1. I like to walk around my apartment in complete darkness.
2. Every time I see myself in a mirror I make a habit of saying, "hi there!" - which always makes me laugh.
3. I can't fall asleep without some form of a cover.
4. I'm the only person I know who doesn't own a cell phone.
5. My favorite thing to write with is a standard wooden #2 pencil.
6. When I was younger - when I found someone I was attracted to, I would always join their first name with my last name to see if they sounded good together.
7. In one of my biology classes in High School, my instructor passed around a taste test for everyone in the class to sample. We were discussing genetics and the test was to illustrate the presence of dominant and recessive genes. My instructor explained that there should be at least one or two people in the class who wouldn't be able to taste the sample - they would be the ones with the recessive gene. After putting the sample in my mouth, I didn't taste a thing. When the instructor asked the people in the class with the recessive gene to raise their hands, I kept both of mine on my desk, tightly clasped.
8. I still own my R.O.P.E. shirt which I got in elementary school - which I wear to sleep every other night.
9. My favorite color is yellow, and I have no idea why.
10. I simultaneously hate being alone and in the presence of most people.
11. My favorite childhood pastimes involved the original Nintendo - playing Tetris with my mother and Baseball with my father.
12. I once cried in class because I didn't get student of the month.
13. I remember the first and only love letter I wrote. I spent an entire day on it - of course considering I was only ten years old, that was a long time to ponder anything. I worried about it so much, I even asked my mother for advice. I wrote in the letter to this girl that I would change for her. My mother told me to take that part out - and I said I would, but I didn't. The next day in school I was too nervous to hand deliver the letter, so I asked my best friend at the time to do it for me. He said he would do it, so I gave him the letter. We decided the best time to give it to her was just before recess. So when the time came, I left my friend and went to hide on the side of the building while the rest of the kids had fun. I met up with him afterwards and he said he delivered it. But I never heard back from her. She never even looked at me. I spent the rest of that school year feeling like I didn't exist in the eyes of my peers. Like I didn't matter. Thinking about it now, I'm wondering if my friend actually lied about delivering the letter.
14. I've never been really sick.
15. I sometimes lose track of what someone is saying while figuring out why they're saying it.
16. If I ever feel the need or want to raise a child, I will most likely adopt. The film Martian Child gave me the idea.
17. Some of my most intimate conversations have been with people I have never met.
18. I used to hate wearing jeans. Almost every day it seemed I would fight with my mother as she forced them on me. Stiff and uncomfortable against my skin, my whole day would be absolutely miserable.
19. I never understood the saying, "I could care less". I always say, I couldn't care less.
20. I almost crashed my car once because of an epiphany that popped into my head.
21. Some of the best feelings in my life have occurred during night-time summer jogs across town.
22. I take my time to appreciate almost anything I encounter. Say I only need milk and eggs from the grocery store, I'll walk down every single isle just for the sake of doing so.
23. I was born in North Carolina on the 23th of January, and my parents named me Jordan, Michael(middle name) without any knowledge at all of the famous Michael Jordan who went to college in NC, whose jersey number is 23.
24. I taught myself how to juggle in one day.
25. Every day I try to do something slightly different than the previous day. Instead of brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I'll brush them on my couch. Instead of eating dinner on my kitchen table, I'll eat at my desk. Instead of trying to write these entries sober, I'll try doing them drunk. Meanwhile, all day I'll throw around 'what ifs' in my head... what if I was blind.....what if I was an orphan....what if, what if, what if, what if, what if tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of my life, and I have found reason to live on.
3/30/2009
3/27/2009
My Haven
{ I remember the first time I stepped foot in a library. It was during a school day in my third year of grammar school. I'm not exactly sure of the reason for the trip, but I know it was a field trip; all of my classmates were there. I think perhaps it was required for all third year students, just to get us acquainted with the concept of a library. I wonder if they still do it; I'm assuming it was a town tradition. Whatever the reason, I am very thankful. I might not of otherwise discovered such a beautiful and serene place. I had never seen so many books in one area before. While the rest of the students clumped together in their separate niches that would continue to grow and evolve all throughout grammar school and beyond, I broke away from the stares of my peers and ventured off along the walls, scanning the titles of the books I could see. After circling the entire room, I discovered a staircase that led upstairs to yet another huge room lined with books. I grabbed a text off the shelf about icebergs, sat down in corner of the room and began reading.
Ever since then, like a magnet-like attractiveness I would find my way back. Every day after school. Every day after work. All day long for fifty years I would long for the silence, the peacefulness of this sanctuary. I could have read a book out of the library, and I have once or twice, but it's never the same. I could go anywhere in the world, but there's no place I'd rather be. Every time I walk through the doors, it's like walking through a sieve; all of the chaos and the noise is stripped from my skin. Finally, I am completely at ease. I did have a library card and I would check books out, but I would only read them where they belonged. Every day I would exchange brief salutations with the librarians as I made my way up to the second floor, across the isle, and behind a bookcase to a cushioned chair in the left-hand corner of the room.
This was my home. And the books were my family. It would always give me something the outside world could never hope to give me. Did I know this for certain? No. But I didn't want to waste my life looking. I did my fair share of traveling; but no matter where I went, it was all essentially the same. Slight differences in temperature, dialect, language, governments, belief-systems, culture - interesting for a brief time I suppose, but then the mundane and repetitiveness sets in and you're left with a million words trying to describe one idea. I would find myself desperately asking around town for the whereabouts of the local library. In the end, that was the only reason I traveled at all. I'm glad I did though because I found my favorite library in the world. I would move there shortly after.
