Some women get it out of their system in college, but that's because they didn’t have anyone. No guy to keep them from partying and hooking up so much that they eventually got over it. If it's in men, then I must've blew through it years ago. Even I was locked down during college but never felt this undying need for independence. And that was a relationship from second semester of Freshman year all the way through. Maybe I got a enough ass prior to college, to keep me happy. To me, p****, is p****, is P****...gorgeous thing, and I love it, but let's be honest...there's a million more things a girl needs to make herself appealing. It's amongst the search for these things that it all starts to get ugly.....nothing labial about it. The ugliness comes into play when a woman....I digress.....a girl.....doesn’t have enough time to herself. Time to herself...meaning....time to be single.....to go down on other guys...to experiment with girls, to drink their face off and dance on tables, to have any mother fucker with potent cologne and drenched wet hair grazing up against her just so she knows she's desired. Trust me....if you see a woman at 50 who's still craving it, it's because they got married too early, thought the grass was greener, and now look desperate trying to score a guy for superficial reasons, or just to prove they’ve still got game.
This does not pertain to older generations like our grandparents…that’s a whole other topic dealing more with women’s independence movements, social acceptance with divorce and society, separation during wartime…you name it….so this is relevant to our parents, ourselves, and generations to come. Girls in cities, hate to say it but, the itch is even worse and often longer in duration. The more options they have (i.e. people and entertainment), the more confusion and temptation combine to keep reality from setting in.
Love my mother to death, but she's the best example of having wished she'd seen more of a youthful life. She’d gotten married too early…hadn’t enjoyed being a woman in her twenties, had dated maybe three people before marriage, hadn’t experienced enough fun while young….and ultimately, it led to her obsession with getting divorced. What she did decide to end, now seems to be an overeager and premature decision in the aftermath. I don’t think people are all that different. And I would doubt chemically or emotionally that this wouldn’t need to happen to everyone, therefore, here’s a bit more about why I believe that "need" to be true.
I say it's 5 years because that's really just the length of the age bracket where it seems to happen the most. That does not mean they need 5 straight years of being single, or 5 total years to party and hook-up. From age 22 until about 27, these behaviors are most noticeable. So much change, so much lack of direction, it's by far the most prone time; especially for big city loves, and additionally for anyone who had a long relationship prior. I’m obviously biased. Eager to dissect the chosen paths of those I've loved; watching them firsthand, and analyzing their choices. I've had two serious relationships, each more than 3 years….both of which failed. In hindsight, I see myself unconsciously holding back the girls I was with….they'd proved this the minute they were free from my backyard tent (jk). After that first stint where the girl and I were shacked up in college, we broke up immediately after graduation. I guarantee you know three relationships that ended the exact same way...maybe even yours. In mine, I found out she moved in with two girls and lived for three years, just partying, enjoying herself in a fashion she'd damned to only losers, years prior. She'd point at those girls and despise their dancing on tables and screaming "Sweet Caroline", when really, they were just getting it out of their system earlier than her. There she was, two years later, living in a smaller sorority-style house in the city, enjoying her rightful and well-needed place.
The second relationship I had was different in the sense that you're older but she isn't. It's really the same stage as your previous girlfriend where she's mature when you begin dating but then a total mess with priorities and her own self come age 22. Although it lasted beyond that age, it shouldnt have. I was the circumstance holding back the bird that needed to fly. She’s now doing the exact same thing I mentioned of my previous ex....almost to a T (whatever that expression means). Having seen this already beforehand, it's not even odd to me anymore....in fact, the progression I now expect of anyone. Although a bird always returns to its home after it sees what the world has to offer, to be at home waiting, well you're just not a man. No one should do unfair....there's nothing too lose when you've lost yourself.
There's no way of taming the itch...no method by which to cull and abate what will rise and fall for the best reasons. So keep doing what we all tend to do when faced with sure failure...lose interest completely, remain desensitized and just flow.....for timing and fate does its thing, and there’s no hurt when you just don’t care anymore. What I’m really trying to convey is an awareness, not a bible to live by or a straight defamation of the female character…in fact I think it’s necessary for anyone to go through this, so they don’t end up like my mom, having regrets after 27 years of marriage. I also want people to understand that it’s not something they might’ve done. That it was never in their control to begin with and that they didn't lose it by turning a person off or unintentionally holding them back.....it's remaining cognizant that there's this weird time in one's life....for me, it always seems to be within the ages I've mentioned....but really, it's a time where, no matter what you might do, no matter what you might think, or what you might want and expect of someone else........it really just aint gonna happen.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
The Five Year Itch (Ladies, don't read this one, you won't like it...and it's mainly b/c I don't date guys)
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
The Grape
An old wise philosopher once challenged a town when they professed luck of a young boy’s fate to avoid the draft, while his friend went off to fight. When comparing the circumstances, to most it would seem apparent, but to the old man and the luck of one over the other, he said “we’ll see.”
Disheveled sweats and bloodshot eyes she waited, not for a knight in shining armor but for a hint of comfort to walk through the hospital doors. Her hair was limp and lifeless along with her posture. The future couldn’t possibly hold happiness; no rainbow to follow the storm rolling in. Your body can only be so stressed. On any normal day, these are not her aesthetics. She is out of character and aloof, for her father’s fairing far worse than they’d expected.
She’d gone down to the lobby in a daze to meet her brother; to wait anywhere but that depressing room. The rubber slides through her hand as she waits atop the escalator…and she thinks of life as a cycle, constantly rotating and slipping by, so she tries to grip it tighter; to pause it…..if only for an instant.
Staring past everyone who enters, she notices a man carrying a big basket of fruit and she breathes disgust for she hadn’t thought of that. Following him with her eyes, he comes higher and closer and her head moves forward as if to sniff flowers. The cellophane doesn’t wrap completely around what’s overflowing the wicker, and one tiny grape tumbles out. To stop a man for something so insignificant; to speak for words have escaped her for hours now, it felt good not to care. Desensitized, she’d craved a little good. As the man disappears into the elevators she sighs and returns to pondering what her life will be like without dad.
