I realize that I should probably explain my title a little more. I am unfocused. I cannot decide whether to write a journal, a blog, a book, a movie or a poem. I cannot decide whether to honest or exaggerate in my words here in this blog right now. Therefore I am going to try it all at once. I am going to leave notes, random ideas, and whether I am profound or earnest or honest. I will be me. To that I am committed. Since I could not nail-down my theme I decided to combine two attributes that I believe I struggle to embody simultaneously earnestness and honesty--hence earnesty.
I have been thinking about my love for my friends, my tendency to procrastinate or spontaneously go see a movie alone and my neuroses. The reason I was thinking about them was that they are incompatible, and their incompatibility contributes to my intense need to connect with others on lonely nights. I immediately saw a chance for comedy.
I imagined a guy sitting in a theater alone with food, an iPod and a book. An old girlfriend approaches him joined by a date.
Girl: Steve! Hi, how are you?
Steve: Huh? Oh, I'm fine. (Steve only looks up briefly before returning to his book)
Girl: What are you up to?
Steve: Uh, I'm reading a book, and I'm waiting for the movie to start. (Steve looks annoyed by what seems to him such an obvious question. Girl seems slightly offended, but tries to maintain civility)
Girl: Did you finish school? I haven't heard anything about you.
Steve: Well, we didn't really have any mutual friends. Unless you're stalking me online I don't know how you'd hear anything. I'm not making any headlines.
Girl: O.K...well, are you here alone?
Steve: Well, I was...
Girl: Do you mind if we sit here? (Steve suddenly snaps to attention. He looks around confusedly)
Steve: What do you mean? Aren't you on a date or something? You guys don't exactly look like cousins or anything. (Girl looks embarrassed now. She rubs the back of her neck nervously and does that looking around with her head facing down thing)
Girl: Of course we are. I was just trying to be nice. I mean, you're at a movie...by yourself!
Steve: Look, I see a lot of movies. What kind of asshole would I be if I made my fiancee go to three movies a week?! (Steve makes a really exasperated expression now.)
(Confidence returns to Girl's face briefly and she smiles. Then she looks surprised.)
Girl: Fiancee? You're engaged? Is it happening soon? I mean, when is the wedding?
(Steve's attention has returned to his book.)
Steve: Tuesday. (Steve doesn't even look up as he says this) Listen, I don't need anyone to sit with me. I'm O.K. watching a movie on my own.
Girl: Do you really see three a week?
Steve: Uh, yeah. Something like that. I'm not on a fucking schedule or anything. I just have this thing. It's kind of like a compulsion or addiction, except other people just don't understand...(Steve looks up from his book as if he is thinking to himself) No, it's exactly like an addiction. Except, I don't have to do it. I mean I could stop. I just don't want to. (This time Steve actually looks a little self-conscious, but he quickly disregards it and returns to his book)
Steve: Look, I'm kind of busy. Could you just find some place to sit. I hate running into people in movie theatres. They always want to treat me like some damn charity case. Like I only came alone because I'm lonely. Whatever (Steve returns to his book. Girl looks embarrassed. She stiffens her top lip over her lower.
Girl: Oooo.K. (Girl grabs boys hand and pulls him past Steve and up the stairs. Girl's date looks a little amused. He has a small smirk on his face and goes rather limp as Girl pulls on his arm. Steve continues reading his book)
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
In the beginning..
I have often thought about writing a blog. I have to admit, part of my anxiety to do so was the name. I carry no pretense that I am the first to comment on this word, "blog." So, I'm not going to make this a post-blogging blog, or even one of those mindless rants of mock-rage that my fiancee, Briana, hates so much. I will move on.
I have avoided blogging because I simply do not know what to blog about. Actually, a few days ago Briana told me she heard on NPR that anyone serious about writing has to blog. Now I enjoy the idea that there is a collective of well informed people around the world, not listening to awful mainstream radio,who heard this broadcast and said, "today is the day I become a writer." I am inspired by the thought of a community of intelligent professionals that talk about how something they heard on public radio changed their lives. It is because of this sentimentality that I am driven to blog today. However, at the same time, cynical about this group of know-it-alls who are probably 'Friends' of the public library and the Nelson Atkins Museum. I hate their smug, overly enthusiastic and way-to-gay voices that respond by phone with a giggle at the "serendipity of the topic discussed by today's guest. The truth is, I cannot which team to choose.
I want to be both the classy and impeccably dressed Bushwood's member and the uncouth white trash caddy, with a perfect swing. I want to play both sides, but not just for both benefits or to double cross one side for the other. I just do not know to which one I am better suited. I am obsessive about punctuation and spelling, and yet I like the way I naturally cut the letter 'g' off the 'ing' ending of a word. I love the dressed-down effortless fashion of torn jeans and a t-shirt, but I hate the look of a suit without a tie. I am perpetually conflicted in my life with the choice between kitsch and class.
Another area of my life, in which all polarizing opposites look appealing is the social world. I recently been considering a writing project about my schizophrenic social preferences. I am both intrigued by the detached loner or hermit, unaffected and stoic as he walks through a culture and society that disgusts and confuses him. I am also drawn to the idea of the high class and well educated socialite, who is plugged into not only his local art but also community. I find that my strong sympathy and profound spiritual calling to the poor means that I must be social and outgoing, instead of reclusive. However, I want to be prepared to take on that world with all its problems, and I feel the only way to be completely prepared is to be well read.