I had a few friends growing up and I suppose a few close acquaintances during my professional career, but there wasn't anyone I was particularly attached to. They would often tell me to go out and meet people, to try my hand at a social life. I tried, I really did. This may sound strange, but no matter who I was in the presence of, I always felt like I was being suffocated. All of these eyes on me, judging me, expecting something from me, wanting something. Maybe I'm just inherently and irrevocably selfish, but I always hated the idea of giving something up and not knowing for sure if it would be returned in full. I have often been disappointed in the passed and ever since I've kept myself at a safe distance.
I do get lonely, which I think is a big reason I like the library so much - you are never alone. You are constantly in the presence of like-minded people; you exist together, doing what you love, expecting nothing but peace and quiet from each other - that alone is enough for me. I'm a simple man. I don't need much. The thousands of stories I've read act as an all-encompassing placebo to my needs. My dreams and aspirations are satisfied completely - until one day.
It was a day like any other, it just happened to be Spring on a Saturday afternoon and the sun was shining slightly through the window to my left, filtering through the bookcases and cutting across my lap. I was finishing the last chapter of my book when I noticed one of the librarians, an older woman by the name of Elena making her way down the isle towards me. I had never really noticed before, but she was incredibly beautiful. She had a book in her left hand and with her right, she curled her bangs almost nervously around her ear as she looked at the floor in front of her as she walked. A few feet in front of me, she looked up and our eyes met. Neither of us said anything for at least ten seconds, or so it seemed. She took her hand down from her hair and placed it on the book which she held down in front of her.
"I'm sorry to disturb you like this, but I was wondering if you would be interested in this book. I don't mean to intrude on your privacy, but I have noticed over the months the kinds of novels you've been reading and I'm quite delighted to say that many of them are among my favorites. I really think you would enjoy this one." I've never heard her speak with such an anxious and enthusiastic tone before. I couldn't help but blush, something I haven't done in a long time. The sun was slightly in her eyes, so she probably couldn't tell. I stood up almost immediately and gently grasped the book from her outstretched hands.
"Thank you, I was looking for something to read next", was all I could come up with. Our eyes remained locked for the next several moments, until she broke the silence with a slight shake of her head. "Well, I better get back to work. When you're ready, I'd be happy to check you out." She left me with a smile and walked back to her desk. I stood there for a few minutes not realizing how much time had passed, almost unconsciously basking in the sunlight holding the book tight against my chest. I sat down and finished the last few pages of the other book and quickly made my way over to the check out desk. Elena was busy helping someone use the library index, and not wanting to bother her, I checked out with one of the other employees.
I rushed home and started on the book straight away. Stopping only to eat and use the bathroom, I would finish it later that night. After thinking about it for a bit, it was the first book I've read from start to finish outside of the library. Something took a hold of me. I no longer had that strong sense of uneasiness that plagued me for so many years. The chaos and ugliness may have still been there, but it no longer passed through my field of vision. I had one thing on my mind, and that was the fact that I couldn't wait to share my thoughts with another person.} - a short story
- Inspired by the film: Love Comes Lately
Ever since then, like a magnet-like attractiveness I would find my way back. Every day after school. Every day after work. All day long for fifty years I would long for the silence, the peacefulness of this sanctuary. I could have read a book out of the library, and I have once or twice, but it's never the same. I could go anywhere in the world, but there's no place I'd rather be. Every time I walk through the doors, it's like walking through a sieve; all of the chaos and the noise is stripped from my skin. Finally, I am completely at ease. I did have a library card and I would check books out, but I would only read them where they belonged. Every day I would exchange brief salutations with the librarians as I made my way up to the second floor, across the isle, and behind a bookcase to a cushioned chair in the left-hand corner of the room.
This was my home. And the books were my family. It would always give me something the outside world could never hope to give me. Did I know this for certain? No. But I didn't want to waste my life looking. I did my fair share of traveling; but no matter where I went, it was all essentially the same. Slight differences in temperature, dialect, language, governments, belief-systems, culture - interesting for a brief time I suppose, but then the mundane and repetitiveness sets in and you're left with a million words trying to describe one idea. I would find myself desperately asking around town for the whereabouts of the local library. In the end, that was the only reason I traveled at all. I'm glad I did though because I found my favorite library in the world. I would move there shortly after.
I had a few friends growing up and I suppose a few close acquaintances during my professional career, but there wasn't anyone I was particularly attached to. They would often tell me to go out and meet people, to try my hand at a social life. I tried, I really did. This may sound strange, but no matter who I was in the presence of, I always felt like I was being suffocated. All of these eyes on me, judging me, expecting something from me, wanting something. Maybe I'm just inherently and irrevocably selfish, but I always hated the idea of giving something up and not knowing for sure if it would be returned in full. I have often been disappointed in the passed and ever since I've kept myself at a safe distance.
I do get lonely, which I think is a big reason I like the library so much - you are never alone. You are constantly in the presence of like-minded people; you exist together, doing what you love, expecting nothing but peace and quiet from each other - that alone is enough for me. I'm a simple man. I don't need much. The thousands of stories I've read act as an all-encompassing placebo to my needs. My dreams and aspirations are satisfied completely - until one day.
It was a day like any other, it just happened to be Spring on a Saturday afternoon and the sun was shining slightly through the window to my left, filtering through the bookcases and cutting across my lap. I was finishing the last chapter of my book when I noticed one of the librarians, an older woman by the name of Elena making her way down the isle towards me. I had never really noticed before, but she was incredibly beautiful. She had a book in her left hand and with her right, she curled her bangs almost nervously around her ear as she looked at the floor in front of her as she walked. A few feet in front of me, she looked up and our eyes met. Neither of us said anything for at least ten seconds, or so it seemed. She took her hand down from her hair and placed it on the book which she held down in front of her.
