A few days ago, I played a game of tag. It's not something I do normally. My friends and I were just hanging out, chilling in the park while it was raining at about nine o'clock at night, and someone said what should we do now, so obviously my answer had to be let's play tag.
And chaos reigned.
What followed was one of the most horrifying experiences of my life. It was impossible to know who to trust. It was too dark to see down the entire field, so any tagging that went on over on the far end was unseen by those who hid behind the trees. Sometimes there were screams. You could see the vague outlines of people running from/towards each other, but for all I knew, my friends were being attacked by baby Rancors.
The worst was when the turned and ran towards you. It was impossible to tell if they were the villain or a fellow sufferer of our PG-rated slasher flick. That kid, the one who was running and screaming and laughing and having the greatest night for a very long time is the one that's sitting here, typing these words with childlike whimsy (I really just wanted to use the word whimsy, but I don't think that's still accurate after the Rancor reference).
But that kid isn't going to be there so much in the next coming weeks. In fact, he's gonna start fading away, like Ginny Weasley at the end of the second Harry Potter book (damn, I'm just piling on the nerd references). Eventually, he'll cease to exist, and something else will come up to take his place. That's not necessarily a bad thing. It's not really a sequel, it's a reboot, and not all reboots suck. I could end up becoming a better person. My tastes will probably change, and maybe I'll finally drop that obsessions with Joss Whedon and Ingrid Michaelson that I'm sure are unhealthy. I'm not really scared about any of that.
Over the past two or so weeks, I have said goodbye way too many times. Like, almost more times than I can count. In fact, one of my best friends was just over here a few minutes ago, and I guess she's what inspired this post. It made me think about what I'm going to be like the next time I come back here, how I'll be changed when I see her again. And that just made me worry about all of my other friends, how different I'll be then.
People change. That's a fact. But all through our public school days we were around each other, and as we changed our friends changed with us. We evolved into our friendships, making little adjustments here or there, making exceptions to rules when this one or that one picked up a habit that annoyed us, or standing by through a particularly disastrous romantic entanglement to ensure their safety. Sometimes we intervened, sometimes we fought, sometimes we lost friends. But for the most part we stayed in tact.
So what happens when we can't grow together, when we have to go at it alone for awhile. (Get your mind out of the gutter. Pervert.) In approximately seven hours, I will be leaving for a very long time. How much different will I be by then? Will our close-knit group even function together? How changed will we be?
Before I moved to the mountains, I had about two or three extremely close friends and a few people that I liked being around and talking to. I still talk to them from time to time, and--especially the close friends--I miss them. A lot sometimes. Now that I'm here, I have about 15 friends that I am going to severely miss and so many good friends that I'm sure that at least 5 of them have been in a movie with someone who was also in a movie with Kevin Bacon. That is a lot of connections to maintain, and I'm not sure the kid who keeps throwing out Rancor references is up to it.
It's kind of lucky, then, maybe, that this is that kid's last day on Earth. Starting tomorrow, he's going to start getting erased and redrawn. (Personally, I'm holding out hope that he'll be redrawn acne-free and with phoenix wings, but I'm willing to keep the acne in exchange for the wings.) Maybe the new kid'll be able to keep up the relationships, maybe he'll just get closer to his friends. Maybe he'll be happier. Maybe he'll be more himself, he'll fall in love, write a Pulitzer Prize winning novel, settle down. Maybe he'll write a screenplay that Joss Whedon decides to direct (seriously, unhealthy). Or maybe he'll get hit in the eyes by toxic waste tomorrow and he'll gain extrasensory abilities at the cost of his eyesight.
Either way, I'll be waiting on the edge of my seat to see how he ends up. I'll make the popcorn.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
First Lessons Learned from NYC
Ok, so there's a story behind that blog title. I had a whole plan here: make a list every two days or so, title it "first" then "second" then "third" and then, if I had the time, maybe "final" once I got home. It was going to be a seven day extravaganza: in on Friday, out on Thursday, and composition book full of lessons to share with all of my loyal followers (if you all don't mind, I'm going to pretend that there are more of you to pump up the bicycle tire of my ego). I was going to NEW YORK CITY. And, on the train ride into the town, I had already learned 3 FULL LESSONS. I was so excited! The world was my oyster! I was seizing things that might or might not have been days! I had my whole life in front of me! I had cliches practically sprouting from all my various orifices!
