Hooray, I'm possibly on my way to becoming a whole person

I am literally on top of the world right now. Not exaggerating. I am not at all inside it (if we consider the earth, not including the atmosphere around it, to be the world), but on top of it, on the surface, actually 3 stories about the surface (and on a hill!). Take that, people living in the basement.

I haven't felt this great in a while. I am happy even though I am not deluding myself into thinking this feeling will last. It's cool if I feel less great later, as I am now reminded that of the possibilities... I'd call it a high, but the great thing about my current state is that it is not drug induced (though wine may have had a slight influence... but that was hours ago).

Thanks Cranna and others, I may finally be moving forward to whole personhood. I've always wanted to be a worthwhile human being.

Maybe one...

Flargh! Life sucks and then you die! Nobody loves me! I wish I was never born! I'm always going to be alone!

Ugh, it all sounds so trite. Stupid emotions, failing at originality, producing only platitudes....no matter how true they are.

Still, I do feel like not much good has come from this blog. I thought it would make me feel less alone, but despite this opportunity to purge stupid thoughts, I still feel about as odd, misunderstood, unable to relate and connect as ever. There is only one thing that this blog produced, but if that friendship lasts I suppose that's more than one has any right to expect from a blog.

Blargh and fuck corporate restaurants.

P.S. Oh I remember what I was sort of going to write. I just watched the Social Network and seemed to relate to the autistic-like main character to a stupid extent. It also reminded me that I've done nothing with my life and I wish I was cool enough to be in stupid secret clubs and know influential people, but despite no longer working on a farm I am still very much a peasant. If achieving shit is being in the right place at the right time, then I'm screwed because I never go anywhere and I'm always late. Fuck okcupid, too.

New Dorp: the Borough Dork

You know it's bad when I have to start a post with a disclaimer such as this: dear friends, do not take this post too seriously (if you read it at all), as these are all just the afterthoughts of a mad man. I do not consider you commodities or means to an end, unless of course you're one of those extremely disagreeable people I still hang out with on occasion for entirely selfish and utilitarian purposes (but you're probably not one of those).

Ugh, I hate uninspired writing. I wouldn't do this, but my internet wasn't working when I felt more strongly about what I'm about to say, so I had to wait... and I told myself I'd vent here. So here it is:

Staten Island is the fat kid of the boroughs. That isn't to say it is large, because being the fat kid (emphasis on “the”) is not about size, it's about standing out for being different. If boroughs had to go to middle or high school, I'd feel really sorry for S.I. Even the MTA, the butt of most NYC jokes, gets to poke fun at Staten Island, just look at the stops along the metro line (the ONLY line): Tompkinsville, Dongan Hills, New Dorp (really, there's more than one DORP?!), Great Kills (wtf Staten Island?), Huguenot (nah, this one is fine) and finally Tottenville. I like that it starts with a ville and ends with a ville, a real farm boy of a borough (with the obligatory dorping and great killing that farm boys are known for).

But this isn't about Staten Island. I'm just picking on it because I had to distract myself with the MTA Map so as not to think horrible things that I think when I'm not distracting myself (and it just so happens I left my book in a building where I am not welcome). The baleful (inside reference) thoughts I had were about life and friendship and both and neither. I'm tired of having to diversify my portfolio. I know it makes sense to do so when you're investing in the stock market – you don't want to put all of your money into the tech industry because potential great rewards come with great risks. If you put all your savings (say $1,000) in apple when I started college you would have 30 times that now (i.e., $30,000). Of course, if you put into a company that went bankrupt you'd lose all your savings – which is pretty terrible. So, logically, you should have put a part of your money in apple (or some other company that appealed to you), a part in Halliburton or Wal-Mart or McDonald's (or another evil corporation, and yes part of diversifying your portfolio is investing in evil companies – it's a category just like tech or food or finances), and a part in whatever other crap will make you feel secure. The problem with this metaphor, of course, is that with finances it is better to have some level of confidence that your investment will grow by 10% rather than go blindly into a double-or-nothing situation (hyperbole, I am aware). I do not believe, however, that the same can be said of friendship. I am profanely tired of investing (and I apologize if this offends anyone, it is not meant to do so, though I understand how it may be the most vile thing you've read) myself into numerous “friendships” in hopes that one or two of them will grow into something real. I almost used the word “worthwhile”, but I avoided it because I do not want to insult people that I spent time with – I do not want to imply that spending time with you is not worth my while (indeed, my “while” is pretty worthless so hanging out with you is at least as good as anything else I'm likely to do) – I want to be clear about that. What I am saying, I guess, is that I am thoroughly frustrated by my social investments going belly up, and in part I believe I'd be better off if I went socially bankrupt – lost all of my stock, filed chapter 7 or 11i (for imaginary) or whatever, was cleared of all my friendship debt and started fresh. Yet, I am too clever or too stupid/afraid to have that happen. I make sure to befriend new people every so often to keep me company when another shallow friendship inevitably burns out and I have an opening in my social calendar (by the way, that sounds more pretentious than intended – my social calendar is wide open – maybe 3-4 brief engagements a week). Might it not be better if I invest myself completely into one or two relationships? After all, investing all your money in one company does not raise the chances of that company succeeding (unless you're investing billions), but investing all of yourself into something actually increases chances of success. Then again, this is not elementary school and the “best friend forever” scenario I'm painting is coming up more grotesque than I intended...and, actually, quite insane sounding. AH, the ramblings of a mad man.