"I'm sorry to disturb you like this, but I was wondering if you would be interested in this book. I don't mean to intrude on your privacy, but I have noticed over the months the kinds of novels you've been reading and I'm quite delighted to say that many of them are among my favorites. I really think you would enjoy this one." I've never heard her speak with such an anxious and enthusiastic tone before. I couldn't help but blush, something I haven't done in a long time. The sun was slightly in her eyes, so she probably couldn't tell. I stood up almost immediately and gently grasped the book from her outstretched hands.
"Thank you, I was looking for something to read next", was all I could come up with. Our eyes remained locked for the next several moments, until she broke the silence with a slight shake of her head. "Well, I better get back to work. When you're ready, I'd be happy to check you out." She left me with a smile and walked back to her desk. I stood there for a few minutes not realizing how much time had passed, almost unconsciously basking in the sunlight holding the book tight against my chest. I sat down and finished the last few pages of the other book and quickly made my way over to the check out desk. Elena was busy helping someone use the library index, and not wanting to bother her, I checked out with one of the other employees.
I rushed home and started on the book straight away. Stopping only to eat and use the bathroom, I would finish it later that night. After thinking about it for a bit, it was the first book I've read from start to finish outside of the library. Something took a hold of me. I no longer had that strong sense of uneasiness that plagued me for so many years. The chaos and ugliness may have still been there, but it no longer passed through my field of vision. I had one thing on my mind, and that was the fact that I couldn't wait to share my thoughts with another person.} - a short story
- Inspired by the film: Love Comes Lately
3/21/2009
Change
{ I could see it coming. I didn't want to believe it, but my subconscious could no longer maintain the illusion. After ten years, you really know someone. The way she smiled. The way she kissed me. None of it was the same anymore. She wasn't cheating on me; she's not that kind of person. Day to day though I could feel her slipping away. She no longer felt for me the way I still felt for her. It's not her fault though, nor is it mine. Emotion is purely reactive and is not something we can control despite our inherent free will.
A few months after we started dating, while neither of us believed in the idea of marriage, we came to a consensus that we would stick together no matter what. We often discussed the idea that somewhere in the world there would always exist someone else who we found more attractive than one another. Removing ourselves from that never ending and fruitless search, we maintained a fiction that we were each others soul-mates. We would support each other, love each other, grow old together, and change together. We even talked about adopting a child once.
And then it all came to a halt. I knew it the morning she left for work. Not wanting to accidentally wake me up, she would normally leave the bedroom door slightly ajar; that day I woke up and the door was tightly shut. We discussed the situation logically over dinner that evening, and she moved out the following day. And I was alone, repeating to myself one of the last things she said to me, "I still love you, but I've changed". I had no choice but to change as well. } - A short fiction
A few months after we started dating, while neither of us believed in the idea of marriage, we came to a consensus that we would stick together no matter what. We often discussed the idea that somewhere in the world there would always exist someone else who we found more attractive than one another. Removing ourselves from that never ending and fruitless search, we maintained a fiction that we were each others soul-mates. We would support each other, love each other, grow old together, and change together. We even talked about adopting a child once.
And then it all came to a halt. I knew it the morning she left for work. Not wanting to accidentally wake me up, she would normally leave the bedroom door slightly ajar; that day I woke up and the door was tightly shut. We discussed the situation logically over dinner that evening, and she moved out the following day. And I was alone, repeating to myself one of the last things she said to me, "I still love you, but I've changed". I had no choice but to change as well. } - A short fiction
3/18/2009
Performance-Based Relationships
A few months ago I happen to catch a segment of a Dr. Phil show on game addictions. Being an avid gamer myself in the past, despite my contempt for the host, I took an interest in what they were saying. He's not really a doctor, so I'm going to be calling him Phil from now on. Anyway, at the moment I started watching, they were talking to a man in his late twenties, early thirties about an online game he played and the friendships he formed. Phil asked him what sort of character he played and the man replied with, "an elemental shaman". Phil laughed at him as if he were a child and proceeded to ask him why he enjoyed playing the game so much. He went on to say that it was a hobby like any other. He enjoyed the experience of playing in an alternate world and the mechanics of the game-play, along with the interactions with hundreds of others and the friends he acquired. Phil then asked him, "You actually have friends in the game you play?". He said yes and that they interact almost everyday, even sometimes outside of the game, and that he actually met a few of them in real life. Phil and his side-kick expert for the day took over from there. They argued that the friends he acquired in the game-world weren't real friends because their friendship is performance-based. They were only friends with him because they wanted something. This is where I started feeling for the guy. Phil then started spewing out pseudo-facts about how detrimental game addictions are and that they were offering to provide him 'professional' service to help him get rid of his vice.
In his situation, he planned his entire life around the game and while he still maintained a job, he slightly neglected his family and his girlfriend. I will agree that game addictions can be detrimental to a person's overall well-being, but it is no different than any other addiction or hobby for that matter; you can learn to control and balance it. My biggest problem with Phil is his assertion that the man's online friends weren't real. I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume that the all-knowing "Dr." Phil has never played a video game in his life, much less a massive-multiplayer online role-playing game(MMORPG).
