day, we went to see a movie. Another of the most agonizingly anxious moments of my life. I had the urge to put my arm around her shoulders, you know, like the cool guys do in all those movies. But at this point, despite all the signals, I wasn't even sure if she was actually available. Halfway through the movie, I just did it. It was another one of the greatest moves of my life. Later that night, we shared a passionate kiss - my first. Then, just like that, it was Christmas.
We had to be separated for a few days, to spend time with our separate families. But the night before Christmas, I couldn't sleep at all. A strange idea started formulating in my head. I knew it was downright insane, but the more I thought about it, the more I knew - just knew - that I had to do it. I got out of bed, like 3 or 4 in the morning, took a shower, and then, before dawn, I drove over to her house. I remember seeing the light snow falling in the glow of the van's headlights. I got to the house and I parked out front. It was freezing, and it was really early. I turned the heat up high and I figured I'd wait till they got up. You see, I didn't have much of a plan at that point, I just knew that it was Christmas morning, and I had to see her. Before too long, the car battery gave out. I guess I should have kept it running. At that point I knew there was no turning back. The only way to get home would be to get help, so I knew it was just a matter of waiting till they got up. My bones were being chilled to ice.
Finally, around 6am-ish, I couldn't take it anymore. I went up to the door and rang the bell. I felt bad about waking them up, but they said they were just about to get up, anway, though I can't know for sure that they weren't just being polite in saying that. Anyway, I had a problem, and I needed help, and they knew who I was, so they were very welcoming. I had a cup of coffee to warm myself up (I wasn't in a position to be picky), I even got an impromptu gift (a cinnamon candle which I still have and burn every once in awhile), and most importantly, I got to see the girl of my heart on Christmas morning. After getting a jump, I headed on my way, in the brightest of spirits, to join my own family for Christmas. It was insane, but I don't regret it for an instant. Can you imagine any better Christmas gift? I can't.
So from there, things just got better and better. I confessed my love to her explicitly, and we got pretty serious after the New Years Eve party. Meaning the night of, as well as in the ensuing months. We went to the prom together, we graduated together, and we spent the summer in love. Then she moved to the west coast for college. We continued the relationship mostly by phone. I flew out to visit her just after Christmas that year (my first ride in a commercial jet - and alone!), and the experience was mostly positive. We definitely had some good times. I came home after a week or so, and after that things started to go downhill. In the spring, tensions mounted, and during a particularly bothersome sickness, the whole thing stopped short. Later that summer, she showed up on my doorstep, and we started back up again. Another semester over the phone, then that holiday season, it was over for good. It was just not working out. But I was ready to move on.
Epilogue
Even though it's already been a couple years, the latest one is still too recent, and I don't necessarily feel like dredging up the painful memories that I'm still trying to heal from. Another time. If you're anxious, try reading my poetry or listening to some of my songs.
22 December, 2007
Dirty Laundry (or Mentioned Unmentionables)
In addition to the other psychological problems I have, I'm a bit of a clean freak. Related to that, I'm also a bit of a germophobe. Particularly lately, I've noticed that I wash my hands incredibly often, and when I do, I often soap up three or four times in one go, and sometimes I still have to tell myself "you're clean already" and force myself to finish and move on. It makes me think that I might have symptoms of an obsessive-compulsive personality, although I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's serious enough to label it a disorder (unlike some of my other problems). Unsurprisingly, I value having clean clothes to wear each day, and to keep it that way, I have to do a lot of laundry. For the longest time, this meant doing laundry once a week, with very little change (although it wasn't necessarily once every 7 days, so it's not like a specific day of the week was always laundry day).
I've always been very private about my laundry. I don't think that's necessarily an unusual feeling to have, I mean most people don't like the idea of other people looking at their unmentionables, right? That's where the phrase "dirty laundry" comes from, right? But even so, I've been more protective of my laundry habits than is really necessary. I don't specifically remember what it was like here at home before going to college. Sorry. But at college it was often a chore.
