Good Stuff

If your breathing is constricted by the innundation of doomsday predictions in the financial section of your favorite paper/website, take a deep breath and read this; it might help you sleep a bit better at night:

http://www.freep.com/article/20081215/OPINION05/81215022

In the midst of the "crisis" I remind everyone that economics is called the dismal science for its offering of opinions based on data, instead of finite answers, and for its attempt to predict the future based on "science". Fascinating stuff, but not something to set your watch by. It's kind of like the search for the philosopher's stone. Or like the little gerbal running endlessly on its wheel inside the head of your average Joe. I would also urge you, like the author of the article, to keep history in mind. There have been downturns before, and there will be again. Rome didn't last forever (as an empire), neither did Tenochtitlan, and neither will New York. When you accept that everything comes to end one way or another, you can stop worrying about it. Really.

Also, buy the "slumdog Millionaire" soundtrack. It's brilliant.

Urban Dictionary words of the day

I've decided that when I don't have anything to say, I'm going to add in my favorite new words from http://www.urbandictionary.com/.

1. Salsa Fucked
This phenomenon occurs when dining at a Mexican restaurant with a large group and the salsa is not distributed evenly throughout the table. The areas of the table that do not have ample amounts of salsa are "salsa fucked."

"Jeff, all of the salsa is at the other end of the table, yo."

"I know, we got Salsa Fucked."

2. sexting
the act of text messaging someone in the hopes of having a sexual encounter with them later; initially casual, transitioning into highly suggestive and even sexually explicit
In a sentence: "He keeps sexting me saying how hard he is and how much he wants to tap my ass," Cindy said massaging her breasts unconsciously.

Sexting in action:

Nancy: "Wut do u want?"

Bob: "Cum over to my place now."

Nancy: "Is NE1 else there?"

Bob: "No. I need to c u."

Nancy: "K. Will b there soon."

Monday email update

An email I wrote to a friend recently:

My update is that I'm still living on Prospect (obvs), although with the lack of privacy and having to deal with my loser rommates, I don't know if I would call it living. I won't move out of there a minute too soon. Beth and I have pushed back to spring, but I'm going to look casually through the winter in case something good opens up. Thanksgiving was good, I stuffed myself to the gills with food and drink for 48 hrs straight, which took the rest of the weekend to recover from. My job sucks ass, I hate it more each week and, like my current living situation, will also not end a minute too soon. This semester has been easy, but I expect next semester to be a big pain, God willing it will be my last one and I can start to move on from the limbo I've been in the last two years.

I hope I don't sound super negative, all this stuff is par for the course and on a day-to-day basis I feel good. On top of all of that I think my ass is getting bigger and I'm scared it will turn into my mother's and my shopping addiction has made me broke, broke, broke. But I guess it's all about what you choose to focus on and what actions you take. So I like to wrap all of this up in a bundle and focus on the fact that changes are around the bend. I'm sure at some point I will look back on this time as being "simple" when all I had to worry about was fitting in my jeans and the only thing I had to sacrifice to pay my rent was a new dress that I don't need because I already have 35 black dresses.

I'll laud how lucky I was to have such under market rent, how close Beth and I were, how weed was plentiful and so was booze. I'll think of the roommates as "quirky" and "different" rather than half-retarded and hopeless. I might even laugh at the fact that I quit going to my Bodega because the owner creeped me out and wouldn't quit hitting on me. That could be funny someday, right? I'll probably remember him as a kindly father figure who just wanted to talk -- or maybe not. There will be no seedy underbelly to the neighborhood in my memories. Alex will not have killed himself by taking a dive off of the Brooklyn Bridge a week after I saw him last (obviously unaware that it would be the last time we said good-bye), Mikey will not have been such a drug addleded romantic, Robert will be a good guy I let slip through my fingers, and he and Megan will have been happy together. And I'll probably count myself lucky that I had a good, resume building job while I was in school that allowed me a relatively flexible schedule.

I wonder if our sugar coated memories of the past are some sort of primoridal survival technique. If we consciously let all of the fears and disappointmens build up, could we die from them? IDK.

ahhh...I gotta do it.

I'm adding a new section to this blog. I shamelessly admit that I'm a celebrity gossip whore. All too often though I read quotes from celebrities that are just too funny not to comment on; it has nothing to do with their talent, or whether or not they're good people. It's just that I gotta do it. So, here goes.

On the W Photo shoot: "I'd just had the kids six weeks before and felt so private, it didn't feel right having a photographer fly across the world with a rack of stylish clothes for me to wear. . . It became this one-week project in our house," Jolie says. The way she tells it, matters quickly got out of hand, and some of the photographs proved far too sexual to be released on an unsuspecting American audience. "Yeah, we thought about it, we'd look at the pictures as art and say this is a really interesting photograph, but then we'd know better and we'd think about how it was going to be received. So we made it a little more tame than it was originally."