I have no problem admitting that I played the ever popular World of Warcraft for about a year straight. I was pretty heavily into it. (If you'd rather skip the geek-talk, feel free to skip this entire paragraph) I leveled four of my characters to level 70: a gnome mage, night-elf hunter, human warlock, and a draenei paladin. During the Burning Crusade, my mage was my main(character). I don't care what anyone says, I'd pwn a warlock any day on the damage meters - especially after the tier 5 bonus with the arcane spec - although I admit I was horrible at pvp. Anyway, I joined up with a mature guild named FortyTwo on the realm Whisperwind. It was a raiding guild and we were able to progress half-way into tier 6 content before Wrath of the Lich King was released. For those of you who are trying to follow this paragraph, 'raiding' is an event in which 25 people get together at once and try to overcome an obstacle known as a dungeon that requires alot of communication and coordination on everyone's part. The encounters I am most proud of are when we were able to defeat Lady Vashj and Prince Kael'thas, along with our ability to achieve the Zul'aman timed event which awarded a Bear Mount which less than 10% of the total people who play the game are able to get. I don't mean to brag by any means, but rather outline the difficultly that went into the achievement.
Here's my bear!
Vashj by FortyTwo of Whisperwind
That's me up front doing a little dance for the camera.
Prince Kael'Thas by FortyTwo of Whisperwind
I'm on the far left. Aren't I a little cutie?
Watch this video to get an idea of the complexity of such an encounter. Also, imagine twenty-five people talking to each other through microphones while all this is going on. As a gamer, this is my attempt to defend our intelligence and to break down any stereotypes that these types of games make people's brains go to mush.
People play these games for different reasons. I played it for the challenge. The satisfaction I got from achieving something with twenty-four others after hours of practice was immeasurable. After playing the game for so long, the more I realized how similar it was to real-life. It had it's own economy, competition, controversy, and groups of people who got together to achieve a similar goal. The people I played with had lives of their own. They have jobs, families, and significant others. It's interesting to notice thought that most of the people in my guild played with their significant others, which is perhaps the reason why the game didn't get in the way of their real life. I admire these people because of their ability to balance the game with the real world. Often after the 'raid', people would just talk.... about the economy, about life, about relationships. If that's not a friend, then what is? I have since stopped playing the game, but I'm still in contact with a few of the people I played with. Above all, for me, it was a distraction. When something acts as a distraction, it becomes dangerous. It was just something I was doing while trying to find my true passion. After I found it, I was able to let the game go. I did enjoy the experience though and there might be a day I'll return, but when and if I do, it will not be my first priority like it once was.
Phil's argument was that online friends aren't real because they are performance-based. I can see where he is coming from with this argument, but I don't agree. Much of the game takes quite a bit of skill, and often when groups are forming, the best players are picked first. My guild's raids for example....only twenty-five people can go, while there are more than that who want to go. Depending on the maturity of the people you group with, it is possible for someone who pretends to be your friend in attempt to get you to help them out with something. This is where the false friendship comes into play. I would say that the average adult can probably see through this front, which is part of the reason I disagree with Phil. Contrary to popular belief, most of people's play time is spent socializing; it's in these times that most of the real friendships are formed.
I'm also going to argue that all friendships, and even most relationships in general are performance-based. According to Phil, true friends are the product of unrequited friendship. With this mode of thinking, a friendship with a rock could exist. Before I go any further I want to give my own definition of friendship. Friendship to me, is a bond that exists between two parties which requires reciprocation on both ends. When searching for a friend or a lover, you look for someone you can connect with. In order for this connection to be made, participation is required from each person. Phil says that online friends aren't real because they only want something from you. How is this different in real life? I'd argue that all friendships and most relationships exist because of a constant exchange of goods and services. The main difference between a friend and an acquaintance is the frequency and importance of these goods and services that are exchanged. The ability to exchange these things whether it be advice, a sentiment, or a shoulder to cry on is in essence a performance. The better performance, the better the friend is.
Textograph time! The Xs are the exchange of goods and services. You can imagine what the Os are.
Acquaintance -------------------------------Friend---------Lover
x x x x x x x x x xx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxoxoxooXOXOXO
It is my opinion that unrequited love exists largely among immediate family, more often from parent to child. We all have some level of unrequited compassion within us, but friendship does not require it. While it is possible to have unrequited love or compassion for someone else, this does not necessarily require any form of relationship. While unrequited, compassion is just another good or service that may or may not spark a relationship. It is a theory of mine though that compassion grows with connection. While it may not start the relationship, it will keep it going.
And as Forest Gump said after his audience had absolutely no idea what he was talking about previously, "that's all I have to say about that".
P.S. - Go Alliance!
In his situation, he planned his entire life around the game and while he still maintained a job, he slightly neglected his family and his girlfriend. I will agree that game addictions can be detrimental to a person's overall well-being, but it is no different than any other addiction or hobby for that matter; you can learn to control and balance it. My biggest problem with Phil is his assertion that the man's online friends weren't real. I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume that the all-knowing "Dr." Phil has never played a video game in his life, much less a massive-multiplayer online role-playing game(MMORPG).
I have no problem admitting that I played the ever popular World of Warcraft for about a year straight. I was pretty heavily into it. (If you'd rather skip the geek-talk, feel free to skip this entire paragraph) I leveled four of my characters to level 70: a gnome mage, night-elf hunter, human warlock, and a draenei paladin. During the Burning Crusade, my mage was my main(character). I don't care what anyone says, I'd pwn a warlock any day on the damage meters - especially after the tier 5 bonus with the arcane spec - although I admit I was horrible at pvp. Anyway, I joined up with a mature guild named FortyTwo on the realm Whisperwind. It was a raiding guild and we were able to progress half-way into tier 6 content before Wrath of the Lich King was released. For those of you who are trying to follow this paragraph, 'raiding' is an event in which 25 people get together at once and try to overcome an obstacle known as a dungeon that requires alot of communication and coordination on everyone's part. The encounters I am most proud of are when we were able to defeat Lady Vashj and Prince Kael'thas, along with our ability to achieve the Zul'aman timed event which awarded a Bear Mount which less than 10% of the total people who play the game are able to get. I don't mean to brag by any means, but rather outline the difficultly that went into the achievement.