Let's see, four of the five residence halls (dormitories, if you prefer) I lived in during college had laundry facilities within the building. The fifth had a laundry room in the basement of another building that was just a short walk from the one I lived in. I got into the habit of doing laundry late at night, when there'd be less chances of a crowd. Although machine availability was always a concern (and sometimes an issue), the real fear was just having to do laundry (i.e. put clothes into machine, move clothes between machines, or take clothes out of machine) in front of other people. I obviously made a point to wait to fold my clothes back in the privacy of my own room. Unfortunately, I didn't always have privacy in my own room. In those cases, I really just had to make out the best I could.
Nowadays, I have a different problem with doing laundry. I'm much less concerned about being seen doing laundry as I am about being heard, since I do it in the middle of the night when everyone's asleep. The problem is that the machines are in the basement right next to the room where my brother (the working man) sleeps. And sometimes the washer makes a lot of noise. Just the thought of being such a nuisance, keeping my brother awake at night, when he has to get up in the morning and go to work, while I can sleep all day and then lounge the rest of the day, makes me feel very uncomfortable. It's not like he's ever complained, or that I have any reason to believe that he even hears the machines when he's sleeping, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving.
There's also another issue, which relates to the problem I discussed in my last post. Sometimes I go to the basement and I might hear sounds coming from his room, or there'll be a light under the door, and I'll know or suspect that he's still awake. In those cases, I can't very well do any laundry, because I know he'll know that I am doing laundry, and I fear that he might think about me and make some kind of judgements about me. Not that he would, but that he could. It's that whole idea that I automatically fear that people are criticizing me, and the best way to avoid the anxiety that that thought causes is to erase myself from the minds of others, by sneaking around and trying to convince people that I'm not even there in the first place. That's how I've gotten the nicknames "Phantom" and "Puff of Smoke" in the past. But it's crazy that I'm so insecure that I can't even do laundry in the middle of the freaking night!
So lately, I've been avoiding doing laundry as much as possible, and I've gone to brand new lengths between loads. That's still not more than a couple weeks between, though. I've known people that hardly ever do laundry, like once a month or something, but they have tons of clothes I guess. I only have so much to wear. I've got plenty of shirts, but the rest gets stretched a little thin. I resorted to going out and buying a pack of extra socks at Wal-Mart recently, just to extend my range.
If you don't want to read about my underwear, then I suggest you just skip the rest of this entry. But my feeling is that if I force myself to talk about the things that embarrass me, then maybe I'll be less embarrassed about them in the future. Hiding things away and refusing to talk about them just because they're undesirable is a great way to compound your problems. I believe that. Plus, I'm all about truth, and holding back in the fear of embarrassment is, for me, equivalent to being a hypocrite.
Simply put, I'm way too embarrassed to go out and buy underwear. Although, I've managed to do it once or twice in the past, so I at least have something to work with. But if I only have so many pairs, then I can only go so many days before I *have* to do laundry, right? Well, inspired by an eccentric in my life, I tried "going commando", as they sometimes call it. Unlike that eccentric (and I refer to him as such in a purely complimentary way), I didn't do it for reasons of joy or pleasure or adventure. It was simply a practical solution. I wouldn't necessarily say I prefer it, but honestly, I could go either way.
The biggest issue is that after taking a piss, you have to be very careful about zipping up. I never really understood the whole "getting caught in the zipper" thing because it just didn't seem like it could happen. Until it almost did. Now I'm extra careful.
When it comes to clothing, I've always hated wearing layers. It just never felt good, having layers rubbing against layers over my skin. In elementary school I went through a period where I'd wear sweats exclusively, just because they were comfortable. At the time, I hated the rough feel of putting on jeans (I have since gotten over that, since I rarely wear any kind of pants other than jeans). But I never wore a shirt underneath my sweatshirt. I knew that most kids wore sweatshirts to keep warm on a cold day, and they would take it off at times when they got warm, revealing whatever shirt they had on underneath. But I didn't like the idea of wearing two shirts at once. The only time I can accept it is if I'm camping and it's so freaking cold that that's the only effective way to stay warm.