We fucking get it Angelina, you and Brad in addition to being the hottest people ever and humanitarians are also very arty and sophisticated, much more so than the people who read W magazine. In fact, you're so open minded and cool that you can look at porn shots your husband took of you and call it art! No one else in the history of the world has ever thought of that! I mean this is mind blowing stuff...a beautiful body can be artistic, I bet you're going to tell me next that even an ugly body can be so too! I wouldn't believe you, but would have to take your word for it because in spite of the fact that you lack a basic formal education, your celebrity lends uncontestible validity to everything you say. Hmm...photography of the human form as art, groundbreaking.

If I could file these posts into different categories this one would be filed under, "Display of false humility."

Kindle

Kindle is a digital device that works much like apple's ipod, but it's for books instead of music.
The inevitable gripe follows:
How could anyone be satisfied reading a book on a computer screen? I mean really. One of the best things about sitting down to read is the tangibility of the pages and the smell, whether it be from use, or from the lack of it; It is the stimulation of these senses that trap a story in our memory, that make it mean something to us in a personal way. The particular cover of a certain copy may change through reprints, but it's your cover that means something to you and represents the memory of the impact a story had. On the pages, your underlines, your dog ears, your coffee stains...these are the traces of information recieved and the proof of it. And when you finish something that spoke to you it is the act of being able to put it on a shelf and leaf through those underlines and notes years later that brings you back to a certain time in your life, or even compels you forward with understanding forgotten, but again newly found.

Socrates lamented the invention of books and the common use of the written word. He thought it would diminish the capacity of our brains to retain information, undoubtedly destory the motivation for it. As important as this development has been to further human productivity and as immensly enjoyable as some people find it, he was right to the extent that never again would people memorize the imense store of information that the ancients were able to. What further devolution of our intellectual capacity will be presented with the Kindle? How easily will we now be able to forget the stories we read and the value retained with them? No underlines, no highlights, no notes. There is nothing to help us remember, but data stored on a "memory" card.

Thought of the day

Sometimes my Dad emails me a thought for the day.

Here it is: "thought for the day:
if everything in the world as we know it (including us) are made of atoms and atoms never die, how can we die? I have been reading about parallel universe."

Obsessed

I guess this was released in Sweden a while ago, and has finally been released here. This is the same chick who released a pretty cliche (and lame) pop song back in the states in the nineties, big radio hit.

This is still pop, but exactly the way it should be. Pop content, but delivered in a way that sounds original. Out of 16 songs, there are two I'm not thrilled about.

http://www.youtube.com/user/robynmusic?ob=4

World's longest bug found in Borneo

No, that photo is not it. That's a actually a backback fashioned to look like a large beetle. The longest bug is a stick bug, and therefore, is a lot less interesting to look at. It just looks like a fallen twig.

This is the best part, it was named after the guy who had it in his posession. The name is "Phobaeticus chani". Translation: "Chan's megastick". Seriously.

Confessions of a shopaholic

This morning I get an email from J.Crew. They're adding an extra 20% off to their sale. I LOVE it when they do this. Sometimes it's 30%. I seriously go hard for these emails. The catch...it's FINAL sale. No returns, no exchanges.

Then, on a whim, I go to Forever 21, assuming that as usual they won't have anything good. But they do. This little black dress, that if it fits the way I expect it to, will knock out all of my other conservative little black dresses, off to Beacon's they'll go making some much needed room in my closet. I HAVE to have it.

I check out Charlotte Rousse and find a dress that I think will be perfect for Giovanni's birthday party at the end of the month, in it goes. I buy two tops, and the dress. Total, $79.

I go back to J.Crew. A dress I wanted, but had sold out, is available again, must have. Then a cocktail ring that I'll give to my daughter, it's so fantastic. Total with discount, $80. I check out, but right after I do, realise that I've forgotten to check their knitwear section. Find an amazing jacket, have to have it. Total with discount, $37. Then, it's off to Forever 21 for that dress. I realize that I can use a credit card I've been paying off to buy the dress. It's just a measly 23 bucks, I mean nothing, right? I decide to check jewelry to see if they have anything I can't live without, I throw in a necklace I like, but don't love for $6. Total with shipping, $42.

I am sated, and wish there was a way to block my visiting certain websites.

The clam chowder is better than I expected it to be today.

Wednesday

"No. That chick definitely does not have a slut face. I really thought this concept would be intuitive to anyone. It's all in the bone structure. The face is thrust forward, areodynamic. Dan knows. Right, Dan?"
"Right"
"Okay, does SHE have a slut face?" Dan and I together, simultaneously, "No!" I go on to explain, "All right Shane, it's like, have you ever seen a girl and thought that she would be a dirty whore in bed, but in a good way?"
"Yeah."
"Well, SHE probably had a slut face. Look, you've got your Asian slut faces, your White Trash slut faces, your Eastern Bloc slut faces..."
"Oh. Yeah. There are some slutty looking Russian girls who are damn hot."
"Exactly."
Beth sits next to me, nodding her head in approval. Then she says, "And it's like they're skinny, but in a gross sort of way."
"Yeah, like they were raised on cheetos and diet soda.", I say. Shane seems to have either finally understood, or can't stand looking at the Rachel Zoe project in the background any longer and leaves.

