Another car in heaven

I believe that one reason I give names and personalities to inanimate objects is because it makes it easier for me to justify my attachment to them.

I care about things like my jacket, shoes, and bookends because I create memories with/because of them, and few items have created more memories for me than my car. In addition to enabling events, my car became a part of me -because it helped myself and others define who I am. My 1994 Honda Accord represented who I thought I was. The Honda wasn’t flashy, but it always started and ran well. It wasn’t plush, but comfortable and worry free.

Despite my admiration for this car, I never named it. I want to write an obituary for this car. I want to write about how much it meant to me and how much it hurt to have it stolen (twice!). But that’s not true or fair. I shouldn’t pretend affection for something that I clearly didn’t have affection for just because it’s gone now.

That car was the location for many strong emotions, but they were my emotions, devoid of the car. I’ve hit the steering wheel with so much anger that I though the car might crumble underneath my fist. I felt like the car might lift off the ground when the girl sitting next to me put her hand on top of mine while shifting into fifth gear. And I felt like the car might turn into gold as I felt so much pride for my journey across the country (twice). But it did none of these things. This car was a vessel for some of my most powerful emotions, but none of them were directed towards the car.

I did care about this car. I even loved some of its quirks. But it's gone now. And it's too late to give it it's long over due clean and wax, and it will never have a name. I just hope I don't treat anyone with the same disrespect -especially someone who gave me as much as this car had.

If You Think I'm a Ass-Hole, You Should Meet My Friend

Someone recently called me out for having alpha male tendencies. When I think of alpha males, I think of ass-holes who are always trying to prove something. The guys who start bar fights or the guys who follow up everyone else’s stories with “you think that’s _____, well I’ve got a better story.” So, obviously I rejected this idea outright.

Today at work I was proud (but not too proud) of my ability to let others order me around and take blame for mistakes. I was not trying to prove my anti-alpha male tendencies, but my normal actions were doing a pretty good job of it. I even took the blame twice for poor workmanship that later proved to be someone else’s. When I was pardoned the blame I said “we all make mistakes, I’m sure mine will be exposed soon enough.”

I got in my car and reflected on a good day at work.

One block from work an ass-hole took a left turn to cut me off and quickly braked to make a right turn. In an effort to communicate to this guy that I was not pissed, but recognized his driving was second rate, I gave him a quick “honk honk.” He immediately slammed on his brakes, rolled down his window and cursed me as I drove past. After witnessing his attempt to communicate I promptly stopped, got out of my car, and waited for him to do the same. I soon noticed that he was not getting out of his car so I waved to him. I did not wave with my hand over my head, or all four fingers bowing in unison, but each individual finger danced like a mini wave at a baseball game. I feel this was the most insulting and appropriate wave possible for the situation, yet he stayed in his car.

Damn, maybe my friend was right.

Did I really celebrate Thanksgiving?

Just about every recent blog entry has felt like fiction. That’s not because I’m making up stories, but because my life feels disconnected sometimes.

I spent Thanksgiving with some great friends. Before most of these friends were awake I went to my friend Leah’s house. I went to help cook and actually had a really good time –probably because she did all the Thanksgiving cooking while I ate the appetizers. It didn’t feel like it took too long, but it was a serious chunk of the day.

The meal, although short, was such an event that it felt like another day entirely. The food was unreal. I went back for seconds even though I could hardly finish my first plate due to gluttony.

Finally more friends came over to Leah’s to have a relaxed yet fine dessert party. We played Apples to Apples, drank, ate, and joked.

By the end of the day I felt that I had lived three unique days. The next morning it felt like I had read about someone else’s Thanksgiving marathon. Today it feels like I’m writing a short fiction.

Childlike-ish

Yesterday a woman, carrying a baby, came in to the Coffee Exchange. I noticed the baby looking at me so I waved and sprouted a goofy face. A coworker saw me do this and said “that was completely out of character for you.” Luckily I was spared the sermon on how we can learn so much from children, but this dead horse is not new to me.