On a related note, I never caught on to wearing boxers. I tried briefly (pardon the pun), but it just felt like wearing shorts under my pants, and they would constantly bag up and get all out of place and it drove me absolutely insane. I own only a single pair of boxers these days, and I never even wear it. It's silk ("a little too delightful"), and I only bought it to impress my high school girlfriend anyway, and even then, the material didn't have enough substance to avoid taking my shape, if you know what I mean, making them a rather ridiculous garment to wear in sensual situations.
Wooh! So getting back to what I was saying before, the less I wear, the less I have to wash. This is a simple truth. You know, I actually considered just not wearing clothes at all. I'd never have to do laundry. And it's not like I encounter many people in my average day, and I only rarely leave the house. But the bottom line is that I know my dad wants me to become more "well-adjusted" and not more eccentric, in the hopes that I'll eventually make something of my life, so I have a good feeling that's not a boundary that I could get away with pushing. And it just wouldn't be fair for me to push it. I don't want to even imagine what that conversation would be like if I showed up to dinner one evening, naked as a jaybird. I'm not stupid. And the last thing I'd do is willingly throw myself into the jaws of the shark like that.
(disclaimer: I love sharks, it's just an expression)
I've always been very private about my laundry. I don't think that's necessarily an unusual feeling to have, I mean most people don't like the idea of other people looking at their unmentionables, right? That's where the phrase "dirty laundry" comes from, right? But even so, I've been more protective of my laundry habits than is really necessary. I don't specifically remember what it was like here at home before going to college. Sorry. But at college it was often a chore.
Let's see, four of the five residence halls (dormitories, if you prefer) I lived in during college had laundry facilities within the building. The fifth had a laundry room in the basement of another building that was just a short walk from the one I lived in. I got into the habit of doing laundry late at night, when there'd be less chances of a crowd. Although machine availability was always a concern (and sometimes an issue), the real fear was just having to do laundry (i.e. put clothes into machine, move clothes between machines, or take clothes out of machine) in front of other people. I obviously made a point to wait to fold my clothes back in the privacy of my own room. Unfortunately, I didn't always have privacy in my own room. In those cases, I really just had to make out the best I could.
Nowadays, I have a different problem with doing laundry. I'm much less concerned about being seen doing laundry as I am about being heard, since I do it in the middle of the night when everyone's asleep. The problem is that the machines are in the basement right next to the room where my brother (the working man) sleeps. And sometimes the washer makes a lot of noise. Just the thought of being such a nuisance, keeping my brother awake at night, when he has to get up in the morning and go to work, while I can sleep all day and then lounge the rest of the day, makes me feel very uncomfortable. It's not like he's ever complained, or that I have any reason to believe that he even hears the machines when he's sleeping, but that doesn't make it any less unnerving.
There's also another issue, which relates to the problem I discussed in my last post. Sometimes I go to the basement and I might hear sounds coming from his room, or there'll be a light under the door, and I'll know or suspect that he's still awake. In those cases, I can't very well do any laundry, because I know he'll know that I am doing laundry, and I fear that he might think about me and make some kind of judgements about me. Not that he would, but that he could. It's that whole idea that I automatically fear that people are criticizing me, and the best way to avoid the anxiety that that thought causes is to erase myself from the minds of others, by sneaking around and trying to convince people that I'm not even there in the first place. That's how I've gotten the nicknames "Phantom" and "Puff of Smoke" in the past. But it's crazy that I'm so insecure that I can't even do laundry in the middle of the freaking night!
So lately, I've been avoiding doing laundry as much as possible, and I've gone to brand new lengths between loads. That's still not more than a couple weeks between, though. I've known people that hardly ever do laundry, like once a month or something, but they have tons of clothes I guess. I only have so much to wear. I've got plenty of shirts, but the rest gets stretched a little thin. I resorted to going out and buying a pack of extra socks at Wal-Mart recently, just to extend my range.