Tuesday night

See, I like tropical skittles better than original because the only flavor I like in the original is red.

C'mon, if there was a bag of all red skittles then you wouldn't be able to appreciate them.

Like, if we were never sad then we wouldn't know what it was to be happy?

Exactly!

*** later that night ***

They all have the same color hair!

Well, they're identical twins.

Oh, they are?

Oh Man, it's going to be a jungle out there

It's almost five, I haven't been able to leave work early...I'm facing rush hour. Pray for me.

Controversy

Has anyone heard of the new-ish film coming out called, "Towel Head?"

Apparently it's about a young woman who is a member of an ethnic minority living with her father in TX, dealing with racial prejudice from the locals -- oh, and there's more.

This young girl also happens to be struggling with her sexuality due to the fact that her parents take a laissez-faire approach to dealing with the birds and the bees.

This morning I caught a quote from Mario Bello, who plays the girl's mother in the film, regarding its content: "Do I think there is anything wrong with a young woman fantasizing about an older man, or an older man fantasizing about a girl? No. Do I think there is something wrong with acting on it, yeah, I do."

Statutory rape is set at one age, while southern states have legal marrying ages much younger. A female teacher gets thrown in prison for having relations with her young male student, but keeps the love alive and when she gets out marries him and lives happily ever after. I just wanted to throw it out there, where are the lines drawn with sexuality in the realm of consent?

I think it's clear that due to America's puritanical roots it (sexuality) has been grossly over-simplified. Not only in gender, and age, but in every other aspect as well. I am by no means condoning sexual abuse, by the way.

I heard once about an article I never read that had to do with the negative results of the sexual revolution of the '70s. We're obsessed as a result, we think it (sex) too important. And there is another question. Why do we care so damn much whether a thought is right or wrong, good or bad? Of course because we think our thoughts naturally lead to compulsive behavior, bad thoughts = bad deeds. But where does THAT assumption come from?

In yet another article, which I started, but never finished, the author brings up a great point. There is an incredibly fine line b/n our sexual adulation of teenagers, our widely accepted sexual ideal (Lindsay Lohan circa mean girls, the Olsen Twins, Britney from '99) and what we consider the most demonistic of thoughts to stem from; Pedohpilia.

Hill Clinton

Question: Do you think that Hillary would have had a better chance to get the nomination if she had divorced Bill over the Monica thing?

I think: Absofuckingloutely

I think it would have garnered more sympathy for her, as someone who was victimized, but then had the strength not to put up with it. And I think because it would have been a strong move on her part she wouldn't have had to work so hard at downplaying her case of ovarian possession (being a chick) to prove she could hack it. She wouldn't have had to give so many mixed messages in the campaign, first acting like a dude and then crying like a little bitch...

What's funny is that she probably stayed with Bill because of her political ambitions...and in the end it could have done her in. Also, Bill, I don't think, would have bounced back in popularity like he did if Hillary had left him. Instead, his wife was willing to sweep it under the rug and thusly so was every one else.

I despise Hillary Clinton, not because she's a woman, or too strong, or too femme; Not because she stayed with her husband after he cheated on her, but simply b/c she's a snake.

Tomato, Tomaato

http://www.ttgconsultants.com/articles/freetrade.html One says Yaaay

http://www.isometry.com/trade.html the other says nayyy

Which rabbit hole to descend into?

The two links above go to articles arguing for and against free trade.

My take: Numbers don't lie, but propaganda does and it exists on both sides. One group wants to tell you what WILL happen, while the other tends to extract data from what has already happened.

One argument I cannot get behind is the idea that big business destroys cultural solidarity and unity, to me that sounds like a homogenizing and therefore insulting blanket statement. What culture has ever existed in which every member WANTED to stay within their cultural norms? People create their own culture regardless of their circumtances, it evolves and changes over time, some leave and return, some don't. To rail against the changing of ones circumstances and use the excuse of cultural change (brought on by economic evolution) as a bad thing in order to justify it is nothing if not narrow-minded -- in my opinion.

On eating

I like destroying it with my mouth, saliva, and stomach acid. My appetite, the destroyer! Mwah ha ha ha, mwha ha (evil laughter). One of the reasons why I like to eat crab legs so much is because I get carnal pleasure from having to work to get the meat, I love cracking open the shell; I feel like master of the universe.