Throughout my life I’ve heard people say, “we can learn so much from children.” Childlike (not to be confused with childish) qualities are praised as humble, loving, playful, non-judgmental, and truthful (except for stealing cookies). But I’m not sure being childlike is such a good thing.

You see, I was a child once. As a child I did childlike and childish things, but I’ve learned from them. I’ve learned that unrestrained love can get you hurt. Humility can be perceived as being a doormat. Playfulness doesn’t pay the bills. Judgments are often right. And telling the truth is important even with the little things like stealing cookies.

Also, recognizing good qualities that you want to include into your own life is very adult. Children are short sighted, fickle, easily persuaded, and dependent.

I like children. A very high percentage of parents love their children in some indescribable way. My friends have given up many of life’s perks to have children in their lives, and that speaks volumes of the quality of life their children have given them. Again, I like children, I look forward to spending time with my nephews and nieces. But I’m not going to follow their example –unless that means I get nap-time.

Salad Days

I want to come up with some reasonable explanation for why my mind wanders through bizarre ideas. But instead I’ll just assume that everyone has strange thoughts and the only difference is that I voice mine.

Working at 5:45 in the morning can play strange tricks on your mind. One of the strange tricks my mind is currently obsessed with is unconscious themes. I’ll have worked four hours before I notice that I’ve been walking around with my arms bent at the elbows and forearms parallel to the ground. I don’t walk this way around my house or even while shopping at the grocery store. I don’t know why I do it some days while working, but I call these “Dinosaur Days” (because I remind myself of a T-Rex).

Some days I notice that I’m not swinging my arms or turning my neck, these are “Robot Days.” Days I’m constantly standing on one foot, “Bird Days.” I also have “Michael Jackson Days,” “Giraffe Days,” and “Frankenstein Days.”

I believe that I come up with these ridiculous titles for days because my mind is not being challenged enough with my daily tasks. Perhaps my brain needs a certain amount of activity, without which it makes it’s own. Or perhaps, more likely, I’m just having one of those “Chatty Cathy Days.”

That reminds me of when

As a kid I constantly feared that someone was playing a joke on me. Not the kind of joke with a punch-line, but the kind of joke that is meant to trick someone.

The trick was that everything in my life seemed too coincidental. One day in school we were talking about Julius Cesar (the ruler of Rome and the victim in Shakespeare’s play) and the very next day The Simpsons made a reference to the Ides of March. Although these coincidences were happening at a normal rate, I was convinced that my life was somehow dishonest. I was convinced that someone was taking delight in my confusion and waiting for the perfect moment to spring out and say “look into the hidden camera.”

I realize now how paranoid and self-absorbed this notion was. I also realize that my obsession with chance is just an ever-increasing exponent –my fixation with it raises my awareness of it and my increased awareness increases my fixation. All this considered, I’m still surprised by the overabundance of coincidences in my life.

One day the trickster is going to slip up and I’ll be the one laughing at him.

I’ve explain my diet many times, and I usually fail.

My diet is actually pretty easy to explain (I don’t eat beef, pork, or dairy), but I’m horrible at analogies. I know, there is no need to make an analogy to describe my diet, but I love making them –it’s like eating cheese, because you know it tastes so good, but you're in love with an alligator.

My favorite analogy is one I didn’t even make up, but one I’ve heard and since butchered. My old boss became a vegetarian a few years back, but he still ate meat. He justified eating meat by claiming, “I know a lot of Christians who do ‘unchristian’ things but they don’t change their label because of it. So why can’t there be bad vegetarians just like there are bad Christians?”

This analogy has come in handy while explaining my position on dairy, but I get bored and modify it. I’ve come up with such bad analogies as “just because someone claims to be a ‘biker’ doesn’t mean they can’t drive a car’ or ‘playing video games doesn’t make someone a nerd.” All of these analogies sound good in my head, but usually solicit puzzled looks from the recipient -like cheese puffs in a blender.

Analogies aside, now when I ask for vegan cheese on my turkey sandwich I say, “because I’m a ‘tomatarian’.” I put my own restrictions on what I will eat and when, and a big part of being a “tomatarian” is not being an inconvenience on others -like screwing in a light bulb with your left hand.