Dreaming of her best memories of him, she’d agreed with herself; he’d lived a storybook life. A navy man, he’d found his heart in a woman at 19. His fingers like triggers, he’d handled weapons not of gun-smoke and steal, but correspondence. A man who could type when no one else could. The wealthiest family on the block, they had the first television. A flickering blue light dancing amongst the stars, their living room was always packed with anxious glowing faces and warm bodies strewn carefree on the carpet. For feelings never pounded harder through his chest on the day he lost her, they’d been married for 60 years. She now thought about life and how it finds its form in many shapes within this world, the more interesting part of a form being the direction it takes and the meaning it delivers to the lives of one or many; whether conscious or un. Her fresh tears are interrupted…
Crashing to the floor behind her, a body thuds with a subtle snap. Screaming in agony, a heavyset woman in her 60’s has just broken her arm in three places after visiting her daughter. Shocked by the incident, the disenchanted storms over to help. “Thank you so much dear…I don’t know what happened…I’m just not paying attention…I’m sorry.” In shock, she’s sobbing but holding her arm and repeating over and over, the fact that she must get to work. “Mam, you’re right here in a hospital, I think you should get it checked out, no?” “No, I really must go, I don’t have the time right now…dammit, it’s killing me.…..I just wanted to stop by, see my daughter and head out……..you’re an angel though…… thanks so much for helping….I can’t believe this…I’m such a freakin klutz.” As the woman scurries out in disbelief that something so simple could have led to this, she regrets her visit. As she lumbers forward in a hunch, her head lays flat in a grimace. As noticeable as a blue ink stain on a crisp white shirt, squished mercilessly against the back of her dress was the grape. Shocked, our otherwise heartbroken and gray figure grabs her mouth and literally turns cold white. Behind her, a streak continues to dry on the tan-tiled floor, and her conscience kicks in. Tearing apart her stomach for being so remiss, even as the woman walks back into the lobby deciding the pain was unbearable, she can’t say what she now knows. It just isn’t necessary and how could she possibly respond if asked why she did nothing. No matter what she’d come up with, it would never make a difference.
As the town looked on at the lives of those two gentlemen; one spared from the calamity of war, and one sent feasibly to death; defending his life with nothing but a gun......their paths were revealed. Less than a year before the cadet left home, a plague swept through the town. It took with it many of the youngest lives, including our pardoned fellow at the ripe age of 22. He’d coughed and bled from every direction, spending the last 3 months of his life in a sweaty piss-stained bed for those who’d cared for him had died or were forced to quit. Two summers later, our subject doomed to trek the countryside of every country he'd never cared to visit, he'd endured no famine, slept uncomfortably through nights with comrades by his side, and came back to a huge welcome home party. He was awarded the medal of honor for bravery. A hometown hero he began his own practice and went on to be the most educated, successful citizen their little village ever churned out.
Now leaning on the balcony ledge with pure disgust, she kicks internally at her previously lethargic whispers “who cares about a damn grape.” Deciding never to let something like that happen again….just shrugging off a complacent notion for its priority is too low for an otherwise fatigued body, she vows never to have an excuse; she continues to learn. No one knows why things happen until they’re able to look back and see the outcome. Although the fate of the injured woman is unknown, such an unbelievably difficult coincidence may this time lead to destruction, but in regards to her future…well, that……”we’ll see.”
Disheveled sweats and bloodshot eyes she waited, not for a knight in shining armor but for a hint of comfort to walk through the hospital doors. Her hair was limp and lifeless along with her posture. The future couldn’t possibly hold happiness; no rainbow to follow the storm rolling in. Your body can only be so stressed. On any normal day, these are not her aesthetics. She is out of character and aloof, for her father’s fairing far worse than they’d expected.
She’d gone down to the lobby in a daze to meet her brother; to wait anywhere but that depressing room. The rubber slides through her hand as she waits atop the escalator…and she thinks of life as a cycle, constantly rotating and slipping by, so she tries to grip it tighter; to pause it…..if only for an instant.
Staring past everyone who enters, she notices a man carrying a big basket of fruit and she breathes disgust for she hadn’t thought of that. Following him with her eyes, he comes higher and closer and her head moves forward as if to sniff flowers. The cellophane doesn’t wrap completely around what’s overflowing the wicker, and one tiny grape tumbles out. To stop a man for something so insignificant; to speak for words have escaped her for hours now, it felt good not to care. Desensitized, she’d craved a little good. As the man disappears into the elevators she sighs and returns to pondering what her life will be like without dad.
Dreaming of her best memories of him, she’d agreed with herself; he’d lived a storybook life. A navy man, he’d found his heart in a woman at 19. His fingers like triggers, he’d handled weapons not of gun-smoke and steal, but correspondence. A man who could type when no one else could. The wealthiest family on the block, they had the first television. A flickering blue light dancing amongst the stars, their living room was always packed with anxious glowing faces and warm bodies strewn carefree on the carpet. For feelings never pounded harder through his chest on the day he lost her, they’d been married for 60 years. She now thought about life and how it finds its form in many shapes within this world, the more interesting part of a form being the direction it takes and the meaning it delivers to the lives of one or many; whether conscious or un. Her fresh tears are interrupted…
Crashing to the floor behind her, a body thuds with a subtle snap. Screaming in agony, a heavyset woman in her 60’s has just broken her arm in three places after visiting her daughter. Shocked by the incident, the disenchanted storms over to help. “Thank you so much dear…I don’t know what happened…I’m just not paying attention…I’m sorry.” In shock, she’s sobbing but holding her arm and repeating over and over, the fact that she must get to work. “Mam, you’re right here in a hospital, I think you should get it checked out, no?” “No, I really must go, I don’t have the time right now…dammit, it’s killing me.…..I just wanted to stop by, see my daughter and head out……..you’re an angel though…… thanks so much for helping….I can’t believe this…I’m such a freakin klutz.” As the woman scurries out in disbelief that something so simple could have led to this, she regrets her visit. As she lumbers forward in a hunch, her head lays flat in a grimace. As noticeable as a blue ink stain on a crisp white shirt, squished mercilessly against the back of her dress was the grape. Shocked, our otherwise heartbroken and gray figure grabs her mouth and literally turns cold white. Behind her, a streak continues to dry on the tan-tiled floor, and her conscience kicks in. Tearing apart her stomach for being so remiss, even as the woman walks back into the lobby deciding the pain was unbearable, she can’t say what she now knows. It just isn’t necessary and how could she possibly respond if asked why she did nothing. No matter what she’d come up with, it would never make a difference.
As the town looked on at the lives of those two gentlemen; one spared from the calamity of war, and one sent feasibly to death; defending his life with nothing but a gun......their paths were revealed. Less than a year before the cadet left home, a plague swept through the town. It took with it many of the youngest lives, including our pardoned fellow at the ripe age of 22. He’d coughed and bled from every direction, spending the last 3 months of his life in a sweaty piss-stained bed for those who’d cared for him had died or were forced to quit. Two summers later, our subject doomed to trek the countryside of every country he'd never cared to visit, he'd endured no famine, slept uncomfortably through nights with comrades by his side, and came back to a huge welcome home party. He was awarded the medal of honor for bravery. A hometown hero he began his own practice and went on to be the most educated, successful citizen their little village ever churned out.
Now leaning on the balcony ledge with pure disgust, she kicks internally at her previously lethargic whispers “who cares about a damn grape.” Deciding never to let something like that happen again….just shrugging off a complacent notion for its priority is too low for an otherwise fatigued body, she vows never to have an excuse; she continues to learn. No one knows why things happen until they’re able to look back and see the outcome. Although the fate of the injured woman is unknown, such an unbelievably difficult coincidence may this time lead to destruction, but in regards to her future…well, that……”we’ll see.”