Exercise Until You Die

Because I couldn't add them at the bottom, you see before you three images, and I ask as you look at the last two: What is the story with older women and their over-worked sinewy figures? Hmm yuck. On the left you'll see a close up of Madonna's arms and to the right it is the ever so slight Sarah Jessica Parker. Parker has always claimed to be tiny naturally, and to eat whatever she wants...okay, I'll take her word for it, but does one just naturally have arms that look as though they could be the embalmed flesh of a dead triathelete? What I mean is they don't get like that without some sort of strength training, and that isn't by accident. Women over 40 attempting to stave off the aging process through excessive exercise seems to me to be an unfortunate circumstance of our obsession with youth. Maintaining a figure devoid of the natural deposits of fat on a woman's body (hips, butt, breasts, thighs) seems to be a great distortion of the idea of health. And is it any wonder that going to an extreme like this to feel younger actually makes these women look cadaverous?

It is the softness and fullness of a woman's body that denotes the very thing that makes us so universally desireable; it is surprising to me that in their pursuit of success the universal and timeless fascination with the feminine form is a type of power, inborn in them, so nonchalantly tossed aside. Now tell me, would you want those gesticulating appendages pitching an idea to you, with sunken faces rife with physical stress? Or perhaps would you be more willing to do what the woman in the top photo of the page suggests? That is Monica Belucci, who is 43. I realize her photo has the advantage of professional lighting, but those are her hips, breasts, and arms, which were more than likely reduced in size by a retoucher.

It is so easy

It is so easy to bury yourself in the things that make you forget what you really want, b/c it’s less scary than the prospect of failing, that the allure becomes like the force of a black hole pulling you inside.

But I think it's important to know that as long as you don't give up you'll get out of it. And I think it's comforting to know that everyone falls in sometimes, and that anyone is capable of being one of the few who are able to pull themselves back out.

The key is to notice yourself slipping, and to start climbing while your hand is still clinging to the edge, instead of letting yourself sink to the bottom.

You have to always be checking yourself, you have to always be cognizant.

Individouous Consumption

My cousin emailed me today and told me that instead of working she was checking out the dress sales at bluefly.com and Anthropologie, and how sad it was. I wrote her back:

Don't get me started, I just placed an order with Forever 21, and bought a pair of beautiful light brown knee high riding boots from Urban Outfitters that are backordered until the end of August. I'm kind of hoping, in my buyer's remorse, that they don't fit. They're pull on, which means I will agonize getting them on and off.

Why did I buy them? Because I think I NEED to have a pair of light brown boots to complement my black ones...and b/c this fall I've decided I am all about mixing brown with black. It's just an arbitrary decision that cost me $158, plus tax and shipping. I have a fantasy cart at the final sale in J.crew, and a few things in Banana too, which I'm justifing on the basis that I need a nice, black cardigan, and a light brown belt to go with my brown/black thing for the fall. So, add 38 and 48 to 158 and so far, that is how much my new style choice has cost. When fall does arrive I'll probably be over it.

Such is the gerbil wheel of life presented in all of its existential purposelessness -- yeah that's how you spell that word, I checked.

Fatty Splurge -- in favor of moderation

I just indulged in McDonald's, and I know that you don't eat it, but try to remember you're 11 and you still think it's awesome.

It was delicious, delectable, exquisite. I'll tell you why. There are days when I'm in a big rush, I'll run in and eat something, always making sure to eat the sandwich, and just a few fries; I don't enjoy it on the run, it sits like a cannoball in my stomach. And I've been very good about sticking to my groceries for economic and health reasons...but today, oh today my hormones were calling out for food, and not just any food.

McDonald's popped into my head, "I'll just go in and get a burger, just to taste", I told myself. But at the counter I ordered an entire meal. From the first sensation of savory salt beads attached to the fried potato...to the last swallow of the greasy bread housing a thin patty topped with pickles, ketchup, mustard, and onions I was in heaven. I can still lick the salty taste from off of my lips. The carbonation from the diet soda cleanses my palette as its bubbles slide down my throat. And I am satisfied.

My American appetite was allowed to run free this afternoon, for tomorrow it's back to hummus and pita, fruit and single servings of soup.

Pop

This is an email from my father in response to reading a paper I wrote for a psych class; it's clear where I get my intellectual bent from. I also love that he used the Greek spelling for, "chaos".

"Hi Marisa,

good luck with your exams. Your paper is excellent. I started out being a philosophy/psychology person, but found the study of theology encompassed both. It has the true history of humans hidden in verse written by humans. History being the whole picture, not just what man has done but who we are.

It is human nature to repeat history, which is why it is important to study history, so we can repeat the good and improve on the bad. Unfortunately, most just keep repeating the bad.

Your theory on questioning hits the nail on the head. It is only through questioning, I believe that one can grow personally and spiritually. Not so much outwardly, but inwardly, which is the true measure of one's self. Through this inward growth we take action.