If you don't want to read about my underwear, then I suggest you just skip the rest of this entry. But my feeling is that if I force myself to talk about the things that embarrass me, then maybe I'll be less embarrassed about them in the future. Hiding things away and refusing to talk about them just because they're undesirable is a great way to compound your problems. I believe that. Plus, I'm all about truth, and holding back in the fear of embarrassment is, for me, equivalent to being a hypocrite.
Simply put, I'm way too embarrassed to go out and buy underwear. Although, I've managed to do it once or twice in the past, so I at least have something to work with. But if I only have so many pairs, then I can only go so many days before I *have* to do laundry, right? Well, inspired by an eccentric in my life, I tried "going commando", as they sometimes call it. Unlike that eccentric (and I refer to him as such in a purely complimentary way), I didn't do it for reasons of joy or pleasure or adventure. It was simply a practical solution. I wouldn't necessarily say I prefer it, but honestly, I could go either way.
The biggest issue is that after taking a piss, you have to be very careful about zipping up. I never really understood the whole "getting caught in the zipper" thing because it just didn't seem like it could happen. Until it almost did. Now I'm extra careful.
When it comes to clothing, I've always hated wearing layers. It just never felt good, having layers rubbing against layers over my skin. In elementary school I went through a period where I'd wear sweats exclusively, just because they were comfortable. At the time, I hated the rough feel of putting on jeans (I have since gotten over that, since I rarely wear any kind of pants other than jeans). But I never wore a shirt underneath my sweatshirt. I knew that most kids wore sweatshirts to keep warm on a cold day, and they would take it off at times when they got warm, revealing whatever shirt they had on underneath. But I didn't like the idea of wearing two shirts at once. The only time I can accept it is if I'm camping and it's so freaking cold that that's the only effective way to stay warm.
On a related note, I never caught on to wearing boxers. I tried briefly (pardon the pun), but it just felt like wearing shorts under my pants, and they would constantly bag up and get all out of place and it drove me absolutely insane. I own only a single pair of boxers these days, and I never even wear it. It's silk ("a little too delightful"), and I only bought it to impress my high school girlfriend anyway, and even then, the material didn't have enough substance to avoid taking my shape, if you know what I mean, making them a rather ridiculous garment to wear in sensual situations.
Wooh! So getting back to what I was saying before, the less I wear, the less I have to wash. This is a simple truth. You know, I actually considered just not wearing clothes at all. I'd never have to do laundry. And it's not like I encounter many people in my average day, and I only rarely leave the house. But the bottom line is that I know my dad wants me to become more "well-adjusted" and not more eccentric, in the hopes that I'll eventually make something of my life, so I have a good feeling that's not a boundary that I could get away with pushing. And it just wouldn't be fair for me to push it. I don't want to even imagine what that conversation would be like if I showed up to dinner one evening, naked as a jaybird. I'm not stupid. And the last thing I'd do is willingly throw myself into the jaws of the shark like that.
(disclaimer: I love sharks, it's just an expression)
21 December, 2007
A Little Background (or How I Failed At Life)
I'm starting this blog because my two friends from college, the only friends that still play a significant role in my life (beside my brother), each started one recently, detailing their lives as working men. Even though I don't work, I thought maybe I could share some of my own experiences, to give a whole 'nother perspective on the working world.
So how did I become a worthless human, whose college degree offers no protection from the cannibalistic dangers of Society?
High School Graduation was an uncharacteristically bright period in my life. I was headed to a respected university, and I had a serious girlfriend. I deserved the education, thanks to the lifelong efforts of my parents and their parents to raise me well, in addition to my own intellectual faculties; and I earned the girlfriend with a sincerely kind heart (and a lot of luck).
So what happened?
I suppose I became a failed human the moment I decided to opt out of continuing on to Graduate School. Granted, I could still have gone straight into a career, but that's where the problem lies. The reason I made it as far as I did was because of my smarts. Going to school was never a choice for me. Going to college wasn't even a choice - it was expected, and I just followed along. But somewhere in college, my smarts started to fail me. I completely lost faith in the field I was studying. My interest declined, and my work ethic dropped with it. I coasted through those final classes just to complete my degree, and then I dropped out of the race. Even if I had attempted to apply to Graduate School, I am certain that I wouldn't have been able to 'cut it'. But it turns out that I would do no better in the job market, either...