Friday, September 11, 2009
Mom said I looked like a slut..so I had to change
As buildings fly by and rain streams down the windows, it's midnight, and I cant help but watch her. She's been pleading with her mom to stop demeaning her, for who knows what....and she doesn't, without remorse. I had a previous relationship like this….her mom would ask if she could speak with her, “I’ll be brief” she says. The door closes, then re-opens two minutes later, and over walks her fat, guilty and elated mother to let me know she’ll be out in a minute. I’d think in my head…”you dirty fucking bitch, what’d you say now.”
Is there a reason why a woman wouldn’t be proud to say she has a beautiful daughter? She made her….you’d figure she’d hold this precious thing above all others, but obviously not herself. The self image of mothers within themselves and those poor babies of theirs that just might’ve turned out attractive don’t dare deserve the horrible sniveling comments made towards them just because a guy looked at them, or because of what they put on that they think is cute. It’s not the outfit, or the fact that you’ve probably started fucking up your daughter far earlier than this point, it’s the fact that the mother is stuck in a world that doesn’t hold a day in the spotlight for her any longer. Those days of blowing off the gentleman callers that actually mustered the confidence to say something are long since over…and we all know she settled for the guy that gave her the least attention anyway. Her only ace now is that her words will sting, and so she lets them fly.
Your daughter looks up to you, no matter how white trash you are. You will always be her mother, and you will always instill your judgment, your reasoning and your opinion within her, no matter how illogical….so please, hold her tight, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her how ridiculously beautiful she is…if she is.
Is there a reason why a woman wouldn’t be proud to say she has a beautiful daughter? She made her….you’d figure she’d hold this precious thing above all others, but obviously not herself. The self image of mothers within themselves and those poor babies of theirs that just might’ve turned out attractive don’t dare deserve the horrible sniveling comments made towards them just because a guy looked at them, or because of what they put on that they think is cute. It’s not the outfit, or the fact that you’ve probably started fucking up your daughter far earlier than this point, it’s the fact that the mother is stuck in a world that doesn’t hold a day in the spotlight for her any longer. Those days of blowing off the gentleman callers that actually mustered the confidence to say something are long since over…and we all know she settled for the guy that gave her the least attention anyway. Her only ace now is that her words will sting, and so she lets them fly.
Your daughter looks up to you, no matter how white trash you are. You will always be her mother, and you will always instill your judgment, your reasoning and your opinion within her, no matter how illogical….so please, hold her tight, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her how ridiculously beautiful she is…if she is.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Adolescent Confessions: Some Tiny, Some Dumb...but all, Never as Cool as I Thought
The Smart Indian Kid (and I don't mean Native American):
A talented kid with brains unmatched but for a few hermits his age with half the personality. Not only that, but he was a star athlete with a great family that drove a silver Mercedes to soccer practice everyday during the fall. I knew Shobin Uralil was already taking the classes I was because he'd sit right next to me; and yet he was a year younger. It was in Miss Shotsky's Chemistry class that we took advantage of the young guy. Miss Shotsky was overweight by about 80-pounds, wore mu-mu flowery near-see-through dresses, thick prescription light-pink glasses and had stark white hair that just shot to the ceiling like an electric current had passed through her. She truly wasn't altogether normal, or with it. Shobin was so brilliant that we formed a horseshoe around his desk and then each copied his answers off his scantron, and then copied each other. She would pass out our test papers after they were graded and everyone in this little section always had the same exact grades. She never suspected anything...again, because she really was out of it. One day we got back an exam and I think we all got an 88. I could tell he was surprised and really upset with himself so I let him stew a bit. Later, on the soccer field I asked him "why are you so down about the test, an 88 is great man? or is it something else?" He said "in my culture, you are a direct reflection on your parents, and if I do bad in school, then they are bad parents in the eyes of their peers...other families we know. That's the way it is and I pressure myself to never let them down." I said, "dude, you're so freaking smart, you've been acing all your classes your whole life, you're on Varsity soccer as a Freshman, everyone in school thinks you're awesome....just calm down a bit..you'll give yourself a heart attack." He responds, "you'll just never get it...you don't know what it's like. There are no excuses."
I look back on cheating off his hard work and how much effort he'd probably put in the night before as a sort of unconscious raping we'd given him that he never deserved, especially on top of what he already dealt with in his own mind. Don't get me wrong, this kid went on to become a huge success in banking....but I still feel like a loser not trying to just learn chemistry rather than cheat directly off a great guy. When it came time for my Regents exam there was no way to cheat, and my 98 average was capped off with a just passing 65 that I guarantee someone like Miss Shotsky helped me and many others illegally get....yes that's an assumption but there is no physical way I passed that thing. Maybe the shock of seeing 8 kids with A-averages get failing grades made her join the club.
Her Shirt was Seamless:
I was never a perfect guy in relationships. Often tempted to cheat, for new and exciting hook-ups is an ultimate weakness. This instance was the summer after my Freshman year in college where I was in a relationship for about 5 months which would last almost four years. My sister used to have this boyfriend who was in a fraternity. Every summer, his group of guys from Hofstra would rent out a house in the Hamptons that had some beach volleyball court and a built-in pool in the backyard. Like 20 people could stay there at a time. We'd bring everything to barbecue, drink, relax and hit the clubs late-night. It didn't matter to me if I slept on the floor, I was the youngest anyway since my sister will always have three years on me. Two girls that came were one year older, and one was with her boyfriend. The other had wavy Blonde hair and tiny red circles around her eyes like she was still tired from the two-hour ride. As always, these girls thought they were the shit. I don't know if that's just b/c they're from Long Island or if it's Hofstra and the sorority they were in...either way, they were just girls like anyone else. I was more interested in the one with the boyfriend but since him and his mid-buzzed poofed out dark hairline was impossible to surpass, I settled for the combination Kate Moss/Darryl Hannah hybrid. I think we started getting grabby at the club before we came home but I know we'd both taken a Mitsubishi, and felt obligated to touch things for the sensation of anything tactile and warm was overwhelming. When we got back to the mini-mansion I somehow found myself sitting on a metal folding chair directly in the middle of the kitchen. There was no island, just a large open space. Empty solo cups and beer cans exploded everywhere along the counter tops. She straddled me in sweatpants and an orange tank top that seemed ribbed. Somehow we got on the topic of what we were doing for the summer and I mentioned I painted. She almost came immediately in her sweats. Mistaking my gruntworthy job of painting retirement homes during the summer for some Lichtenstein talent; we made out immediately. My fingers started tracing up her back and under her shirt and it just felt smooth like spandex. She felt compelled to tell me about her shirt's new technology and the fact that she was in fashion design school(maybe only her friend went to Hofstra). Supposedly this was the first shirt released to ever have been seamless. Yes we were drunk, but this still meant nothing to me. I was more focused on the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Although the night amounted to little in terms of full-out base-running, the next morning was dreadful because we ignored each other and never spoke a word. Even as her and her better looking friend closed their car doors and drove off without a wave, there was not a mention of the bathroom, or the living room carpet where we'd slept...it all meant nothing. Some things are exciting in the moment but completely unnecessary years after when your memories are all clouded with infidelity.