Faith in something is action and questioning is the essence of the truest form of faith. The biggest risk we take in life is to question because there will be a result. We as humans find it very uncomfortable to not know what the result will be, so in many cases no action is taken.

If there is a God, which I believe there is, he/she loves it when we question our faith. It is the beginning of serenity and growth. In the business world one can question, but one needs to be very politically correct when doing so. With a higher power there are no politics just answers to questions. No questions are too ridiculous and the answers are risky, which I love. I find much peace in that. Some would call it Kaos. I call it letting go.

You mentioned science vs. self. We are a product of science, which starts with self and questions. All said and done Einstein thought the Bible was just a collection of silly children's stories. He is correct, because that is all we can really handle. He also said just before he died, "I want to know Gods thoughts everything else means nothing."

He believed in a higher power, because he could not figure everything out, so he felt there must be something else out there. The Bible he felt was just the best we could do as humans to record the answers, as feeble an attempt as it was. The only thing that separates us from science is passion for other human beings. My question to you is this. Where does that come from? Science does not have an answer.

I choose to believe there is something out there that is bigger than us. If one does not believe that, just stick a metal fork in a lite socket sometime. If one survives that, they will for sure have a new found humility. For lack of a better term (heaven), I will believe there is a better world until I am not there. Thanx for the insight.

Love,
Dad"

question

Two summers ago I was at my older brother's undergrad graduation party. I was explaining to a table of cousins, aunts, and my grandmother my plans to move to New York and what I wanted to do here. As I was talking, I saw the faintest shadow of doubt flicker in their eyes. If they had been less subtle I would have gotten the patronizing nod of affirmation. They didn't even have the wherewithal to smile at me as I was going on. I could see, perhaps, or feel the grating of memory on their minds of their faded intentions for their own lives. There was something about the energy at the table that was charged, and uncomfortable. When I was finished speaking I added an addendum to my diatribe: "Look, I know this all sounds naively optimistic", I said, "but I'm still young and I reserve that right!"

They smiled then as if what I said relieved them of whatever burden they felt for the possibility of my impending failure.

I'm wondering now, as I get older, what excuse I will have for retaining my idealism.

PETA -- it isn't just for making sandwiches

All right, so this is the deal: I got a soliciation email from The People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) the other day. I've never been a fan of PETA, although I strongly support the idea of ending animal cruelty. I don't, however, support their tactics to acheive this goal. I believe that every animal should be provided with as comfortable a life as possible while they're being raised to end up on my dinner plate -- all facetiousness aside, I really believe that. If we're going to invade the life of animals and take them out of their natural habitat and raise them only to be pets or food, then they deserve a decent existence before they meet thier end, regardless of their life's purpose or use to us.

Anyway, because I'm not a fan of PETA I shot back an email criticising them thinking no one was going to ever see it, but in the case that someone did, at least my opinion was heard. I certainly didn't expect a response, but I got one. And I responded again. If you want to see this email from them trying to justify why they do what they do, feel free to contact me and I'll send it to you. Below is my last reply, which includes and exerpt of their response. I'm orange, Peta's red.

To Quote your message: "...However, when we attach a gimmick, that very same animal abuse ends up in newspapers and on televisions nationwide. After PETA publicized our provocative [sic]“State of the Union Undress,” for example, we were rated the number one [sic]“mover” on Yahoo’s search engine, meaning that PETA received the greatest percentage increase of terms searched that day. Experience has taught us that controversial, attention-grabbing campaigns make the difference between keeping important yet depressing subjects invisible and having them widely seen. The alternative is to be ignored in the torrent of tabloid-style stories that dominate the popular press...

However, PETA does make a point of having something for all tastes, from the most conservative to the most radical and from the most tasteless to the most refined, and this approach has proved amazingly successful—in the more than two decades since PETA was first founded, it has grown into the largest animal rights group in the world, with more than two million members and supporters worldwide."

This is where my response starts,

Animal Abuse is not what ends up in papers, which is the point I was trying to make. Your tactics supersede your message and take the forefront in media coverage. What the public sees are people who seem to have lost sense and common decency toward other human beings, a mentality which they absolutely cannot identify with; not to mention your criticism pops up only intermittently, which makes your presence in the media nothing but a distraction to be amused by and quickly forgotten. If you're going to go with the "gimmick" excuse then create a gimmick every day, if you're so impassioned by your cause then why don't you, as an organization, tirelessly work to publicize yourselves more often? Word of mouth, in any business or organization, is the key to success. Try doing things without the direct intent of media recognition to "spread your message", but rather to engender people to make a difference and change. E-mail, by the way, isn't going to do it.

You need to get out and meet people and discuss with them face-to-face what your message really is and why animal cruelty needs to be stopped and explain how pervasive it is. There are so many ways to do this in a mature and dignified fashion that don't reflect poorly on your organization. Once word-of-mouth buzz gets started and inspired people talk to others, and inspire them, it can't be stopped. The media will be ASKING you for interviews, instead of mentioning your childish behavior as an afterthought before the commercial break.