I'll try this jacket on for size...

I recently spent a lot of time with the Providence Metal Ponies and the Ocean Hate Moped Rally. The Rally turned my three-day weekend into a fuzzy memory of excitement. But writing about that would seem too journalistic.

The issue that weighs heaviest on my mind right now is my jacket. I bought, lost, found, used it as a pillow, lost again, found again, and eventually broke the zipper of this beloved jacket. Because I bought it at REI, I thought I had a chance at getting it fixed (I know they fix tent zippers so it just made sense), but I was wrong.

REI offered to let me return the Jacket, so I took the store credit because it would be dumb of me not to. But I regret returning it. I’ve replaced zippers on jackets before, it costs too much and never looks/works the same again. But I still regret returning the jacket.

So, like a bitter break up, I went looking for a rebound. I found a nice new comfortable jacket at the mall and I bought it even thought it cost more than the one I returned. I wore it proud that night but I was extra careful not to get it dirty (just in case I overlooked a horrible flaw that would warrant another return –as you may suspect, I was skeptical). The jacket's debut was a success; no one gave it, or me, a suspectful look.

I put my jacket back to work the following night –if it was going to be a choice piece of autumn clothing it would have to earn it. How could I have known that this would be the test to end all tests. This was the last night of the moped rally and the party went off the hook, smashed it with a bat, drenched it in beer, and did a burn-out on top of it. I just looked through some pictures from that party and found that by the end of the night every photos was taken of people who had freshly fallen, dragged around on the floor, and had a beer poured on them.

The new jacket rests in the dirty laundry now, but I don’t blame it –I’m just impressed it found it’s way home.


-RIP


-Long Live the new Jacket. (I didn't get permission to use this photo, but I couldn't help stealing it).

I still support local, but...

Because I’m an adherent of the DIY lifestyle, I’m comfortable in miscellaneous supply stores. So, when I walked into the audio store on North Main Street yesterday and found speakers, amplifiers, and wires scattered around the store like pets in a pet store with no locks, I was not concerned –this is par for the course.

With the shop owners attention I tried to explain to him why I wanted a cheap four-channel amplifier (long story short, I want a cheap four-channel amplifier because Providence loves crack). I was clear in relating to him that I wanted to run my iPhone directly into the amplifier that would in turn power the speakers. He told me “that’s not possible” and “the technology just doesn’t exist to do that yet.” I sensed that he might have been confused so I adjusted my approach. I told him that I wanted to use the iPhone just like a regular mp3 player and not use the USB port. He then told me “I’ve been doing this for ten years and I’ve never seen anything like that.”

In a somewhat related story, I used a portable cd player and car amplifier on my scooter back in 2003, with great success.

I don’t claim to be an electronic genius, in fact I’m so naive I don’t even know what I don’t know about electronics. But that just makes this audio storeowner look even worse. I have a hard time supporting a local business when the owner knows less than the kid who has been working at best buy for two weeks.

It's Time...

to start thinking inside the box again.

I'm a little tired of everyone's attempt at being "unique." I realize that I have a lot of "unique" hobbies, and I like being different. I also like seeing variety. I don't have a problem with distinction.

I'm just tired of the people who can't be normal for one second. A couple customers at the coffee shop I work at insist on using their own obnoxious names for otherwise popular drinks. You are not clever, it's not going to "catch on," and you're not going to live forever.


(this has nothing to do with the post, except I made this while working at the coffee shop)

Fifa

The other day I was wondering "where does the saying 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth' comes from." I asked some friends and they gave me an accurate answer.

This is not a criticism of the games played, in any way. I enjoyed watching the games, but I don't really care who wins (despite the shit talking, seriously it just makes it more fun).

I've now seen a few reports, including one on The Daily Show, about how the world cup is not really helping South Africa. Apparently Fifa has restricted where the local venders can sell -along with other inconveniences.

This criticism is just asinine. Fifa is not a charity. Fifa spent millions on and in South Africa, so of course they want the best spot to sell their products. And South Africa bid on the world cup. Do they know what it means to "bid?" South Africa said "we have or will make the facilities to host the world cup."