Here's my bear!
Vashj by FortyTwo of Whisperwind
That's me up front doing a little dance for the camera.
Prince Kael'Thas by FortyTwo of Whisperwind
I'm on the far left. Aren't I a little cutie?
Watch this video to get an idea of the complexity of such an encounter. Also, imagine twenty-five people talking to each other through microphones while all this is going on. As a gamer, this is my attempt to defend our intelligence and to break down any stereotypes that these types of games make people's brains go to mush.
People play these games for different reasons. I played it for the challenge. The satisfaction I got from achieving something with twenty-four others after hours of practice was immeasurable. After playing the game for so long, the more I realized how similar it was to real-life. It had it's own economy, competition, controversy, and groups of people who got together to achieve a similar goal. The people I played with had lives of their own. They have jobs, families, and significant others. It's interesting to notice thought that most of the people in my guild played with their significant others, which is perhaps the reason why the game didn't get in the way of their real life. I admire these people because of their ability to balance the game with the real world. Often after the 'raid', people would just talk.... about the economy, about life, about relationships. If that's not a friend, then what is? I have since stopped playing the game, but I'm still in contact with a few of the people I played with. Above all, for me, it was a distraction. When something acts as a distraction, it becomes dangerous. It was just something I was doing while trying to find my true passion. After I found it, I was able to let the game go. I did enjoy the experience though and there might be a day I'll return, but when and if I do, it will not be my first priority like it once was.
Phil's argument was that online friends aren't real because they are performance-based. I can see where he is coming from with this argument, but I don't agree. Much of the game takes quite a bit of skill, and often when groups are forming, the best players are picked first. My guild's raids for example....only twenty-five people can go, while there are more than that who want to go. Depending on the maturity of the people you group with, it is possible for someone who pretends to be your friend in attempt to get you to help them out with something. This is where the false friendship comes into play. I would say that the average adult can probably see through this front, which is part of the reason I disagree with Phil. Contrary to popular belief, most of people's play time is spent socializing; it's in these times that most of the real friendships are formed.
I'm also going to argue that all friendships, and even most relationships in general are performance-based. According to Phil, true friends are the product of unrequited friendship. With this mode of thinking, a friendship with a rock could exist. Before I go any further I want to give my own definition of friendship. Friendship to me, is a bond that exists between two parties which requires reciprocation on both ends. When searching for a friend or a lover, you look for someone you can connect with. In order for this connection to be made, participation is required from each person. Phil says that online friends aren't real because they only want something from you. How is this different in real life? I'd argue that all friendships and most relationships exist because of a constant exchange of goods and services. The main difference between a friend and an acquaintance is the frequency and importance of these goods and services that are exchanged. The ability to exchange these things whether it be advice, a sentiment, or a shoulder to cry on is in essence a performance. The better performance, the better the friend is.
Textograph time! The Xs are the exchange of goods and services. You can imagine what the Os are.
Acquaintance -------------------------------Friend---------Lover
x x x x x x x x x xx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxoxoxooXOXOXO
It is my opinion that unrequited love exists largely among immediate family, more often from parent to child. We all have some level of unrequited compassion within us, but friendship does not require it. While it is possible to have unrequited love or compassion for someone else, this does not necessarily require any form of relationship. While unrequited, compassion is just another good or service that may or may not spark a relationship. It is a theory of mine though that compassion grows with connection. While it may not start the relationship, it will keep it going.
And as Forest Gump said after his audience had absolutely no idea what he was talking about previously, "that's all I have to say about that".
P.S. - Go Alliance!
3/16/2009
Chance
{ Through the fog of his breath, he spins his key chain clockwise like he always does to find the correct key to open his apartment door. There are two similar keys for different locks located right next to each other and after a two years, he never knew which one was which. Every night coming home, he would blindly choose one of them and try his luck. He could have easily separated them or put an identification marker on one, but he was comfortable with the idea that he would never know for sure which one to choose and that he would forever need to take a chance. Being as bitterly cold as it was tonight, he regretted slightly this silly commitment, but he figured the comfort he would feel as he entered his home would be that much more worth it.
Kicking his shoes off next to the door and sliding his jacket off and onto the back of the a chair in his kitchen, his body slowly adjusted to the change in temperature while his face emitted the slightest smirk. He proceeded to squeeze his wallet out of his front-right pocket and unclip the carabiner that allowed his keys to hang freely in his left-side pocket and plopped both on the top of his microwave. He made his way over to the stereo in the living room to put some on music to listen to while he cooked dinner. Wincing the Night Away by The Shins was already in the disc tray from the previous night and he was in a similar mood, so all he had to do was press play. In a very low tone, 'New Slang' began filling the apartment with sound, and feeling.
After scanning all the cabinets and rummaging through the fridge, he finally decided on his favorite dish, caramelized onions served over slices of slightly fried tofu and asparagus. Plucking the ingredients out of different levels of the fridge one by one and balancing everything in his arms, he heard a thump in the adjacent room and stood up straight with a start, sending an onion through the air and into the living room. A second later his roommate came trotting out of the other room, looked down at the onion for a second, and walked straight to the couch in the living room and curled up on the corner cushion. "Thanks for picking that onion up, I appreciate it. I thought you were out...what have you been up to all day?" - no response. "You know, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to the wall."