You may have been rated the "number one 'mover'" on Yahoo, but for how long, was it at least a day? And how many people did you recruit, and how many of them are actually going to be active participants instead of supportive bystanders?

I don't know what else to say to you in order to convey how wrong and illogical your theories for the change of this problem are; It doesn't make any sense to think only of flash-in-the-pan attention and coverage when what you want is a deeply dedicated group of people who will change the mindset of a nation and other parts of the world.
-- Marisa Swanson

So, what do you think? Feel free to comment, not that anything you say is likely to change my mind :)

to buttons

Here's a question: Is it better to be truly independent and ONLY be responsible for yourself (as an unwed, non-parent), or should we take other people's feelings and wants and needs into consideration to the point where we're deterred from what's best for ourselves, or deterred from our own impulses to satisfy ourselves?

Coming from the midwest, I was raised (I think) to be considerate of others, to keep my mouth shut if I didn't have anything nice to say, and to always say please and thank you. These lessons are common in most of the US and they seem nice and simple and harmless enough. They encompass "values", and are anti-confrontational (that might not be a word). They highlight good Christian beliefs (although we could have just as easily adopted the "eye-for-an-eye" doctrine, if we're talking about molding our lives around the good book), and wholesomeness. These lessons make for good boys and girls, right? And isn't the world a better place when people are good and nice and kind; wouldn't there be less wars, less fighting? If only we could get everyone to be considerate, say please and thank you, and for Christ's sake not ever say anything to offend anyone.

I wonder though, what behavior really comes from such good intentions? Is it kindness, or underhanded manipulation in order to trick someone into giving them what you want, because to say so would be inappropriate or uncomfortable? Is it consideration, or is it an extreme selfishness tucked deep down b/c it isn't right to want things for yourself? Is it reponsibility or an impulse to rebel and be reckless because the weight of feigned ownership is mind numbingly crushing?

I've struggled with what I first perceived as "rudeness" and now see as honesty; it was difficult seeing people act in ways only to satisfy themselves, which I thought was bad, but now I see is liberating. I've also struggled with feelings of complete disconnectedness, not being responsible for other people's feelings is lonesome, too. And maybe that is where the impulse derives from. Maybe "politeness" isn't about doing better to others, or making the world a better place. Maybe it's just about feeling less alone.

If that's the case, then maybe we should teach ourselves to be honest about the way that we feel instead of hiding everything inside. Maybe, we should give people the freedom to look out for who they choose, instead of burdening them with the task of looking out for everybody. Maybe the path to creating good boys and girls is to educate them as thoroughly and honestly as we can. And maybe we should give up the ghost of treating everyone and everything the same. Maybe we should treat people on an individual basis, based on the reality that we all have different abilities and know that to ostracize one group for only one reason could be just as bad as overcompensating another group for only one reason.

Maybe there is a way to celebrate individuality without corraling people into a sense of sameness, by not dictating how they should behave, letting them choose for themselves...and maybe (gasp!) the eye-for-an-eye doctrine isn't such a bad idea for people who actively choose to hurt others.


In english-translated ancient Greek manuscripts, the word "virture" comes up quite a lot. They thought "virtue" was the highest and best quality to shoot for. We see virtue as a religious term that means piety, service and without selfishness. We were mistaken in what the word originally meant. It wasn't a synonym for spotless perfection and avoiding all mistakes. It simply meant potential. The most wise philosophers thought the only thing that mattered was reaching your potential.

blowing smoke up your what?

So last night I got into a disagreement with Masha. My need to play devil's advocate came mostly from an annoyance about the way she made her case and less about the actual issue itself.

She is hardly ever at home, maybe three nights a week, never during the day. She's also a hypochondriac and has an unbelievably low threshold for discomfort of any kind b/c she's an only child. She is bothered by anything that causes her the slightest discomfort and thinks that she should be granted the right to have everything HER way.

A while ago Dan asked her to not open her window without a screen b/c it lets bugs in. Her argument was that it's her room and she can do with it what she wants and it was wrong of Dan to ask that of her. All she would have had to do was buy a screen, which she hasn't done.

Last night Dan asked if I wanted to go smoke on the roof, and then kind of out of nowhere Masha said to me, "Do you mind not smoking in your room anymore?" I was surprised and the nicotene addict in me was adamantly opposed to the idea. I said, "I kind of do mind, actually."

Her arguments were so weak, obviously bullshit, and the worst part is that she actually changed the tone of her voice to one that was more whiny and childish than it usually is, while she seemed to be on the point of tears. Clearly, this a tactic she uses to get her way. What's sad is that it's worked so much she's adopted it into adulthood.