Perhaps, it's all about my insecurity (justified, mind you). Perhaps I am just tired of being Plan B. Of being second best (if I'm lucky). Of not being good enough. Perhaps I can no longer handle loving more than being loved. And oh I know how pathetic this sounds, it's one of the reasons it's been so long since I posted anything. But I yam what I yam, and writing it out is better than trying to fall asleep with stupid thoughts rushing blood through my temples. Perhaps I'm a fool for thinking that I am “diversifying my portfolio” when in fact I am looking for some real, not finding, but deciding that something is better than nothing and thus trying to piece together something significant from a dozen not-so-significant interactions. Alas, that is an impossible task. Perhaps something is not better than nothing. Perhaps the order of betterness is such: the real thing > nothing > something that isn't the real thing (but you try to pretend it may be?). Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

I am an immature child, am I not? I wouldn't even mind that so much, it's the not knowing that is so irksome.

it's true...alas or "fuck you, liver"

I am a sick man....  I am a spiteful man.  I am an unattractive man.  I believe my liver is diseased.  However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me.  I don't consult a doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be superstitious, but I am superstitious).  No, I refuse to consult a doctor from spite.  That you probably will not understand.  Well, I understand it, though.  Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely that I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well aware that I cannot "pay out" the doctors by not consulting them; I know better than anyone that by all this I am only injuring myself and no one else.  But still, if I don't consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad, well--let it get worse!

whoa, proofreading fail

I swear my posts look totally readable when I submit them... but reading back it makes little sense. Sorry.

Talking to Strangers

Preface: This post was supposed to be all about George R. Price, a prominent scientist of the 20th century who was interested in altruism and ended up slitting his throat with a possibly rusty pair of scissors.

--

(Price dedicated the later part of his life to helping the homeless, often inviting homeless people to live in his house. Sometimes, when the people in his house became a distraction, he slept in his office at the Galton Laboratory. He also gave up everything to help alcoholics, as he helped them they stole his belongings causing him to fall into depression.

He was eventually thrown out of his rented house due to a construction project in the area, which made him unhappy because he could no longer provide housing for the homeless. He moved to various squats in the North London area, and became depressed over Christmas, 1974. He later committed suicide in the New Year on the 6th January 1975 using a pair of nail scissors to slash his throat. His body was identified by his close colleague Bill Hamilton.^[10] Friends said he committed suicide because of despondency over his inability to continue helping the homeless.)

--

It kind of turned out a little different, but Price is still present in the shadow throughout my recollections.

My descent into madness...begin:

Slowly but surely I am growing mad (as in insane, not "angry" or the most common NYC usage "many", e.g., 'there's mad white people in Manhattan' actually means that there's a lot of whites, be they mad or not).

I've read that madness sets in slowly, but damn is it ever subtle. Today I decided it would be fun, educational and productive to speak with strangers. I don't mean to ask for directions, I mean to actually start meaningless conversations (that hopefully turn in to something meaningful - because let's face it, you can't actually start a meaningful conversation with a stranger... unless you're both crazy). I've met 4 complete strangers today, and got the sparksnotes to the autobiography of 3. In addition I met 1 stranger connected to a non-stranger and 3 relative strangers (of various positions on the relativity scale, but I have met all 3 of them before).

Let's focus on the complete strangers.

The first stranger was really asking to be talked to... actually quite literally, as I met her on okcupid. So I don't feel I was overstepping my bounds when we met for coffee and I proceeded to talk to her for almost 2 hours. Although I will probably never see her again (I liked her, but she is way too beautiful for me - also our personalities don't necessarily complement each other), I did get quite a lot of information about her life. I don't know that there's much I can do with it, but it was interesting at the time. In any case, this was one of the acceptable stranger-talks, even though going into I knew that chances were slim.

Now, this is where I am actually harassing random people.

I was stuck on the train and there was a guy listening to music across from me. After a few minutes of trying to fall asleep, and failing, I decided to get his attention. Now, there were already plenty of people complaining about the train. Yet I harassed this young man to ask him what he thought about the situation. Then our conversation escalated to where he was going, how he was lazy and didn't want to walk, and I took it further to ask where he lives, what he is doing in New York and so on. I learned he is from New Jersey, but moved to New York (175th, mind you) in October. He sort of has 2, but sort of 3-4, roommates. He used to work in Hoboken but the commute was killer. Now he ....[train noise].... a couple of ...[more train noise].... Which is cool. Well I am proud of myself for not lying about where I live and getting off at his stop. That seems like it could turn stalker-ish very quicky. But I wasn't into that. I was just trying to connect, you know? And I appreciate that he appreciates how difficult it is for teachers. Good bye, almost-Bieber-hair guy. [OK, NOTE, somehow blogger cut out a good portion of this story... I dare not rewrite it, though]

Second complete stranger I harassed started out with an innocent "which way is 1st ave?"... and I swear I didn't intend to go any further. Then, however, I asked for further directions.. perhaps he knew where this restaurant was. Turns out the bastard was going to the same place! It was fucking fate, dudes. I asked him if he was meeting the same people and he said "no". I guess that would be too much (and he agreed). Yet I proceeded to talk. Words would just come out, with very little meaning attached to them. I even mentioned that I am trying this new things where I talk to strangers. He seemed supportive and said it was a good life decision - it builds better communities or something. I didn't realize how crazy that sounded then.