Bridging the Wrong Side of the Gap:
When a steering wheel's given to you in high school, for some reason, you're free. Free to tempt your life and those around you, and in this case, a complete stranger's. Coming home late from a party in South Huntington we were a bit wasted but quite aware of what we were doing. We'd driven this road a million times already, heading towards ROute 110 through the side streets that wound around our beloved St. Anthony's High School. One of my best friend's is in the passenger seat and we're blasting what was probably Blink-182 at the time. We had discussed a psychotic move about 10 seconds before we decided to do it. Northern State Parkway crosses below the bridge we were about to cross, so it was pretty damn lengthy. A metal barrier secured by old wooden posts, separates the single opposing lanes. As I veer hard off my line to cross the double yellows before the bridge begins, my skin turns to fire and my heart starts pounding. Harder and faster it bursts as we climbed up the first half of the blind bridge. "Holy shitttttt!!" Kevin starts screaming as reality sets in, but luckily we don't see any headlights peeking over the horizon line of the road. I start to feel calm as we come closer to the crest of the bridge and calm is never good. As the nose of my Camry crosses the threshold for what becomes the downhill portion of the bridge, we see headlights in our path. "Oh FUCK!!!!" Immediately I start flashing my brights and honking my horn before they too are committed by the divider. No doubt scared shitless, never believing the most ridiculous thing like a car coming over the bridge on the opposite side could be happening, they slam on their brakes and skid off the road to a halt with grass and dirt flying everywhere. They'd stopped right before the bridge began. Howling "woohooooooooo!!! oh my godd!!!" like fucking idiots, we literally skim his bumper as it sticks out onto the road. We looked through the dirt and burnt rubber cloud we'd caused to see a shadow with two eyes just shocked at the window....and for no apparent reason but the rush of risk, we couldve killed several people that night and affected many innocent lives unnecessarily.
Reflecting on the atrocious:
There are many things I look back on in my life with disgust and remorse because the reasons I did them make absolutely no sense. The ones that are the worst are those that are undeserving. Something like, calling a girl a name when she and you are just kids, but that name could absolutely ruin them and their self esteem. Or calling someone out on something indiscreet and completely unrelated to you, in order to embarrass them...to make yourself feel cooler. Viewing someone differently by perception and appearance before you even get to know them. I think all of us have done these things, and yes we truly learn by experiencing things, case in-point, my bringing them to your attention now, however, these are the actions I'll always regret, and forever call selfish, immature and unbelievably relevant to a day's worth of relieving confessions.
A talented kid with brains unmatched but for a few hermits his age with half the personality. Not only that, but he was a star athlete with a great family that drove a silver Mercedes to soccer practice everyday during the fall. I knew Shobin Uralil was already taking the classes I was because he'd sit right next to me; and yet he was a year younger. It was in Miss Shotsky's Chemistry class that we took advantage of the young guy. Miss Shotsky was overweight by about 80-pounds, wore mu-mu flowery near-see-through dresses, thick prescription light-pink glasses and had stark white hair that just shot to the ceiling like an electric current had passed through her. She truly wasn't altogether normal, or with it. Shobin was so brilliant that we formed a horseshoe around his desk and then each copied his answers off his scantron, and then copied each other. She would pass out our test papers after they were graded and everyone in this little section always had the same exact grades. She never suspected anything...again, because she really was out of it. One day we got back an exam and I think we all got an 88. I could tell he was surprised and really upset with himself so I let him stew a bit. Later, on the soccer field I asked him "why are you so down about the test, an 88 is great man? or is it something else?" He said "in my culture, you are a direct reflection on your parents, and if I do bad in school, then they are bad parents in the eyes of their peers...other families we know. That's the way it is and I pressure myself to never let them down." I said, "dude, you're so freaking smart, you've been acing all your classes your whole life, you're on Varsity soccer as a Freshman, everyone in school thinks you're awesome....just calm down a bit..you'll give yourself a heart attack." He responds, "you'll just never get it...you don't know what it's like. There are no excuses."
I look back on cheating off his hard work and how much effort he'd probably put in the night before as a sort of unconscious raping we'd given him that he never deserved, especially on top of what he already dealt with in his own mind. Don't get me wrong, this kid went on to become a huge success in banking....but I still feel like a loser not trying to just learn chemistry rather than cheat directly off a great guy. When it came time for my Regents exam there was no way to cheat, and my 98 average was capped off with a just passing 65 that I guarantee someone like Miss Shotsky helped me and many others illegally get....yes that's an assumption but there is no physical way I passed that thing. Maybe the shock of seeing 8 kids with A-averages get failing grades made her join the club.
Her Shirt was Seamless:
I was never a perfect guy in relationships. Often tempted to cheat, for new and exciting hook-ups is an ultimate weakness. This instance was the summer after my Freshman year in college where I was in a relationship for about 5 months which would last almost four years. My sister used to have this boyfriend who was in a fraternity. Every summer, his group of guys from Hofstra would rent out a house in the Hamptons that had some beach volleyball court and a built-in pool in the backyard. Like 20 people could stay there at a time. We'd bring everything to barbecue, drink, relax and hit the clubs late-night. It didn't matter to me if I slept on the floor, I was the youngest anyway since my sister will always have three years on me. Two girls that came were one year older, and one was with her boyfriend. The other had wavy Blonde hair and tiny red circles around her eyes like she was still tired from the two-hour ride. As always, these girls thought they were the shit. I don't know if that's just b/c they're from Long Island or if it's Hofstra and the sorority they were in...either way, they were just girls like anyone else. I was more interested in the one with the boyfriend but since him and his mid-buzzed poofed out dark hairline was impossible to surpass, I settled for the combination Kate Moss/Darryl Hannah hybrid. I think we started getting grabby at the club before we came home but I know we'd both taken a Mitsubishi, and felt obligated to touch things for the sensation of anything tactile and warm was overwhelming. When we got back to the mini-mansion I somehow found myself sitting on a metal folding chair directly in the middle of the kitchen. There was no island, just a large open space. Empty solo cups and beer cans exploded everywhere along the counter tops. She straddled me in sweatpants and an orange tank top that seemed ribbed. Somehow we got on the topic of what we were doing for the summer and I mentioned I painted. She almost came immediately in her sweats. Mistaking my gruntworthy job of painting retirement homes during the summer for some Lichtenstein talent; we made out immediately. My fingers started tracing up her back and under her shirt and it just felt smooth like spandex. She felt compelled to tell me about her shirt's new technology and the fact that she was in fashion design school(maybe only her friend went to Hofstra). Supposedly this was the first shirt released to ever have been seamless. Yes we were drunk, but this still meant nothing to me. I was more focused on the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Although the night amounted to little in terms of full-out base-running, the next morning was dreadful because we ignored each other and never spoke a word. Even as her and her better looking friend closed their car doors and drove off without a wave, there was not a mention of the bathroom, or the living room carpet where we'd slept...it all meant nothing. Some things are exciting in the moment but completely unnecessary years after when your memories are all clouded with infidelity.
