Sometimes I wish I was stupider.
Really. There are days I wish my mind would just turn off. Times I wish I had less ambition. Moments when I believe that I would be truly happier if I didn't think so damned much.
If I could just slog to work, then slog back home, eat dinner, turn on the tube and zone out for three hours or so until it was time to go to sleep to start the cycle all over again, I might have less stress. If I had nothing to strive for then I'd never be disappointed.
It seems that all I've been doing lately is fighting, both against myself and outside forces. I'm trying to get published and that's a definite uphill battle, I've been trying to get a decent job close to home - good luck on that - I've been trying to put together a business plan for a new venture my brother-in-law and I are starting, and that's a struggle. I know, the less-trodden path is the more rewarding, etc. etc. etc. But does it have to be such a rocky, frustrating road? Can't it be just a little bit easier?
I know - I'll commit a crime and get put in prison. I'm thinking some non-violent white-collar crime, nothing with blood or where anyone gets injured, that's just not right. There's no ambition in prison but to get out, which will happen eventually. Plus the days are nice and regimented, it's all done for you.
On second thought... if I went into prison the first thing I'd probably do is plan to break out. And since I'd have nothing but time I'd probably accomplish it. But then I'd get sloppy and get put back in the klink for making a stupid mistake like using my real name on a lease or something.
Better to walk the straight and narrow right now. It might be frustrating and full of disappointment, but at least it's honest.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Why Can't I Remember?
Has someone ever introduced you to a friend, colleague, relative, or what have you, and you shake their hands, look them in the eye and exchange pleasantries, only to then promptly and completely forget their name? And I mean the instant they turn away you have no idea what their name is, and if someone put a gun to your head and demanded you say that person's name you'd be a dead man?
Happens to me all the time. Just this evening, as a matter of fact, I was at a party where I knew exactly two (2) people. I got there kind of early - as always - so there were only a few others around. My friends introduced me, and I talked with these people, sometimes at length, about everything from football to politics to the parking ticket I was sure to get (which I did). As the crowd got larger I even introduced myself around, making small talk, getting to know people, and generally being a gracious guest.
But I will be damned if I can tell you anyone's name. They said it when they introduced themselves, the hosts called them by name, I even used their names in conversation, trying to reinforce the association in my head. But when I try to think back and remember even the first syllable of a name, my mind is a total blank.
Nothing.
This is a problem. Why can't I remember these names? And it's not just with new people, it's with old people too. I'll get Facebook friend invites, and I can see that this person is 'friends' with people I'm 'friends' with, but I cannot for the life of me remember who that person might be. One of my friends from high school who also went to college with me has a freaky Rain-Man memory for all sorts of things, so I'll turn to him sometimes, or my sister has a high school yearbook from my Senior year she'll look people up in to help me out. Sometimes I'll end up remembering these people, vaguely, but most of the time I don't.
So if you see me on the street, say 'hi' to me. I'll probably smile and wave back. But don't expect me to remember your name.
Happens to me all the time. Just this evening, as a matter of fact, I was at a party where I knew exactly two (2) people. I got there kind of early - as always - so there were only a few others around. My friends introduced me, and I talked with these people, sometimes at length, about everything from football to politics to the parking ticket I was sure to get (which I did). As the crowd got larger I even introduced myself around, making small talk, getting to know people, and generally being a gracious guest.
But I will be damned if I can tell you anyone's name. They said it when they introduced themselves, the hosts called them by name, I even used their names in conversation, trying to reinforce the association in my head. But when I try to think back and remember even the first syllable of a name, my mind is a total blank.
Nothing.
This is a problem. Why can't I remember these names? And it's not just with new people, it's with old people too. I'll get Facebook friend invites, and I can see that this person is 'friends' with people I'm 'friends' with, but I cannot for the life of me remember who that person might be. One of my friends from high school who also went to college with me has a freaky Rain-Man memory for all sorts of things, so I'll turn to him sometimes, or my sister has a high school yearbook from my Senior year she'll look people up in to help me out. Sometimes I'll end up remembering these people, vaguely, but most of the time I don't.
So if you see me on the street, say 'hi' to me. I'll probably smile and wave back. But don't expect me to remember your name.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Say My Name
I have one of those names that's easy for people to get wrong at first. Dom, Dane, Dave, Doug, Dan, Donovan, I've heard them all many times. Usually I'll just correct the person if they call me the wrong name, they laugh self-consciously and then remember my real name from then on. The only time there's a problem is when I don't correct the person. And that's where I am now.