Having 'finished' school, the expectation is for me to go to work. But you see, getting a job is not like passing from sixth grade into seventh grade. There's a whole new world out there - one that I haven't been prepared for - and it terrifies me.
My problems are largely psychological. I am not normal. This is something that I've always been proud of, but lately it's carried a darker meaning. I'm talking psychological disorder, here. Everybody's got problems, yeah, and you learn to deal with them the best you can so you can get through life and make the best of what you got. Well, when the problem gets to the point where even that kind of effort doesn't produce satisfactory results, you have to start looking for alternative methods. I never liked the idea of being the crazy kid who takes meds and goes to therapy - I knew kids like that in high school, and I did not want to be like them - but honestly, I'm considering all options at this point. Anything to get back in the game. But when your fear is talking to people, well, it's that much harder to get help.
Maybe this is a confession. It's really embarrassing to sit here and admit all these problems I have, because then I come off looking like a pathetic wretch who's reaching out for sympathy from anyone and everyone who'll care to listen. And that's hard, because it just reinforces all those ideas in my head that cause me to have zero confidence and a really poor self-image. But on the other hand, it's something that I need to come to terms with, and admitting it to myself and not hiding it from others has to be a step in the right direction.
"If you live your whole life in fear, hiding who you are, you become a stranger to yourself."
One of the primary tenets of my life is fear of reaction. Criticism, rejection, just negative feedback in general. And it's not so much the reactions people *actually* have, but simply the idea of a negative reaction, whether it's believable or not. So, in my naturally avoidant manner, I have become very protective about anything and everything that relates to me and my life. The less people know about me, the less they can criticize who I am. I have developed an attractive mystique, which often turns people off because it seems like I don't really care about anyone or anything. So I think telling people who I really am can only be a positive experience in the long run. Honestly, I've fantasized about being completely open to people, strangers even. I *want* people to know who I really am. Because it really sucks having to constantly hide who you are, always putting on a mask and cloak and pretending to be someone, or noone in particular.
So that's the whole point. Telling people who I am, so I no longer have to hide from them. It's part of the healing process. And sure, you can criticize me for being one of those pathetic fools who can only open up on the internet, where I don't have to actually face people. But you know what? That's who I am, and I think it's the first step to being able to really be myself, in the real world, too. At any rate it's worth a try. At the very least, admitting it means that you won't be whispering about it behind my back.
And besides, I'm a lot more interesting than this. This blog isn't gonna be a string of melodramatic psychodrama. Although I'm bound to throw it in, because frankly, I'm interested in psychology as well as philosophy, but I just wanted to set the stage, so the audience knows who they're listening to. I'm not just a basket-case, and although I am pretty much a shut-in with limited contact with the outside world, I'm also a budding musician (guitarist) with a huge interest in rock music and blues. And I have other interests, too. You'll hear about them in the course of this blog, since another goal is for me to describe just what it is I do with my time, being a college graduate with no job to speak of...
If this sounds interesting, then maybe you'll have a good time. At worst, you can always sit back and say, wow, this guy is so pathetic, at least I'm not as much a pussy and a failure at life as he is. Otherwise, you don't have to read the blog at all, or even think about me and my life. I didn't write it for you, anyway. So don't think *too* highly of yourself. Either way, this is the end of the introduction. From here on, we get into the meat of the dish.
So how did I become a worthless human, whose college degree offers no protection from the cannibalistic dangers of Society?
High School Graduation was an uncharacteristically bright period in my life. I was headed to a respected university, and I had a serious girlfriend. I deserved the education, thanks to the lifelong efforts of my parents and their parents to raise me well, in addition to my own intellectual faculties; and I earned the girlfriend with a sincerely kind heart (and a lot of luck).