He turned the lower-left burner on high and let it heat up while he cut the onions into strips. "I hope these don't make you cry. I'm not sure why, but I think I've become so used to the fumes, they don't bother me anymore. I could hold my eye-lids wide open, jump into a pool of peeled onions and not a single tear would fall. I think maybe the tears are converted at a constant rate and transferred to my salivary glands and released that way". His roommate looked over at him for a second perhaps to show the was listening and shortly after turned back to his previous direction and placed his head in his arms. "I really wish the reverse was possible, I'm a little tired of constantly washing all of these sheets and pillow cases due to your night-time drooling problem."
He drizzled a pan with some olive oil, threw the onions in, and placed it over the burner. He fetched a spatula from the utensils drawer and used it to move the onions around as they browned. "So what's wrong, you haven't said a thing since I got home. You know, you can talk to me. I know I might not always have the right thing to say, but at least you can get some things off your chest." - no response "I tell you what, I'm going to guess what you're thinking, and by not responding, I'll assume that I'm right and continue".
The onions continued to caramelize and the sweet odor filled the air. "Wow, that smells amazing.... don't you think? I'm crying so hard, you can't even see it." ...."Ok, here goes. Feel free to jump in at any time. You're wondering how I come home happy every day. You think that you're the only one in the world who is constantly worrying about how you appear to other people, and that maybe..... just maybe you could have done something different to better represent yourself. You think that you're so bad at communicating, no one understands you, that there's no hope for improvement, and that you're better off just not trying at all."
Moving the onions over the a corner of a pan, he made room for the slices of asparagus and tofu. "I can tell you for a fact that you are not alone. It is constantly on my mind. You cannot let this bother you though. You have to come to terms with the communication gap that will always exist between people. What you mustn't be concerned with is how people perceive you, but instead your ability...... and yes everyone has this ability to improve your own image and the way you display yourself. Imagine fishing for example..... because I know you love fish. The hook is what makes you, you.... and the bait is your will to communicate. Improve the bait, and someone will bite. Sharpen the hook, and the odds you will connect skyrocket.
Using the spatula, he flips both the tofu and asparagus to let their reverse sides brown a bit. "What you also must realize is that chance is a huge part of life, it's something you can't help. Patience and persistence will be your greatest tools. And while you're waiting for someone to bite, you can find comfort in the waves and constant ripples in the water in which you are wading, for you are connected nonetheless." He fetches a plate from the left most cabinet and places it on the counter. After turning the burner off, he uses the spatula to scrape the contents of the pan onto his plate and places the empty pan in the sink. He pours himself a glass of red wine and brings his food into the living room and places it on the coffee table.
"I hope you ate already, I feel really bad eating in front of you like this.....even though I know you hate vegetables. I'm glad we had this talk, I feel a lot better." He used his right hand to eat and his left to rub his best friend's neck. "You understand me don't you boy?" He continued to enjoy his dinner with the soft tones of The Shins and the calming purrs of his cat. } - A short fiction
Kicking his shoes off next to the door and sliding his jacket off and onto the back of the a chair in his kitchen, his body slowly adjusted to the change in temperature while his face emitted the slightest smirk. He proceeded to squeeze his wallet out of his front-right pocket and unclip the carabiner that allowed his keys to hang freely in his left-side pocket and plopped both on the top of his microwave. He made his way over to the stereo in the living room to put some on music to listen to while he cooked dinner. Wincing the Night Away by The Shins was already in the disc tray from the previous night and he was in a similar mood, so all he had to do was press play. In a very low tone, 'New Slang' began filling the apartment with sound, and feeling.
After scanning all the cabinets and rummaging through the fridge, he finally decided on his favorite dish, caramelized onions served over slices of slightly fried tofu and asparagus. Plucking the ingredients out of different levels of the fridge one by one and balancing everything in his arms, he heard a thump in the adjacent room and stood up straight with a start, sending an onion through the air and into the living room. A second later his roommate came trotting out of the other room, looked down at the onion for a second, and walked straight to the couch in the living room and curled up on the corner cushion. "Thanks for picking that onion up, I appreciate it. I thought you were out...what have you been up to all day?" - no response. "You know, sometimes I feel like I'm talking to the wall."
He turned the lower-left burner on high and let it heat up while he cut the onions into strips. "I hope these don't make you cry. I'm not sure why, but I think I've become so used to the fumes, they don't bother me anymore. I could hold my eye-lids wide open, jump into a pool of peeled onions and not a single tear would fall. I think maybe the tears are converted at a constant rate and transferred to my salivary glands and released that way". His roommate looked over at him for a second perhaps to show the was listening and shortly after turned back to his previous direction and placed his head in his arms. "I really wish the reverse was possible, I'm a little tired of constantly washing all of these sheets and pillow cases due to your night-time drooling problem."
He drizzled a pan with some olive oil, threw the onions in, and placed it over the burner. He fetched a spatula from the utensils drawer and used it to move the onions around as they browned. "So what's wrong, you haven't said a thing since I got home. You know, you can talk to me. I know I might not always have the right thing to say, but at least you can get some things off your chest." - no response "I tell you what, I'm going to guess what you're thinking, and by not responding, I'll assume that I'm right and continue".