She said that her room "fills with smoke", which I had to correct her and say wasn't physically possible. Then she said that she asked Dan if this was a smoking apt when she moved in and he said no, so she expected there not to be smoking and therefore I shouldn't smoke. I told her that when I moved in (months before her) smoking in my room was okay, so I have a different expectation, and asked her why her expectation was more important than mine. She answered b/c smoke is bad for you. But it isn't an issue of second hand smoke, since my door is kept closed and she isn't in my vicinity.

What she's really talking about is not liking the smell, but even she knows that is a little ridiculous, so she keeps up the smoke issue saying that it gives her headaches (and this is when the verge of tears tactic comes in), she literally whines about the "headaches" three times. This is, however, the first time she's ever said that she has gotten headaches from the smoking, she's lived in the apt for six months, which leads me to believe it's a bullshit lie.

She says that she's sick, which she is right now. So I tell her that I respect the fact that she's ill and won't smoke during that time, but I can't concede to stopping on a permanent basis. I remind her that she's hardly ever home, so she tells me that fine, I can smoke when she isn't there, but not when she is. This totally negates her first request that I quit smoking in my own room altogether.

Then she says that she doesn't understand why I smoke in my room when it's so "easy" to go outside. I live at the top of a three floor walk up where occasionally in the summer time fights break out across the street and it's a good idea to be indoors and not to seem like a busybody. The hatch on the roof is a hassle, not to mention the ladder you have to climb up to access the roof. I don't tell her these things but instead stick to the real issue which is that I pay rent to live in the apartment and use my bedroom area as I choose.

Her argument is falling to pieces now. She mentions the window/screen incident and says that "fine", if I'm going to smoke in my room then she's going to open her window without a screen whenever she pleases. She then says in reference to the discomfort my smoking causes her , "well it's mostly when more than one person is in your room smoking." She has completely defeated her purpose and revealed the truth. All she had to ask for was there not to be a group of people smoking in my room when she's at home because the smell of smoke is really bothersome. I would have bitterly conceeded, but conceeded nonetheless. I should mention that it's rare for there to be more than myself smoking in my room.

One of the best parts was when she said that's she's "mentioned it before." I was tempted to explain to her that I am not her mother and it isn't my job to parse her whining into hints in order to make her life as easy and carefree as possible; but we have to choose our battles.

Satisfied with my victory, I have decided to try and not smoke in my room on the nights when Masha is home. Smoking is bad for me and I could stand to cut back.

"I'm jay walkin' and I don't give a fuck"

People in Saline are just pissed because they're common. They're common because they've allowed themselves to be -- out of their fear of the unkown. They chose the safety of groupthink over the uncertainty of individuality, and they're paying for it every day in the depressed, lackidaisical way that they live their lives. So, of course their only recourse is to find a way to justify their poor decisions and their boredom. They decide that the way they live is "right" and other ways are "wrong." It allows them to have a scapegoat for the misery they feel, but refuse to recognize.

If someone would have asked me…

One night, at five am a friend of mine was sitting with me talking at my kitchen table. He asked me why I wanted to live in New York and added crassly, "Is it because you've fucked your way out of Ann Arbor? All the girls I know who leave here just ran out of people to screw." I laughed and told him I was desperate to meet people who were like me. He asked me to elaborate. I told him I wanted to meet pepole who were going for it all the way. "In buisness, you mean?", he said.

"No, in anything. In music, any art form, anyone who is trying to grab the brass ring at whatever it is they endeavour to do."

"That's the best reason anyone has ever given me for leaving." He replied.

If someone would have asked me what I anticipated I would have told them fun, excitement, smart people, museums, great libraries, cafes, and culture. I realize now how idealistic it all was. All of those things are here but they don't come wrapped in a shiny bow like I assumed they would. They come underneath a layer of filth and uncertainty.

I've been struggling to find a way to explain to people back home what New York is really like. But the only thing I can reference is a history of clichés born from iconic films and books in which each story reveals only a small part of the experience of being here day in and day out; each story spins the atmosphere to serve its own purpose and reality is buried underneath. So how was I to explain to people how I was feeling and what I was going through; it was so much more than a physical adaptation or an adjustment to new streets and buildings, it has been everything.

I've been doing nothing but drinking it all in since I arrived over a year ago. I've been drinking and choking and nearly drowning on the sheer volume of my gulps. I've been to some museums, some cafes, and some libraries. I've had fun (although overall much less than I expected), I've been excited (much more than I expected), and I've met some smart people. I've experienced dramatic culture shifts simply by crossing a street or moving into a different subway car. None of these things happened in the ways I expected them to.