Bridging the Wrong Side of the Gap:
When a steering wheel's given to you in high school, for some reason, you're free. Free to tempt your life and those around you, and in this case, a complete stranger's. Coming home late from a party in South Huntington we were a bit wasted but quite aware of what we were doing. We'd driven this road a million times already, heading towards ROute 110 through the side streets that wound around our beloved St. Anthony's High School. One of my best friend's is in the passenger seat and we're blasting what was probably Blink-182 at the time. We had discussed a psychotic move about 10 seconds before we decided to do it. Northern State Parkway crosses below the bridge we were about to cross, so it was pretty damn lengthy. A metal barrier secured by old wooden posts, separates the single opposing lanes. As I veer hard off my line to cross the double yellows before the bridge begins, my skin turns to fire and my heart starts pounding. Harder and faster it bursts as we climbed up the first half of the blind bridge. "Holy shitttttt!!" Kevin starts screaming as reality sets in, but luckily we don't see any headlights peeking over the horizon line of the road. I start to feel calm as we come closer to the crest of the bridge and calm is never good. As the nose of my Camry crosses the threshold for what becomes the downhill portion of the bridge, we see headlights in our path. "Oh FUCK!!!!" Immediately I start flashing my brights and honking my horn before they too are committed by the divider. No doubt scared shitless, never believing the most ridiculous thing like a car coming over the bridge on the opposite side could be happening, they slam on their brakes and skid off the road to a halt with grass and dirt flying everywhere. They'd stopped right before the bridge began. Howling "woohooooooooo!!! oh my godd!!!" like fucking idiots, we literally skim his bumper as it sticks out onto the road. We looked through the dirt and burnt rubber cloud we'd caused to see a shadow with two eyes just shocked at the window....and for no apparent reason but the rush of risk, we couldve killed several people that night and affected many innocent lives unnecessarily.
Reflecting on the atrocious:
There are many things I look back on in my life with disgust and remorse because the reasons I did them make absolutely no sense. The ones that are the worst are those that are undeserving. Something like, calling a girl a name when she and you are just kids, but that name could absolutely ruin them and their self esteem. Or calling someone out on something indiscreet and completely unrelated to you, in order to embarrass them...to make yourself feel cooler. Viewing someone differently by perception and appearance before you even get to know them. I think all of us have done these things, and yes we truly learn by experiencing things, case in-point, my bringing them to your attention now, however, these are the actions I'll always regret, and forever call selfish, immature and unbelievably relevant to a day's worth of relieving confessions.
Friday, July 31, 2009
In Sweet Disposition and No Longer Melting
500 days of summer, although I havent seen it yet, might be a great way to emotionally describe my life I leave behind in LA. A love, a job, a loss for words and a pre-ejaculatory future turned over like a bucket for suffocation and pounding by street urchins with drumsticks.
There's no denying our ability to draw from the hardest experiences in our lives to endure and muster courage. That's what this will be....a recollection of those great times of solidarity amongst my thoughts, breathing songs in lap-lanes, financial shadows reminiscent of beasts with exposed teeth on the wall but smiles in personal firm handshakes, tracing bladed lines amongst wooded dusty breezes, and long dried up tears with white knuckled handprints on Santa Monica sand. Im not sure there's room for relationships in this place; nor energy for anything but sleep and traffic.
This Angelic city has its beauty within the landscape and its burning lifeless peaks. Like black paper cutouts, they swim with the moon's liquid flashy spikes. Working relationships become labored efforts to understand whether or not the counterparty sees the benefit. Just being friends couldn't cut the smog we'd breathe together. Written words of thanks and hugs bared for hooded capsules we'd wrap ourselves in afterward; that unnecessary protection confuses me for individuality doesn't take that much effort. Everyone's time is important.
Somehow the red that creeped down the walls of glass strewn to the sky would make up for wasted heartbeats; it captured meaning beyond every single minute dreamt of her with someone else. Nightime sky's ablaze spoke my mind in frustration, screaming beauty at the night like "fuck you, I'm leaving this place like I came, with the brightest intentions."
Every city has its nooks of invite and clarity; like cherry lipstick and a short skirt on a pale passerby. Opportunities present themselves with ironic timing and only when in drastic need. Upon threat, moves shake themselves from pockets as only a convulsing dance could've summoned from what was supposedly sewn shut. I guess action sprouts via revived consciences and by feeling bad for the desperate. It'll be sometime before I can focus on the positive, like anything in life for us pessimists. Damn us for trying positivity when the negative happens and we're emotionally unprepared. What's the loss for expecting the worst?
It was sideways travel...chugging in place at the red light as if it's doing something before you begin again. Trust me, your heart can handle rhythmic adjustments as long as your head leads the way. For me, my head's finally leading me back to NY, and so I go......chugging, to a place where summer minds and their immature and material desires, do in fact end.
...........I'd beg reality to come find me, except it was never anything but.
There's no denying our ability to draw from the hardest experiences in our lives to endure and muster courage. That's what this will be....a recollection of those great times of solidarity amongst my thoughts, breathing songs in lap-lanes, financial shadows reminiscent of beasts with exposed teeth on the wall but smiles in personal firm handshakes, tracing bladed lines amongst wooded dusty breezes, and long dried up tears with white knuckled handprints on Santa Monica sand. Im not sure there's room for relationships in this place; nor energy for anything but sleep and traffic.
This Angelic city has its beauty within the landscape and its burning lifeless peaks. Like black paper cutouts, they swim with the moon's liquid flashy spikes. Working relationships become labored efforts to understand whether or not the counterparty sees the benefit. Just being friends couldn't cut the smog we'd breathe together. Written words of thanks and hugs bared for hooded capsules we'd wrap ourselves in afterward; that unnecessary protection confuses me for individuality doesn't take that much effort. Everyone's time is important.
Somehow the red that creeped down the walls of glass strewn to the sky would make up for wasted heartbeats; it captured meaning beyond every single minute dreamt of her with someone else. Nightime sky's ablaze spoke my mind in frustration, screaming beauty at the night like "fuck you, I'm leaving this place like I came, with the brightest intentions."
Every city has its nooks of invite and clarity; like cherry lipstick and a short skirt on a pale passerby. Opportunities present themselves with ironic timing and only when in drastic need. Upon threat, moves shake themselves from pockets as only a convulsing dance could've summoned from what was supposedly sewn shut. I guess action sprouts via revived consciences and by feeling bad for the desperate. It'll be sometime before I can focus on the positive, like anything in life for us pessimists. Damn us for trying positivity when the negative happens and we're emotionally unprepared. What's the loss for expecting the worst?