Third notable stranger harassment was aimed at a middle-aged to almost elderly woman (she was in great shape though... sorry I didn't mean for that to sound sexual, I just meant that she wasn't frail just gray-haired) who was accompanied by a much younger man. Again, my body couldn't quite get into the rhythm of the stop-and-go train motion, so without a nap (and crap I JUST REALIZED I LEFT MY COPY OF THE ECONOMIST AT THAT INDIAN RESTAURANT! that's why I was bored!) I itched for a distraction. I asked a question I pretty much knew the answer to, or at least would know the answer very soon (and knowing it made no different at all). She was polite enough to respond. I then blabbed some things about public transportation and she indulged me in a conversation. It delved deeper into my history and hers (turns out she lived in Portland for 30 years and was actually a middle school teacher ), which was certainly more interesting than silence. She was quite excited to learn that I was from Portland and was a middle school teacher too. We talked about how great John's Landing was back then, and how much Parkrose sucked and continues to suck. She also explained that the younger man (who seemed to be in his 20s?) was actually her nephew and just graduated from high school. Then she told him that I was from Portland and when his reaction was complete disinterest - not even a polite "oh, what great fortune", just a blank stare - I realized I was growing mad (he saw me for the soon-to-be-completely crazy person who talks to strangers whether they respond or not.. like that guy on the L train).

Talking -> mumbling -> yelling -> cats

As far as I can tell, the only difference between me and crazy people is that I don't look crazy so people are more willing to talk to me. I've been trying to be friendlier to strangers, thinking it was going to make things better. I see now that it was just a subtle step into madness. It's not always clear when people enjoy a conversation and when they are just being polite. And now I am tolerated because I can carry a conversation and not sound crazy, but it's really only a few quick and sudden drops before I start mumbling nonsensically, then yelling obscenities and finally throwing cats at strangers.

not again!

I might be nursing a mental illness. Yet some people tell me that the way I feel is normal. So I'm either normal or crazy? If those are my two options... that kind of sucks. I might have to go with the Alice in Wonderland thing here.

I am never satisfied. At least not for long. I can be happy that 5 (or was it 6?) of my students moved up to the next level, but why wasn't it 7 or 8? I might have been happy that I live in NYC, but why do I live in a neighborhood where I really must direct attention to my feet and the ground in order to leave my soles dogshit-less? How do all of these things not drive people crazy?

Am I just lacking in confidence? But why the fuck wouldn't I? Why the fuck don't you have self-esteem issues? You've really got nothing better to do than read my blog? I'm nobody. The guy who writes for the NY Times is probably a nobody also, so it's not like I'm suggesting reading the news or OP-ED is a better use of your time. I mean, really, your time is pretty useless. Perhaps not as useless as mine, but still probably in that range. The most impact an average person can have on others is probably by going batshit crazy and creating another news-worthy crime scene (and no, I don't suggest it, support it or condone it).

But how do you find meaning in life? Is it just by becoming self-centered, with emphasis on instant gratification? I guess that still occasionally works for me. I can still find joy in a scoop of ice cream, a brand new toy, or an entertaining tv episode/movie/"other video". But it feels empty afterwards... like it was just a distraction.

Are people not bothered by the futility because they accept it or deny it? I don't know that I can deny it, it just seems to be evident in everything I do. Nothing I do makes a substantial difference. As for accepting it? How am I supposed to accept that everything I love (and myself) will die... I realize this seems like a very teen, if not pre-teen, realization.. but I am not sure it was ever resolved.

I've been lying in bed for the past fucking 2 hours trying to fall asleep so I can wake up early in the morning and go to work so that I can teach someone some basic reading and math, and then come back home and wait until it's late so I can try to fall asleep so I can wake up early in the morning and go to work so that I can teach someone some basic reading and math. Seem repetitive? Your life is probably less empty, but is it any less repetitive? Besides, I am simplifying. On weekends I occasionally go out, either on dates with strangers (that goes without saying, I suppose, as why would someone who knew me date me?) or to bars/restaurants/"events" with friends. It fills the time, and I find it enjoyable... I almost feel happy. Then, towards the end, I realize the time is running out and soon I will feel incredibly alone and hollow again. I don't know why no one else feels that. You know, I felt less that way when I was stressed and overworked...I had no time to myself.... hmm...

I predict 3 readers and 0 comments.