And then the week happened. And, well, I spent a little bit less time on my computer than was expected.
I spent quite a bit of time on it, but nowhere near enough to get any blog writing done. So, here we are, the final day of my trip (I return to the mountains to shiver in the rain and mud tomorrow night). I let time get away from me, and now all of my brilliant ideas that would have put me into the bloggerdom hall of fame are gone. (I assume there is one of those. I mean, there is a Magic: The Gathering Hall of Fame, so I assume there's a more general one for people with a similar lack of a social life, just minus the card playing.) Anyway, here's the stuff I learned from the Big Apple*.
Lesson One: People Will Go to Any Lengths Possible to Not be Near You (or Maybe Just Me)
This was an odd one to learn, and I realized it almost immediately after I got off of my plane on Friday. I disembarked, scrambled around for a few minutes because I had no idea where I was going, and I finally made it to the AirTrain about half an hour later (seriously, I have no sense of direction).
If you've ever been on an AirTrain, in any city/airport, than you know that the AirTrain compartments are all the same: square shaped, two compartment-long benches on either side, two double sliding doors, and a few poles for those not fortunate enough to get a seat to hold onto. Now, with so little space and so little sitting room, it should seem that people would be more willing to be around each other, at least grudgingly. (If that's what you think, you must have missed the title of this lesson. How? I mean, it's in bold. You were supposed to read it. Idiot.)
Somehow, we managed to space ourselves, without any discussion or thought, so that we would not have to interact whatsoever. There were five of us, so where were we sitting? Four of us in each corner and--ignoring the perfectly good two free seats available on either side of the compartment--one grasping the center pole. It's the same (mind-numbingly stupid) principle that you can see if you're a man in a bathroom: if the two side urinals are in use, using the middle one automatically makes you evil. No ifs, ands, or buts; no one cares if you "really have to go" or anything. Similarly, nobody cares if your legs are exhausted because you just ran from the other end of the terminal because you're late for your flight. If you take that center spot, you are officially a dick. No one wants to interact with you. On a similar note...
Lesson Two: Everyone Hates Your Eyes (or, Once Again, Maybe Just Mine)
This one was so so amazingly baffling, mostly because I had been doing it and I didn't even notice until I was sitting on the overcrowded subway and clutching my things with an intense fear of them being stolen. But people will seriously go to any lengths possible to not make eye contact with you. The advertisements all up and down the train (all exactly the same, by the way, or alternating between two variations on the same product) suddenly become very interesting, the weaving seam of your purse, the discovery that your shoes are laced up incorrectly, etc. etc.
But that rule only stands as long as someone is looking in a remotely similar direction as you. Staring--revision: leering--is acceptable, as long as the person (leeree?) is unaware of your actions. I saw that happening far too many times to assume that it was not happening to me when I turned away. Oh, and don't worry, unattractive people. The leering happens regardless of gender or general attractiveness. Everyone gets leered at. Equality for all!
Lesson Three: Socks Were Created By God
I am now convinced of this. I did not exactly pack enough socks for the trip, because I assumed two things: first, I could always wear my long socks with my jeans, and second, I could always resort to wearing my flip-flops. I was completely and totally wrong. It was waaaaay too hot for the jeans, and the single flip-flop adventure I had gave me enormous blisters. So I tried a few days without socks.
That didn't exactly work so well. My blisters are even bigger now (they look angry at me, so I think there's something living inside of one of them). Also, sand gets everywhere. Seriously, everywhere, even when you aren't walking in sand it gets everywhere. Sand and dirt. There is sand in my bed right now because it was under my toenails. I am annoyed.
Lesson Four: Walking is Exercise
Aside from the rare subway trips, I walked everywhere. Now, after swim season was over, I pretty much stopped exercising. The fact that I have not gained weight is something that scientists will be debating after I become famous and my life becomes taught to schoolchildren from grades K-12, but I'm a bit more confused by the fact that I now have my six pack back. Seriously. Months and months of destructive work to my body, and a few, hellish days of walking and my body is on its way to being back in shape.