It was sideways travel...chugging in place at the red light as if it's doing something before you begin again. Trust me, your heart can handle rhythmic adjustments as long as your head leads the way. For me, my head's finally leading me back to NY, and so I go......chugging, to a place where summer minds and their immature and material desires, do in fact end.
...........I'd beg reality to come find me, except it was never anything but.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Inside the Mind of a Killer
“I know you better than you know yourself!”
she’d confidently laugh with those sexy ass eyes. Her long blonde hair leaning against the table as she slurped her strawberry lemonade through the ice at the bottom. She was young and innocent. Holding the glass with both hands as if still mouthing her sippy cup. She followed her heart through anyone’s usual transition. Leaving high school and going away to college; the ultimate revival of one’s independence….a maturation overnight, as we who have experienced it, already know. She may have thought because they’d had sex dozens of times, because they’d showered together, laughed in unison at movies or friends, met each other’s parents and sat through barbecues, days at the beach and even work, that she knew everything he was capable of. What he loved and what kept him happy was easy, but not something she could give unconditionally forever, not yet at least. And he knew that. He was 26, done with college, trying to make his way in the real world but still have-a-go at a social life with a new crew.
The type of guy he was, he’d admit to fault and blame himself no matter who’d committed the error. He’d gotten fired from his job like a martyr raising his hand for execution. Unnecessarily admitting to his relationship with her, the younger colleague he was supposed to manage, as suspicious higher-ups started questioning fraternizing amongst all the employees. As most did lie of their hook-ups and relations, properly securing their jobs as being fired for a hunch would surely cause a lawsuit anyway, for some reason he trusted that “honesty would be the best policy.” That’s what we were taught as children. Those executives deserved no such knowledge of one’s personal life to begin with, nor could any of them ever tolerate being asked who they were fucking.
At two very different times in their lives, he looks down at his plate and whispers to himself...
“you can’t imagine what floats around in my mind….what I would do if I lose you….I’ve told you subtly, but you get mad when I say it. When you go away, you’re gonna meet new people, and your life’s gonna change.”
“What are you thinking about sweetie?”
“Oh nothing babe, I’m so full, a bit tired too, wanna go?”
As they prance out of the restaurant to continue living what would be the unfathomable by any poor kid in a third world country, a fat couple who’ve barely spoken once since they’d arrived, sit across from each other at a table, watching them leave as if they’re celebrities. They both internalize that they’d wished their lives were different, that they too had that skip in their step, or their young tan and muscularly toned bodies, and what it would be like to live that life for a day.
When your mind is built to harp on the negative, to revert focus and jealousy onto what you don’t have, you're dooming what otherwise will be a bright future for a smart person. There’s a lot of sadness in the streets. Walking with your head down not seeing the faces in front of you …..there’s a lot to hate…and a lot to regret and overanalyze. It’s not unique to only one person, and there’s no way to see the future. For us, for what we have, yes, everything’s going to be ok. You can’t go taking the most positive elements of your life, the memories you’ve stored for unbelievable reason and the actions you’ve taken, as enjoyed equally by everyone. They’re not common, and you are a lucky bastard. If you sit back and think of the plight of others for comparison, you’ll see.
They did break up like any couple moving in different directions and playing the long-distance role. The times where people’s lives were private, where they weren’t documented every single day online and displayed, were much easier to cope. “Out of sight, out of mind,” another thing he was taught. Seeing a message of the person you loved left active on their profile about how they’re off to get wasted with their girls, and how it’s still the same message the next day at 5pm, you sit and wonder. Hundreds of miles away, you’re somehow now aware of what they’re watching on tv, when they’re showering and if they have a big test that week. Photographs plastered on everyone’s homepages are trophies encasing what you missed and had no part in bringing to them; that happiness. It enrages you and renders you unconscious to the life you thought you had, just the two of you. How much you believe you held them back and their uncanny ability to move on so quickly as some guy in the photo has their arm around her and their best friend left a comment saying “I wanted him you asshole.” A million games you can play with your mind and what it comes down to……they’re just games. Five years down the road, all relationships, nights of wasted binge drinking and one-night stands are finally over, and now they’re ready for the next 60 years together. You rekindle as if nothing ever changed and all you had to do was give up five years to make it become 60. No one really knows what could’ve happened, but we know what did.
The drastic and unexpected, is the irony of control at its purest. It’s not tragedy for the sake of someone else’s misfortune, but an internal choice temporarily better than the alternative. The shock, the tears and the effort to understand the motives behind why it happened will always linger, but trust me, that’s what they wanted…..to make an impact. If you don’t want to make a splash, you don’t jump in. Aside from mismanaging their own mind’s distaste for their choices, and the words they’d planted there unconsciously, blaming themselves with “its’ your fault, you’re a failure in life, you’ll never find love again,” there’s also lessons they want to teach by doing this. They want others to analyze the way they live, to appreciate life’s fragility, how they treat others, to make sure they never take another moment with someone for granted. Those who loved him will now internally analyze their own actions, how they affect others and the happiness of those lives they never want to lose as well.
Many toss the words “coward” and “selfish” into the mix when discussing it. And then they apologize because they might offend people, but that’s what they truly believe of people who do it. I think it depends on the individual and what they truly believe is harder…Living: the struggle, the deaths in your family, the lost loves that you long for, the financial hardships, the realization that we’re all never going to be millionaires and taking the fights with your partner as lessons to learn by, plus, respecting the sacrifice your parents made in their own lives to give you yours…….or Giving Up: ending every friendship they’ve ever made, every holiday they’ll never experience, any beautiful new country they’d get to visit, any sexual encounter with the one who may be their future wife and the opportunity to have innocent children and to see the hilarious ways they learn…………all, for what ultimately might just be blackness.
Life is cyclical. As time passes, there are always ups and downs. Every time you think your life is over, you’ve got to get back out there and overcome that which is bringing you down. A man finds out how man he is when he threatens his own life, whether it be enlisting for war, waking up in the middle of the night to defend a burglar or going against everything you've ever learned to become a true martyr, but I serenely suggest, no matter how forlorn, you ask a few loved ones for advice before ever believing the only way left to remain a man, is to go ahead and pull the trigger.
she’d confidently laugh with those sexy ass eyes. Her long blonde hair leaning against the table as she slurped her strawberry lemonade through the ice at the bottom. She was young and innocent. Holding the glass with both hands as if still mouthing her sippy cup. She followed her heart through anyone’s usual transition. Leaving high school and going away to college; the ultimate revival of one’s independence….a maturation overnight, as we who have experienced it, already know. She may have thought because they’d had sex dozens of times, because they’d showered together, laughed in unison at movies or friends, met each other’s parents and sat through barbecues, days at the beach and even work, that she knew everything he was capable of. What he loved and what kept him happy was easy, but not something she could give unconditionally forever, not yet at least. And he knew that. He was 26, done with college, trying to make his way in the real world but still have-a-go at a social life with a new crew.