The "culture" I wanted didn't come from gallery openings, industry parties, or trendy uptown (or downtown) brunch spots; it came in the form of extreme diversity unlike anything I'd ever experienced, and with that came the tragic realization that some people who have been down on their luck all their lives will continue to be, and so will their children and so will theirs. You cannot save them all, most of them don't want to be saved, and the tragedy of their fate stares you in the face every time you step on the train. I live in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn across the street from a family of minor drug dealers. They are two brothers whose father died a few years ago leaving them his brownstone paid and clear. Occasionally in the summer you can hear an altercation across the street, fighting, they are just minor scuffles really. The police come and approach the men wearing black leather gloves. They stand in a circle waiting for a reason to intervene and when the dispute dies down they leave. My first week here I locked myself out of the apartment. A girl staying at our place had become friendly with the older brother. She and I tried in vain to get back in. Deciding it was our only recourse, she went across the street to ask for his help. She was told that he had nothing to break into an apartment with only a kit for getting into locked cars, but he would try to help anyway. He tried for twenty minutes, was extremely polite and respectful, and eventually he got in. Last week I helped him flier our neighborhood to search for his aunt's lost dog. I live in a neighborhood where kids play dice on the corners and little girls jump rope with phone wire. I live in a neighborhood where in spite of class differences or racial differences a neighbor comes to help one who needs it. I'm surrounded by a culture I'm helping to create, not one helplessly preserved in the annals of upper class memory.

The "smart people" I expected to fall into my lap did but their intelligence was clouded over by their extreme insecurities. People were driven only by a fear of inferiority. There was no sense of competition inside of one's self to achieve their potential; it was only to be better than the guy sitting next to them at their local bar. They smoked, they drank, and they snorted their twenties away. Beneath it though was an abiding and unrelenting commitment to be interesting and every single one of them was.

The fun and excitement I expected came to me like this: There were parties in Brooklyn with vegan appetizers and Michael Jackson music from the 80's, dancing in a back room, dancing in a front room, and dancing on a Saturday night in a museum underneath a vaulted ceiling surrounded by European paintings from the Renaissance. There were free concerts in the park. When KRS-1 performed and encouraged each person in the audience to think every day about their dreams, each person felt as if he was speaking directly to him/her. Shopping, there was constant shopping. I remember stumbling into a customer event at Bloomingdales, SOHO and being treated to pink martinis while browsing the racks. There were bars of every stripe with every atmosphere you could imagine, from the seediest to the most posh. Places were categorized by their level of pretension. A stunning Moroccan bar/restaurant sat underground beneath a taco bar housed in a broken down trailer. There was no sign outside indicating its existence. There was an anarchist meeting whose members met, after adjourning, to talk angrily about political change. Being hung over on a Saturday or Sunday gave way to brunch, brunch, and more brunch. There were fashion industry parties in the Lower East Side or SOHO. I remember a gay guy named Tim who confided in me that he had a weight problem in the past, when I commented on his current thinness his nonchalant response was, "I do a lot of cocaine." There were artist's studios. I went to clubs where you get in for free due to whomever you're going out with (and barely know) who brought you out with people they hardly know. Sometimes the music was good, sometimes it wasn't. There was going to see people sing and bands perform because you met a member. There were dinner parties and get-togethers where secrets were confessed and bonds were formed, only to be broken when schedules didn't permit another meeting. There were lovers, some with an attraction never consummated, and others that were over and over and over again. These "fun" times were veiled underneath a layer of distrust, fear, and that ever present thing, "excitement". Beneath it though was the idea of a reality more unconventional and fantastic than anything I could have imagined.

The cafes were noisy, but my favorite was open until 1 am every day. A person could go and stay for hours and I did. I took several books and I didn't leave. I napped there, read, and people-watched in between trips to the bar for coffee and sustenance.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is not free to get into, I was given false information. There is however, no minimum amount for a donation (admission). I dug deep in my pockets and pulled out about thirty five cents. I handed it to the girl, got my button and roamed among history and some of the greatest works of art the world has to offer.

I got a New York public library card. I checked out one book that I have yet to return. I got an email several months ago saying that if it wasn't returned they would send me to a collections agency. The book sits on a shelf in my cubicle at my office. For some reason I can't bring myself to return it.

I learned that speaking your mind is good for your soul. I learned that every man is truly out for himself and they would sell out their best friend to score with a chick they only want to screw once. I learned to take possession of myself completely. I learned that the single-minded attitude I was so ridiculed for back home was far tamer than the single-minded attitude I've adapted to here. Each day is a triumph of resourcefulness and planning. Each night is a triumph of exactly the opposite. Here, you learn to be alive or you leave. Here, you learn.

I have truly had the time of my life and I've barely gotten started. I've had the best food, seen the best performances, had the best conversations, the longest and most embarassing laughing fits, and met the craziest fucking people. In a conversation I had recently at a party at my apartment, a guy told me he'd grown up in New York and spent a couple of years in L.A. before hightailing it back. He told me that it was easy to meet nice people in L.A. but difficult to meet interesting people. "Nice is overrated, I would take interesting over nice any day." He said.

So how was I to explain to people how I was feeling and what I was going through? It has been so much more than a physical adaptation or an adjustment to new streets and buildings; it has been everything.