I have no idea how someone can gain weight in New York City. I have been eating--seriously--nothing but junk. I have been so unhealthy. I feel a little bit gross even thinking about what I have eaten. But my stomach flab is shrinking back in on itself. Unless you have some sort of condition, it just doesn't make sense to me.
Lesson Five: People Are Gross
Okay, last one (if you've read this far, I have no idea how you have so much willpower, because this is an unacceptably long post). The city itself is a prime example of this. There is no justifiable reason for what I have seen going on around here. There are trash cans on just about every corner. I saw residential blocks that had literally forty trash cans on them. All of them accessible. Just sitting there, within reach. And yet, less than a foot away, there's a slushie container, poured out over the ground. There are cigarettes and gum-stains everywhere. And even though it gave the city, um, "character", there aren't many socially acceptable contexts where you can drop your 24 oz Pepsi onto the sidewalk, glance at it disappointedly--as if it was the cup that did something wrong--and then walk away as if nothing was different.
Also, I find spitting weird. I blame my mother. And gum. Oh, so many gum stains**. And the Hudson is disgusting. It is calculated by Doctor *coughcoughcoughcough* that it is made up of about 40% water and 60% random-you-don't-want-to-know-stuff. (What? Didn't catch that name? Tough.)
So, yeah, that's my trip in a nutshell. I feel like I should have hit some sort of epiphany while I was here, some sort of moral pinnacle. That didn't happen. I guess I'm not really a New York kinda guy. I wasn't quite in the Empire State of Mind (hehe, I made a funny). Maybe the moral of this story will hit me once I get home. Anyway, I took some cool pics of the city, and I'm coming out of it unscathed. I had a good time, I suppose. And I got to spend time with my sister without wanting to rip her head off--or, well, mostly.
Trip=Successful.
(*Sidenote: Why "Big Apple"? I believe "Big Pizza" or "Big Starbucks" or "Big Hipster" would be more appopriate, as all are more common here than apples.)
(**Sidenote II: Someone really needs to invent something to disintegrate gum. Someone was talking about it before, can't remember who. They'd be a millionaire. Scientists, forget about the other stuff: this will make you rich.)
And then the week happened. And, well, I spent a little bit less time on my computer than was expected.
I spent quite a bit of time on it, but nowhere near enough to get any blog writing done. So, here we are, the final day of my trip (I return to the mountains to shiver in the rain and mud tomorrow night). I let time get away from me, and now all of my brilliant ideas that would have put me into the bloggerdom hall of fame are gone. (I assume there is one of those. I mean, there is a Magic: The Gathering Hall of Fame, so I assume there's a more general one for people with a similar lack of a social life, just minus the card playing.) Anyway, here's the stuff I learned from the Big Apple*.
Lesson One: People Will Go to Any Lengths Possible to Not be Near You (or Maybe Just Me)
This was an odd one to learn, and I realized it almost immediately after I got off of my plane on Friday. I disembarked, scrambled around for a few minutes because I had no idea where I was going, and I finally made it to the AirTrain about half an hour later (seriously, I have no sense of direction).
If you've ever been on an AirTrain, in any city/airport, than you know that the AirTrain compartments are all the same: square shaped, two compartment-long benches on either side, two double sliding doors, and a few poles for those not fortunate enough to get a seat to hold onto. Now, with so little space and so little sitting room, it should seem that people would be more willing to be around each other, at least grudgingly. (If that's what you think, you must have missed the title of this lesson. How? I mean, it's in bold. You were supposed to read it. Idiot.)
Somehow, we managed to space ourselves, without any discussion or thought, so that we would not have to interact whatsoever. There were five of us, so where were we sitting? Four of us in each corner and--ignoring the perfectly good two free seats available on either side of the compartment--one grasping the center pole. It's the same (mind-numbingly stupid) principle that you can see if you're a man in a bathroom: if the two side urinals are in use, using the middle one automatically makes you evil. No ifs, ands, or buts; no one cares if you "really have to go" or anything. Similarly, nobody cares if your legs are exhausted because you just ran from the other end of the terminal because you're late for your flight. If you take that center spot, you are officially a dick. No one wants to interact with you. On a similar note...