My next door neighbor calls me Dan. It started years ago, when I left him a note on his car (it was leaking bright green coolant) and signed my name. My letter 'o' looked like an 'a' evidently, and he called me Dan. I didn't correct him because he was going to move out before too long. At least that's how I understood things. Didn't quite work out that way.
Fast forward a few months and he's still living in the building. We see each other and he calls me Dan again. And again I don't correct him. I don't know why.
Fast forward a few years, and he's still calling me Dan to this day. I only talk to him every few months, and he takes pride in using my name, he says it often when we converse. But it's the wrong name.
I've let it go on so long now that I can't correct him, because rather than laughing self-consciously he'd demand to know why I let him call me Dan for years now. And he'd be right, it's entirely my fault. So now I dread the times when he wants to talk to me, because I know he'll call me Dan over and over again, and I know that I'll be unable to correct him, either because I want to spare his feelings or my own, the result is the same.
Maybe he'll move out soon.
My next door neighbor calls me Dan. It started years ago, when I left him a note on his car (it was leaking bright green coolant) and signed my name. My letter 'o' looked like an 'a' evidently, and he called me Dan. I didn't correct him because he was going to move out before too long. At least that's how I understood things. Didn't quite work out that way.
Fast forward a few months and he's still living in the building. We see each other and he calls me Dan again. And again I don't correct him. I don't know why.
Fast forward a few years, and he's still calling me Dan to this day. I only talk to him every few months, and he takes pride in using my name, he says it often when we converse. But it's the wrong name.
I've let it go on so long now that I can't correct him, because rather than laughing self-consciously he'd demand to know why I let him call me Dan for years now. And he'd be right, it's entirely my fault. So now I dread the times when he wants to talk to me, because I know he'll call me Dan over and over again, and I know that I'll be unable to correct him, either because I want to spare his feelings or my own, the result is the same.
Maybe he'll move out soon.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Good Times, Good Times
Recently I had the chance to reconnect with some very old friends. And by that I mean they got old, I'm still barely out of college. I noticed that when I'm with these guys we revert to the same age we were when we had the best experiences.
For example, my best friend from elementary through high school is now a radiologist and a professor in medical school, a respected, important physician who takes his job very, very seriously indeed. I met him down in San Diego a few weeks back where he was attending a wedding, and we hung out for most of the day. Keep in mind that we've both been adults for the same amount of time, and yet when we get together all of a sudden we're both eleven years old again. Burping out loud in public, farting, making fun of other people, it's like no time at all had passed since fourth grade. We even did Mad-Libs - this time on his iPhone - and they were hilarious. 'Greasy' is still a funny word, as are lunch ladies in general.
When I was in Texas I hung out with one of my friends who's become like family to me, we met just out of college when we were both waiters. And what did we do? We went to the same places we used to back then, the same comic book shop, the same local restaurant, the same doughnut shop. The only thing different was the fact that his car wasn't broken down and he was driving me around instead of me driving him. Oh, and he now shaves his head because he's going bald. But other than that and the fact that we weren't wearing waiter's uniforms, the scene could have been from years ago.
Same thing when I recently met a high school friend who's been raising a family in London for eleven years. What did we do after lunch? We went to a used record store. Just like high school.
Maybe this kind of reversion is unavoidable. Maybe familiar faces spark familiar patterns in our brains, and we just fall back into comfortable routines. Everything else falls away, better jobs and personal tragedies, divorces and marriages, deaths and births. We're back to the same point in time when things were best, between us and our friends and also in our lives at that particular point in time.
While it's great to reconnect with friends and revisit the past, this makes me realize I'm not doing nearly enough to connect with people right here and right now. Gotta fix that.
For example, my best friend from elementary through high school is now a radiologist and a professor in medical school, a respected, important physician who takes his job very, very seriously indeed. I met him down in San Diego a few weeks back where he was attending a wedding, and we hung out for most of the day. Keep in mind that we've both been adults for the same amount of time, and yet when we get together all of a sudden we're both eleven years old again. Burping out loud in public, farting, making fun of other people, it's like no time at all had passed since fourth grade. We even did Mad-Libs - this time on his iPhone - and they were hilarious. 'Greasy' is still a funny word, as are lunch ladies in general.