The type of guy he was, he’d admit to fault and blame himself no matter who’d committed the error. He’d gotten fired from his job like a martyr raising his hand for execution. Unnecessarily admitting to his relationship with her, the younger colleague he was supposed to manage, as suspicious higher-ups started questioning fraternizing amongst all the employees. As most did lie of their hook-ups and relations, properly securing their jobs as being fired for a hunch would surely cause a lawsuit anyway, for some reason he trusted that “honesty would be the best policy.” That’s what we were taught as children. Those executives deserved no such knowledge of one’s personal life to begin with, nor could any of them ever tolerate being asked who they were fucking.
At two very different times in their lives, he looks down at his plate and whispers to himself...
“you can’t imagine what floats around in my mind….what I would do if I lose you….I’ve told you subtly, but you get mad when I say it. When you go away, you’re gonna meet new people, and your life’s gonna change.”
“What are you thinking about sweetie?”
“Oh nothing babe, I’m so full, a bit tired too, wanna go?”
As they prance out of the restaurant to continue living what would be the unfathomable by any poor kid in a third world country, a fat couple who’ve barely spoken once since they’d arrived, sit across from each other at a table, watching them leave as if they’re celebrities. They both internalize that they’d wished their lives were different, that they too had that skip in their step, or their young tan and muscularly toned bodies, and what it would be like to live that life for a day.
When your mind is built to harp on the negative, to revert focus and jealousy onto what you don’t have, you're dooming what otherwise will be a bright future for a smart person. There’s a lot of sadness in the streets. Walking with your head down not seeing the faces in front of you …..there’s a lot to hate…and a lot to regret and overanalyze. It’s not unique to only one person, and there’s no way to see the future. For us, for what we have, yes, everything’s going to be ok. You can’t go taking the most positive elements of your life, the memories you’ve stored for unbelievable reason and the actions you’ve taken, as enjoyed equally by everyone. They’re not common, and you are a lucky bastard. If you sit back and think of the plight of others for comparison, you’ll see.
They did break up like any couple moving in different directions and playing the long-distance role. The times where people’s lives were private, where they weren’t documented every single day online and displayed, were much easier to cope. “Out of sight, out of mind,” another thing he was taught. Seeing a message of the person you loved left active on their profile about how they’re off to get wasted with their girls, and how it’s still the same message the next day at 5pm, you sit and wonder. Hundreds of miles away, you’re somehow now aware of what they’re watching on tv, when they’re showering and if they have a big test that week. Photographs plastered on everyone’s homepages are trophies encasing what you missed and had no part in bringing to them; that happiness. It enrages you and renders you unconscious to the life you thought you had, just the two of you. How much you believe you held them back and their uncanny ability to move on so quickly as some guy in the photo has their arm around her and their best friend left a comment saying “I wanted him you asshole.” A million games you can play with your mind and what it comes down to……they’re just games. Five years down the road, all relationships, nights of wasted binge drinking and one-night stands are finally over, and now they’re ready for the next 60 years together. You rekindle as if nothing ever changed and all you had to do was give up five years to make it become 60. No one really knows what could’ve happened, but we know what did.
The drastic and unexpected, is the irony of control at its purest. It’s not tragedy for the sake of someone else’s misfortune, but an internal choice temporarily better than the alternative. The shock, the tears and the effort to understand the motives behind why it happened will always linger, but trust me, that’s what they wanted…..to make an impact. If you don’t want to make a splash, you don’t jump in. Aside from mismanaging their own mind’s distaste for their choices, and the words they’d planted there unconsciously, blaming themselves with “its’ your fault, you’re a failure in life, you’ll never find love again,” there’s also lessons they want to teach by doing this. They want others to analyze the way they live, to appreciate life’s fragility, how they treat others, to make sure they never take another moment with someone for granted. Those who loved him will now internally analyze their own actions, how they affect others and the happiness of those lives they never want to lose as well.
Many toss the words “coward” and “selfish” into the mix when discussing it. And then they apologize because they might offend people, but that’s what they truly believe of people who do it. I think it depends on the individual and what they truly believe is harder…Living: the struggle, the deaths in your family, the lost loves that you long for, the financial hardships, the realization that we’re all never going to be millionaires and taking the fights with your partner as lessons to learn by, plus, respecting the sacrifice your parents made in their own lives to give you yours…….or Giving Up: ending every friendship they’ve ever made, every holiday they’ll never experience, any beautiful new country they’d get to visit, any sexual encounter with the one who may be their future wife and the opportunity to have innocent children and to see the hilarious ways they learn…………all, for what ultimately might just be blackness.
Life is cyclical. As time passes, there are always ups and downs. Every time you think your life is over, you’ve got to get back out there and overcome that which is bringing you down. A man finds out how man he is when he threatens his own life, whether it be enlisting for war, waking up in the middle of the night to defend a burglar or going against everything you've ever learned to become a true martyr, but I serenely suggest, no matter how forlorn, you ask a few loved ones for advice before ever believing the only way left to remain a man, is to go ahead and pull the trigger.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Dolce and Gabbana Shoes or a Doctor of Philosophy
To unravel philosophy is impossible. Opinions encompass its entirety, and no facts can be taken from an airborne train of thought. Using brief fragments from one apology and then attaching our own vague generality to the end, is no more innovative then adding salt to a recipe.
I failed Intro to Philosophy, so I’m no Hobbes. Well, I shouldn’t say I failed. Studying what I thought would be the answers rather than giving my own, forced me to an “F” before I withdrew. These days though, I understand what’s expected when engaged in similar discussion. Poop in my hand, throw shit out there and see what sticks. Then, I was 18. Philosophy was a joke. Any answer you gave earned a brutal verbal beat-down…..because you should have known, there are no right answers.
In the documentary “Examined Life,” interviews with people whom I assume are profound intellects on human thought, were dumbed down to relate common philosophies with everyday streetwalking. Although it’s difficult to transform these planetary blowhards (who would likely trade one of their testicles for a signed Star Trek DVD) into a calm-talking Dr. Drew, subtly soothing the bubbly herpes outbreak of any club-grinding alpha-male, some truly relevant comparisons actually did rise to the surface.
Each individual seems to be asked the same questions, ultimately ending with “are we supposed to search for meaning in life?” Excellent, and each equally different, points of view arose such as experiencing as much as possible especially when those events lead to nowhere. At one point, two dogs playing tag could not be translated into anything but enjoying themselves; and I applauded such restraint.