Part of my desire to read I believe comes from the guilt I feel over having squandered much of my education, which I did not appreciate and milk for all it's knowledge, and I am now paying for my apathy by way of one graduate school rejection letter after another. I am scared of the future, and it is my philosophical conflictions that leave me so petrified. I am an existentialist and I am certain that it is all my fault. I have to take responsibility for where I am today. To my credit I have stayed focused enough to convince the most wonderful girl in the world to marry me, but giving girls attention has never really been a problem for me. It is like Nick Hornby says in High Fidelity through the character Rob. Rob explains that he has always been good at remembering the names, birthdays and miscellaneous details of the girls he is interested in, because they are all that he thinks about. This naturally acquired attention to detail has served me well enough to land a great wife, but this fact adds a new difficulty.
Perhaps it is my lingering misogyny that keeps me from being comfortable with the fact that my wife-to-be is much more successful at everything than me. This minor imbalance should really seem like belated justice considering the centuries of male dominated marriages and households, in which a wife accomplished next to nothing unless she was some kind of counter-cultural wonder woman like Virginia Wolf or you were willing to wait until death like Emily Dickinson. I should be fine with the prospect that I may become a regular working stiff doing something I do not like until the right opportunity comes along or becomes possible after proper experience is acquired. I will resign myself to this and keep my eyes and ears open for any spiritual guidance from above, which I probably should have been listening for in the first place.
Well, I do not know if any of my friends or enemies will find this blog. I do not plan on telling anyone about it. I am merely leaving this out there in the great big abyss of cyberspace to float around until I write something profound enough to receive a comment. Maybe I will not even receive that much. But maybe, just maybe I will learn to focus my thoughts better, and maybe my fears and purposes, as well.
I have avoided blogging because I simply do not know what to blog about. Actually, a few days ago Briana told me she heard on NPR that anyone serious about writing has to blog. Now I enjoy the idea that there is a collective of well informed people around the world, not listening to awful mainstream radio,who heard this broadcast and said, "today is the day I become a writer." I am inspired by the thought of a community of intelligent professionals that talk about how something they heard on public radio changed their lives. It is because of this sentimentality that I am driven to blog today. However, at the same time, cynical about this group of know-it-alls who are probably 'Friends' of the public library and the Nelson Atkins Museum. I hate their smug, overly enthusiastic and way-to-gay voices that respond by phone with a giggle at the "serendipity of the topic discussed by today's guest. The truth is, I cannot which team to choose.
I want to be both the classy and impeccably dressed Bushwood's member and the uncouth white trash caddy, with a perfect swing. I want to play both sides, but not just for both benefits or to double cross one side for the other. I just do not know to which one I am better suited. I am obsessive about punctuation and spelling, and yet I like the way I naturally cut the letter 'g' off the 'ing' ending of a word. I love the dressed-down effortless fashion of torn jeans and a t-shirt, but I hate the look of a suit without a tie. I am perpetually conflicted in my life with the choice between kitsch and class.
Another area of my life, in which all polarizing opposites look appealing is the social world. I recently been considering a writing project about my schizophrenic social preferences. I am both intrigued by the detached loner or hermit, unaffected and stoic as he walks through a culture and society that disgusts and confuses him. I am also drawn to the idea of the high class and well educated socialite, who is plugged into not only his local art but also community. I find that my strong sympathy and profound spiritual calling to the poor means that I must be social and outgoing, instead of reclusive. However, I want to be prepared to take on that world with all its problems, and I feel the only way to be completely prepared is to be well read.
Part of my desire to read I believe comes from the guilt I feel over having squandered much of my education, which I did not appreciate and milk for all it's knowledge, and I am now paying for my apathy by way of one graduate school rejection letter after another. I am scared of the future, and it is my philosophical conflictions that leave me so petrified. I am an existentialist and I am certain that it is all my fault. I have to take responsibility for where I am today. To my credit I have stayed focused enough to convince the most wonderful girl in the world to marry me, but giving girls attention has never really been a problem for me. It is like Nick Hornby says in High Fidelity through the character Rob. Rob explains that he has always been good at remembering the names, birthdays and miscellaneous details of the girls he is interested in, because they are all that he thinks about. This naturally acquired attention to detail has served me well enough to land a great wife, but this fact adds a new difficulty.
Perhaps it is my lingering misogyny that keeps me from being comfortable with the fact that my wife-to-be is much more successful at everything than me. This minor imbalance should really seem like belated justice considering the centuries of male dominated marriages and households, in which a wife accomplished next to nothing unless she was some kind of counter-cultural wonder woman like Virginia Wolf or you were willing to wait until death like Emily Dickinson. I should be fine with the prospect that I may become a regular working stiff doing something I do not like until the right opportunity comes along or becomes possible after proper experience is acquired. I will resign myself to this and keep my eyes and ears open for any spiritual guidance from above, which I probably should have been listening for in the first place.
Well, I do not know if any of my friends or enemies will find this blog. I do not plan on telling anyone about it. I am merely leaving this out there in the great big abyss of cyberspace to float around until I write something profound enough to receive a comment. Maybe I will not even receive that much. But maybe, just maybe I will learn to focus my thoughts better, and maybe my fears and purposes, as well.
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