When I was in Texas I hung out with one of my friends who's become like family to me, we met just out of college when we were both waiters. And what did we do? We went to the same places we used to back then, the same comic book shop, the same local restaurant, the same doughnut shop. The only thing different was the fact that his car wasn't broken down and he was driving me around instead of me driving him. Oh, and he now shaves his head because he's going bald. But other than that and the fact that we weren't wearing waiter's uniforms, the scene could have been from years ago.
Same thing when I recently met a high school friend who's been raising a family in London for eleven years. What did we do after lunch? We went to a used record store. Just like high school.
Maybe this kind of reversion is unavoidable. Maybe familiar faces spark familiar patterns in our brains, and we just fall back into comfortable routines. Everything else falls away, better jobs and personal tragedies, divorces and marriages, deaths and births. We're back to the same point in time when things were best, between us and our friends and also in our lives at that particular point in time.
While it's great to reconnect with friends and revisit the past, this makes me realize I'm not doing nearly enough to connect with people right here and right now. Gotta fix that.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
The PuercoDrome
I have a friend who owns some land in Mexico, a rancho down in the Yucatan, where there is jungle; monkeys live in the jungle (monkeys, not apes: monkeys have tails, and no designs to take over for humanity after a nuclear holocaust). Among other business propositions, my friend raises pigs. So one day I got to thinking, which is always fun for me but sometimes not for others.
My reasoning goes like this:
1. Until you sell them for slaughter, pigs aren't much fun. Sure, they eat a lot and they crap a lot and they sleep a lot, but those things aren't fun unless I'm the one doing them.
2. I remember seeing pig races at the Texas State Fair. That was fun. Those little piglets sure loved Oreos. But then again, who doesn't?
3. Why not have the pigs on my friend's rancho - pigs who are otherwise doing a whole lot of nothing until it's time to become pork chops - work for their room and board?
4. Since there are a lot of monkeys in the Mexican jungle we need to get them in on the action too. Any animal with thumbs is an animal that can work.
So an idea formed in my brain: why not have pig races, like I saw at the Texas State Fair, but this time, since we had easy access to monkeys, we could have pig races with monkey jockeys.
Think about it, an oval track, like a miniature Circus Maximus, where the pigs are racing for Oreos, and the monkeys are racing for honor. We could even dress the monkeys up in little cowboy costumes, or little jockey outfits, or even in Ben Hur period dress and re-enact the movie.
When I tried to convince my friend that this was not only a fun idea it would be a money-making proposition, he didn't want any part of it. Wouldn't even entertain the idea, let alone make up blueprints, plan the stadium, or approach the bank about a small business loan. Trying to get sponsors to buy skyboxes was right out, too.
Another of my beautiful ideas dies on the vine.
But I haven't heard from my friend in a while, there's every possibility he's running pig races from a PuercoDrome in the middle of the Yucatan at this very minute.
My reasoning goes like this:
1. Until you sell them for slaughter, pigs aren't much fun. Sure, they eat a lot and they crap a lot and they sleep a lot, but those things aren't fun unless I'm the one doing them.
2. I remember seeing pig races at the Texas State Fair. That was fun. Those little piglets sure loved Oreos. But then again, who doesn't?
3. Why not have the pigs on my friend's rancho - pigs who are otherwise doing a whole lot of nothing until it's time to become pork chops - work for their room and board?
4. Since there are a lot of monkeys in the Mexican jungle we need to get them in on the action too. Any animal with thumbs is an animal that can work.
So an idea formed in my brain: why not have pig races, like I saw at the Texas State Fair, but this time, since we had easy access to monkeys, we could have pig races with monkey jockeys.
Think about it, an oval track, like a miniature Circus Maximus, where the pigs are racing for Oreos, and the monkeys are racing for honor. We could even dress the monkeys up in little cowboy costumes, or little jockey outfits, or even in Ben Hur period dress and re-enact the movie.
When I tried to convince my friend that this was not only a fun idea it would be a money-making proposition, he didn't want any part of it. Wouldn't even entertain the idea, let alone make up blueprints, plan the stadium, or approach the bank about a small business loan. Trying to get sponsors to buy skyboxes was right out, too.
Another of my beautiful ideas dies on the vine.
But I haven't heard from my friend in a while, there's every possibility he's running pig races from a PuercoDrome in the middle of the Yucatan at this very minute.
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