One of the philosopher's revived an analogy he'd used 30 years prior when referencing the material things we purchase. A woman sees Dolce and Gabbana shoes in Bergdorf Goodman’s, and buys them for $1,000. He then puts her in a situation with the shoes on, “you’re walking by a knee-deep pond and you see a small child drowning, but no one’s around to help. No time to take off the shoes…what would you do?” As every woman normally proceeds “I’d save little Stewie Griffin, even though he’s always trying to kill his mother, and completely ruin my new pumps”…….he responds, “if you’re willing to destroy those shoes to save 1 kid’s life, you could save more than 20 by donating that $1,000 to Oxfam.” The lesson learned is that being a moral/ethical person is not chucking a balled up dollar at a homeless man and smiling because it’s now up to them how they use it. It’s what you could’ve done beyond the dollar; how much further you could’ve gone to better everyone and why you didn’t. Sitting eating my Goobers, sipping a mammoth Diet Coke and lounging with my feet on the chair in front of me, I began to feel real shitty about what I've spent my money on.
The next best thought provoking monologue came from a guy who looked like he’d dressed himself in tin cans, rotting banana peels and the pubic hair of a bison. Befittingly, his narrative revolved around the Department of Sanitation and our unconscious effort to block the whereabouts of our shit. To be taken as literally as possible, it disappears from our mind the minute it’s down the pipes (or in the garbage as they hovered around him at the local dump). To instead, learn about the amount of waste each of us commits a year to this earth and then work on adjusting it……even a subtle change by everyone would have an astronomically positive effect. However since he doesn’t suspect we will, we should then embrace our trash as an equivalent part of this world before it finally gets fed up with us. Upon its ultimate unhappiness, the world will again revert to catastrophe beyond our Hollywood imaginations, and place us all where our dinosaurs currently live….our gas tanks.
As aggressive as these dames and gents may seem, it’s no different than the drunken debates between you and your buddies about politics and religion. No one’s right and everyone disagrees regardless. None of them deserve to point the finger anywhere but at themselves for the amount of time they’ve squandered reading books about philosophy instead of guiding small burrowing worms out of young Namibian children’s feet. They could’ve nailed miles of boards and sheetrock up at the nearest Habitat for Humanity or dunked thousands of ladles into vats of chicken broth at downtown soup kitchens instead of listening to hundreds of hours of babbling lectures on their society’s disenchantment of reality. Forget about the lady and her D&G shoes, let’s turn the tables and put these hypocrite high-browed know-it-all’s knee deep in their own twisted analogies.
You have $175,000 in your hand and you’re walking a path that forks. One way leads down a little dirt path where there’s 6 villages on the verge of starvation, 4,000 people altogether. The other, solid cement and lit by halogens straight towards a marble building. Above the door there's a sign “Come on in, be a Doctor of Philosophy.”
Try and tell me now, why there’s no right answer to the question. Try and tell me now, how much further you could have gone to better everyone, and why you didn’t.
I failed Intro to Philosophy, so I’m no Hobbes. Well, I shouldn’t say I failed. Studying what I thought would be the answers rather than giving my own, forced me to an “F” before I withdrew. These days though, I understand what’s expected when engaged in similar discussion. Poop in my hand, throw shit out there and see what sticks. Then, I was 18. Philosophy was a joke. Any answer you gave earned a brutal verbal beat-down…..because you should have known, there are no right answers.
In the documentary “Examined Life,” interviews with people whom I assume are profound intellects on human thought, were dumbed down to relate common philosophies with everyday streetwalking. Although it’s difficult to transform these planetary blowhards (who would likely trade one of their testicles for a signed Star Trek DVD) into a calm-talking Dr. Drew, subtly soothing the bubbly herpes outbreak of any club-grinding alpha-male, some truly relevant comparisons actually did rise to the surface.
Each individual seems to be asked the same questions, ultimately ending with “are we supposed to search for meaning in life?” Excellent, and each equally different, points of view arose such as experiencing as much as possible especially when those events lead to nowhere. At one point, two dogs playing tag could not be translated into anything but enjoying themselves; and I applauded such restraint.
One of the philosopher's revived an analogy he'd used 30 years prior when referencing the material things we purchase. A woman sees Dolce and Gabbana shoes in Bergdorf Goodman’s, and buys them for $1,000. He then puts her in a situation with the shoes on, “you’re walking by a knee-deep pond and you see a small child drowning, but no one’s around to help. No time to take off the shoes…what would you do?” As every woman normally proceeds “I’d save little Stewie Griffin, even though he’s always trying to kill his mother, and completely ruin my new pumps”…….he responds, “if you’re willing to destroy those shoes to save 1 kid’s life, you could save more than 20 by donating that $1,000 to Oxfam.” The lesson learned is that being a moral/ethical person is not chucking a balled up dollar at a homeless man and smiling because it’s now up to them how they use it. It’s what you could’ve done beyond the dollar; how much further you could’ve gone to better everyone and why you didn’t. Sitting eating my Goobers, sipping a mammoth Diet Coke and lounging with my feet on the chair in front of me, I began to feel real shitty about what I've spent my money on.
The next best thought provoking monologue came from a guy who looked like he’d dressed himself in tin cans, rotting banana peels and the pubic hair of a bison. Befittingly, his narrative revolved around the Department of Sanitation and our unconscious effort to block the whereabouts of our shit. To be taken as literally as possible, it disappears from our mind the minute it’s down the pipes (or in the garbage as they hovered around him at the local dump). To instead, learn about the amount of waste each of us commits a year to this earth and then work on adjusting it……even a subtle change by everyone would have an astronomically positive effect. However since he doesn’t suspect we will, we should then embrace our trash as an equivalent part of this world before it finally gets fed up with us. Upon its ultimate unhappiness, the world will again revert to catastrophe beyond our Hollywood imaginations, and place us all where our dinosaurs currently live….our gas tanks.
As aggressive as these dames and gents may seem, it’s no different than the drunken debates between you and your buddies about politics and religion. No one’s right and everyone disagrees regardless. None of them deserve to point the finger anywhere but at themselves for the amount of time they’ve squandered reading books about philosophy instead of guiding small burrowing worms out of young Namibian children’s feet. They could’ve nailed miles of boards and sheetrock up at the nearest Habitat for Humanity or dunked thousands of ladles into vats of chicken broth at downtown soup kitchens instead of listening to hundreds of hours of babbling lectures on their society’s disenchantment of reality. Forget about the lady and her D&G shoes, let’s turn the tables and put these hypocrite high-browed know-it-all’s knee deep in their own twisted analogies.
You have $175,000 in your hand and you’re walking a path that forks. One way leads down a little dirt path where there’s 6 villages on the verge of starvation, 4,000 people altogether. The other, solid cement and lit by halogens straight towards a marble building. Above the door there's a sign “Come on in, be a Doctor of Philosophy.”
Try and tell me now, why there’s no right answer to the question. Try and tell me now, how much further you could have gone to better everyone, and why you didn’t.
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