The onions continued to caramelize and the sweet odor filled the air. "Wow, that smells amazing.... don't you think? I'm crying so hard, you can't even see it." ...."Ok, here goes. Feel free to jump in at any time. You're wondering how I come home happy every day. You think that you're the only one in the world who is constantly worrying about how you appear to other people, and that maybe..... just maybe you could have done something different to better represent yourself. You think that you're so bad at communicating, no one understands you, that there's no hope for improvement, and that you're better off just not trying at all."
Moving the onions over the a corner of a pan, he made room for the slices of asparagus and tofu. "I can tell you for a fact that you are not alone. It is constantly on my mind. You cannot let this bother you though. You have to come to terms with the communication gap that will always exist between people. What you mustn't be concerned with is how people perceive you, but instead your ability...... and yes everyone has this ability to improve your own image and the way you display yourself. Imagine fishing for example..... because I know you love fish. The hook is what makes you, you.... and the bait is your will to communicate. Improve the bait, and someone will bite. Sharpen the hook, and the odds you will connect skyrocket.
Using the spatula, he flips both the tofu and asparagus to let their reverse sides brown a bit. "What you also must realize is that chance is a huge part of life, it's something you can't help. Patience and persistence will be your greatest tools. And while you're waiting for someone to bite, you can find comfort in the waves and constant ripples in the water in which you are wading, for you are connected nonetheless." He fetches a plate from the left most cabinet and places it on the counter. After turning the burner off, he uses the spatula to scrape the contents of the pan onto his plate and places the empty pan in the sink. He pours himself a glass of red wine and brings his food into the living room and places it on the coffee table.
"I hope you ate already, I feel really bad eating in front of you like this.....even though I know you hate vegetables. I'm glad we had this talk, I feel a lot better." He used his right hand to eat and his left to rub his best friend's neck. "You understand me don't you boy?" He continued to enjoy his dinner with the soft tones of The Shins and the calming purrs of his cat. } - A short fiction
3/13/2009
Ink
{ Crossing his legs on the corner of a bench in his favorite park about a block from his apartment, he propped his notebook up against his knee and proceeded to jot down his feelings for the day. Looking up only a few times to make sense of his thoughts by gazing into mesh of colors that made up the tie-dyed horizon, he maintained a steady conversion of memories to ink until the surface of the paper reflected exactly what existed in his mind. With each new sentence, a new smirk emerged on his face as he the relationship he had with himself continued to evolve.
Meanwhile the earth continued to revolve, revealing less and less of the sunlight that allowed this boy to make the most important connections of his life. With the wind picking up slightly along with a drop in temperature as the sun left the sky, he scribbled his last words for the day. He slipped the pen in his right-hand pocket and after closing his notebook, he placed it at the very edge of bench to his left. Being in a relatively good mood without having to be anywhere else, he figured he'd enjoy the peacefulness of the area until the moon came out. He knew it wasn't yet in the first quarter, so he wouldn't have to wait long. He pivoted his body clockwise, lifted his feet up onto the bench, laid back, and folded his arms on his chest as he gazed East into the sky where the moon would soon become visible.
As it became dark enough, the lights throughout the park started to flicker on, one by one. There was a light at every bench, separated by about forty yards along the sidewalk which cut through the center of the park. It was a different place at night. Simultaneously quaint and mysterious, he felt as if the park encompassed the personality of something or someone he longed for. If he just waited there long enough, he would be able to communicate with the night, bridging the gap from the previous day in which he discovered himself. He closed his eyes for a brief moment in an honest attempt.
A shriek of wind stirred at the very end of the walkway and he sat up with a start. A chill shot up his spine when it happened again. He stared down the sidewalk to the last light he could see. Each burst of wind became increasingly louder, sounding more similar to screams as their intensity grew. All of a sudden, as if contained within a funnel from where the sound emitted from, a gust of wind spiraled his way, knocking his notebook to the ground. The pages flipped and eventually landed on the entry he had just finished writing. While pondering this for a second, he heard a light bulb burst in the distance. After a second, another one broke. Like a row of firecrackers, the lights exploded in quick succession toward him, adding a new layer of darkness to the night.
It all happened so fast he didn't have time to react. Like a deer in the headlights, he had no choice but to stand there and watch fate unfolded in front of him. He glanced down at his notebook and read the last seven words of his entry, "my imagination will never cease to exist". And just like that, there was silence. He looked up and witnessed a vast tidal wave of darkness that stretched to the edge of the park down to the last line of his journal entry. He took his pen out of his right pocket, unscrewed the top, and held it out in front of him. The ink condensed and made its way back to where it belonged, revealing the sidewalk and the lights that illuminated it.
Opening his eyes, he didn't see the moon to the East where he was facing, but to the West. It was smiling at him, and he was smiling back. } - A short story by Jordan
Meanwhile the earth continued to revolve, revealing less and less of the sunlight that allowed this boy to make the most important connections of his life. With the wind picking up slightly along with a drop in temperature as the sun left the sky, he scribbled his last words for the day. He slipped the pen in his right-hand pocket and after closing his notebook, he placed it at the very edge of bench to his left. Being in a relatively good mood without having to be anywhere else, he figured he'd enjoy the peacefulness of the area until the moon came out. He knew it wasn't yet in the first quarter, so he wouldn't have to wait long. He pivoted his body clockwise, lifted his feet up onto the bench, laid back, and folded his arms on his chest as he gazed East into the sky where the moon would soon become visible.
As it became dark enough, the lights throughout the park started to flicker on, one by one. There was a light at every bench, separated by about forty yards along the sidewalk which cut through the center of the park. It was a different place at night. Simultaneously quaint and mysterious, he felt as if the park encompassed the personality of something or someone he longed for. If he just waited there long enough, he would be able to communicate with the night, bridging the gap from the previous day in which he discovered himself. He closed his eyes for a brief moment in an honest attempt.