So what happened?
I suppose I became a failed human the moment I decided to opt out of continuing on to Graduate School. Granted, I could still have gone straight into a career, but that's where the problem lies. The reason I made it as far as I did was because of my smarts. Going to school was never a choice for me. Going to college wasn't even a choice - it was expected, and I just followed along. But somewhere in college, my smarts started to fail me. I completely lost faith in the field I was studying. My interest declined, and my work ethic dropped with it. I coasted through those final classes just to complete my degree, and then I dropped out of the race. Even if I had attempted to apply to Graduate School, I am certain that I wouldn't have been able to 'cut it'. But it turns out that I would do no better in the job market, either...
Having 'finished' school, the expectation is for me to go to work. But you see, getting a job is not like passing from sixth grade into seventh grade. There's a whole new world out there - one that I haven't been prepared for - and it terrifies me.
My problems are largely psychological. I am not normal. This is something that I've always been proud of, but lately it's carried a darker meaning. I'm talking psychological disorder, here. Everybody's got problems, yeah, and you learn to deal with them the best you can so you can get through life and make the best of what you got. Well, when the problem gets to the point where even that kind of effort doesn't produce satisfactory results, you have to start looking for alternative methods. I never liked the idea of being the crazy kid who takes meds and goes to therapy - I knew kids like that in high school, and I did not want to be like them - but honestly, I'm considering all options at this point. Anything to get back in the game. But when your fear is talking to people, well, it's that much harder to get help.
Maybe this is a confession. It's really embarrassing to sit here and admit all these problems I have, because then I come off looking like a pathetic wretch who's reaching out for sympathy from anyone and everyone who'll care to listen. And that's hard, because it just reinforces all those ideas in my head that cause me to have zero confidence and a really poor self-image. But on the other hand, it's something that I need to come to terms with, and admitting it to myself and not hiding it from others has to be a step in the right direction.
"If you live your whole life in fear, hiding who you are, you become a stranger to yourself."
One of the primary tenets of my life is fear of reaction. Criticism, rejection, just negative feedback in general. And it's not so much the reactions people *actually* have, but simply the idea of a negative reaction, whether it's believable or not. So, in my naturally avoidant manner, I have become very protective about anything and everything that relates to me and my life. The less people know about me, the less they can criticize who I am. I have developed an attractive mystique, which often turns people off because it seems like I don't really care about anyone or anything. So I think telling people who I really am can only be a positive experience in the long run. Honestly, I've fantasized about being completely open to people, strangers even. I *want* people to know who I really am. Because it really sucks having to constantly hide who you are, always putting on a mask and cloak and pretending to be someone, or noone in particular.
So that's the whole point. Telling people who I am, so I no longer have to hide from them. It's part of the healing process. And sure, you can criticize me for being one of those pathetic fools who can only open up on the internet, where I don't have to actually face people. But you know what? That's who I am, and I think it's the first step to being able to really be myself, in the real world, too. At any rate it's worth a try. At the very least, admitting it means that you won't be whispering about it behind my back.
And besides, I'm a lot more interesting than this. This blog isn't gonna be a string of melodramatic psychodrama. Although I'm bound to throw it in, because frankly, I'm interested in psychology as well as philosophy, but I just wanted to set the stage, so the audience knows who they're listening to. I'm not just a basket-case, and although I am pretty much a shut-in with limited contact with the outside world, I'm also a budding musician (guitarist) with a huge interest in rock music and blues. And I have other interests, too. You'll hear about them in the course of this blog, since another goal is for me to describe just what it is I do with my time, being a college graduate with no job to speak of...
If this sounds interesting, then maybe you'll have a good time. At worst, you can always sit back and say, wow, this guy is so pathetic, at least I'm not as much a pussy and a failure at life as he is. Otherwise, you don't have to read the blog at all, or even think about me and my life. I didn't write it for you, anyway. So don't think *too* highly of yourself. Either way, this is the end of the introduction. From here on, we get into the meat of the dish.
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