Lesson Two: Everyone Hates Your Eyes (or, Once Again, Maybe Just Mine)
This one was so so amazingly baffling, mostly because I had been doing it and I didn't even notice until I was sitting on the overcrowded subway and clutching my things with an intense fear of them being stolen. But people will seriously go to any lengths possible to not make eye contact with you. The advertisements all up and down the train (all exactly the same, by the way, or alternating between two variations on the same product) suddenly become very interesting, the weaving seam of your purse, the discovery that your shoes are laced up incorrectly, etc. etc.
But that rule only stands as long as someone is looking in a remotely similar direction as you. Staring--revision: leering--is acceptable, as long as the person (leeree?) is unaware of your actions. I saw that happening far too many times to assume that it was not happening to me when I turned away. Oh, and don't worry, unattractive people. The leering happens regardless of gender or general attractiveness. Everyone gets leered at. Equality for all!
Lesson Three: Socks Were Created By God
I am now convinced of this. I did not exactly pack enough socks for the trip, because I assumed two things: first, I could always wear my long socks with my jeans, and second, I could always resort to wearing my flip-flops. I was completely and totally wrong. It was waaaaay too hot for the jeans, and the single flip-flop adventure I had gave me enormous blisters. So I tried a few days without socks.
That didn't exactly work so well. My blisters are even bigger now (they look angry at me, so I think there's something living inside of one of them). Also, sand gets everywhere. Seriously, everywhere, even when you aren't walking in sand it gets everywhere. Sand and dirt. There is sand in my bed right now because it was under my toenails. I am annoyed.
Lesson Four: Walking is Exercise
Aside from the rare subway trips, I walked everywhere. Now, after swim season was over, I pretty much stopped exercising. The fact that I have not gained weight is something that scientists will be debating after I become famous and my life becomes taught to schoolchildren from grades K-12, but I'm a bit more confused by the fact that I now have my six pack back. Seriously. Months and months of destructive work to my body, and a few, hellish days of walking and my body is on its way to being back in shape.
I have no idea how someone can gain weight in New York City. I have been eating--seriously--nothing but junk. I have been so unhealthy. I feel a little bit gross even thinking about what I have eaten. But my stomach flab is shrinking back in on itself. Unless you have some sort of condition, it just doesn't make sense to me.
Lesson Five: People Are Gross
Okay, last one (if you've read this far, I have no idea how you have so much willpower, because this is an unacceptably long post). The city itself is a prime example of this. There is no justifiable reason for what I have seen going on around here. There are trash cans on just about every corner. I saw residential blocks that had literally forty trash cans on them. All of them accessible. Just sitting there, within reach. And yet, less than a foot away, there's a slushie container, poured out over the ground. There are cigarettes and gum-stains everywhere. And even though it gave the city, um, "character", there aren't many socially acceptable contexts where you can drop your 24 oz Pepsi onto the sidewalk, glance at it disappointedly--as if it was the cup that did something wrong--and then walk away as if nothing was different.
Also, I find spitting weird. I blame my mother. And gum. Oh, so many gum stains**. And the Hudson is disgusting. It is calculated by Doctor *coughcoughcoughcough* that it is made up of about 40% water and 60% random-you-don't-want-to-know-stuff. (What? Didn't catch that name? Tough.)
So, yeah, that's my trip in a nutshell. I feel like I should have hit some sort of epiphany while I was here, some sort of moral pinnacle. That didn't happen. I guess I'm not really a New York kinda guy. I wasn't quite in the Empire State of Mind (hehe, I made a funny). Maybe the moral of this story will hit me once I get home. Anyway, I took some cool pics of the city, and I'm coming out of it unscathed. I had a good time, I suppose. And I got to spend time with my sister without wanting to rip her head off--or, well, mostly.
Trip=Successful.
(*Sidenote: Why "Big Apple"? I believe "Big Pizza" or "Big Starbucks" or "Big Hipster" would be more appopriate, as all are more common here than apples.)
(**Sidenote II: Someone really needs to invent something to disintegrate gum. Someone was talking about it before, can't remember who. They'd be a millionaire. Scientists, forget about the other stuff: this will make you rich.)
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