A shriek of wind stirred at the very end of the walkway and he sat up with a start. A chill shot up his spine when it happened again. He stared down the sidewalk to the last light he could see. Each burst of wind became increasingly louder, sounding more similar to screams as their intensity grew. All of a sudden, as if contained within a funnel from where the sound emitted from, a gust of wind spiraled his way, knocking his notebook to the ground. The pages flipped and eventually landed on the entry he had just finished writing. While pondering this for a second, he heard a light bulb burst in the distance. After a second, another one broke. Like a row of firecrackers, the lights exploded in quick succession toward him, adding a new layer of darkness to the night.
It all happened so fast he didn't have time to react. Like a deer in the headlights, he had no choice but to stand there and watch fate unfolded in front of him. He glanced down at his notebook and read the last seven words of his entry, "my imagination will never cease to exist". And just like that, there was silence. He looked up and witnessed a vast tidal wave of darkness that stretched to the edge of the park down to the last line of his journal entry. He took his pen out of his right pocket, unscrewed the top, and held it out in front of him. The ink condensed and made its way back to where it belonged, revealing the sidewalk and the lights that illuminated it.
Opening his eyes, he didn't see the moon to the East where he was facing, but to the West. It was smiling at him, and he was smiling back. } - A short story by Jordan
3/11/2009
Birds Eye View
As discovered from Timothy "Speed" Levitch in one of my favorites films Waking Life, Thomas Mann admitted that he would rather participate in life than write 100 stories. As a writer this must have meant that while he was writing his stories, he would have preferred to be somewhere else. To me, this could have been for two possible reasons. One, a physical problem: he was in a situation where he couldn't actually participate. Maybe he was stuck in the hospital or his wife was away. Two, a mental problem: perhaps even though he said he would rather participate, his personality prevents him from doing so. Either he prefers to just watch as the world goes by from a birds eye view, or he sees things that are unfolding in front of him that he would rather now be involved in. I consider the latter to be a possibility because some folks wish that they were ignorant so that they could be happy. As the saying goes, ignorance is bliss.
In a sense, what Mann is saying is that he would rather live a fully content day-to-day life instead of writing at all. Being a Wistful Author, he writes about things that bother him. If nothing bothered him, he might abstain from writing altogether. You start thinking about people's ratios of participation and observation. What Mann is describing is 100% participation. While this is not possible due to human's ability to think and find faults, it would probably be everyone's preference; it would be equivalent to pure bliss. Imagine a love-long orgasm, a permanent lovers embrace, or a constant state of the 'holy moment' acted out in the film.
Timothy goes on to say that 'an assumption develops' that you cannot live and understand life simultaneously. In my opinion some folks spend an excess amount of time trying to understand this absurd life. Well-known authors such as Friedrich Nietzsche and possibly David Wallace ended their own lives because they thought too much, to the point of madness. I'm making a huge assumption here, but bare with me while I attempt to make a point. Being very intelligent and logical, their happiness came from understanding. In their tireless quest to understand, the life in which they knew became meaningless to the point of not worth living. In a depressing sort of way, their suicides proved this assumption right.
Adding his own belief, Timothy says that 'life understood is life lived'. I don't agree entirely. One of the biggest reasons is that I don't believe it is possible for humans to fully understand life. But at the same time like Nietzsche, I cannot stop trying to figure it out; it's in my nature and is what I get most of my fulfillment from. I would tweak the quote a bit by saying that even though it may be impossible to understand life completely, the quality of life depends entirely on the undertaking. Depending wholly on the person and their need to understand, failing in that attempt will prove to be an empty life. With the realization though that you can never hope to understand life to any final degree, you can learn to balance your evolving comprehension with the rest of your human instincts. With this in mind, you can avoid the fate of some of the greatest thinkers in history.
In a sense, what Mann is saying is that he would rather live a fully content day-to-day life instead of writing at all. Being a Wistful Author, he writes about things that bother him. If nothing bothered him, he might abstain from writing altogether. You start thinking about people's ratios of participation and observation. What Mann is describing is 100% participation. While this is not possible due to human's ability to think and find faults, it would probably be everyone's preference; it would be equivalent to pure bliss. Imagine a love-long orgasm, a permanent lovers embrace, or a constant state of the 'holy moment' acted out in the film.
Timothy goes on to say that 'an assumption develops' that you cannot live and understand life simultaneously. In my opinion some folks spend an excess amount of time trying to understand this absurd life. Well-known authors such as Friedrich Nietzsche and possibly David Wallace ended their own lives because they thought too much, to the point of madness. I'm making a huge assumption here, but bare with me while I attempt to make a point. Being very intelligent and logical, their happiness came from understanding. In their tireless quest to understand, the life in which they knew became meaningless to the point of not worth living. In a depressing sort of way, their suicides proved this assumption right.
Adding his own belief, Timothy says that 'life understood is life lived'. I don't agree entirely. One of the biggest reasons is that I don't believe it is possible for humans to fully understand life. But at the same time like Nietzsche, I cannot stop trying to figure it out; it's in my nature and is what I get most of my fulfillment from. I would tweak the quote a bit by saying that even though it may be impossible to understand life completely, the quality of life depends entirely on the undertaking. Depending wholly on the person and their need to understand, failing in that attempt will prove to be an empty life. With the realization though that you can never hope to understand life to any final degree, you can learn to balance your evolving comprehension with the rest of your human instincts. With this in mind, you can avoid the fate of some of the greatest thinkers in history.
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