Simple Pleasures

She was beautiful in a very delicate way, wearing a simple dress with pockets, a collar and a belt. Her plain brown hair framed her face and fell over her shoulders, and thick-rimmed glasses rested on her pale, perfect nose. I didn't know anything about her, but I imagined her to be smart and sweet and quiet.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" The young man adjacent to me had caught me staring.

"Yes, she is."

The entire group chatting outside the coffee shop went silent and turned to look in. For a few moments, we all sat and enjoyed the sight of a pretty woman as she bought herself a coffee, exited and walked off into the chill morning.

I smiled. "The best part is, she's completely oblivious."

"Yeah, that is the best part."

Untitled

A well-groomed young black man talked about nothing in particular to anybody who would listen. He wore a blazer and jeans with a fedora and pointed boots. The glint of gold chains was visible through his mostly unbuttoned shirt. The rhythm of his speech was complimented by ZZ Top playing in the background, and he punctuated his thoughts with a puff of his cigarette. I thought to myself that if he were wearing shades he'd resemble Jones from A Confederacy of Dunces. Regardless, he was certainly a character. Anybody who loitered on the side of Buckeye Donuts at 3am on a Wednesday was a character.

I write a whole lot. Sometimes I am simply compelled to. The digital realm of my laptop is strewn with documents that I fill with a paragraph or two, or maybe just one lonely sentence, then saved to a folder akin to a junk drawer to be forgotten.

I doubt very much of my writing is good or interesting. I think I only write out of some bizarre form of self-preservation, that if I document small snippets of my life and thoughts that I've had, it will somehow make my life more meaningful or permanent. The thought of forgetting bits and pieces of my own life is frightening to me.

Or maybe it's just narcissism.

"How To Pick The Right Guy"

I recently ran into this blog, which is sad, hilarious, and incendiary.

And in response I offer some of my own advice when searching for a partner, of any gender. Not necessarily what to look for, because that is for the most part a matter of taste, and for that you can use your own judgement and good sense. But this is my insight on certain behaviors and what they mean for you.

1. Previous relationship experience.

I don't know about you, but when talking to someone significantly younger than myself, I find this fact floats around the forefront of my mind. There exists some sort of bias there, because I feel like I should inherently know more than them, though this isn't necessarily true. Age, experience, maturity and wisdom are all separate things, and do not always go hand in hand.

There is a reason we study history, and that is because history repeats itself. People are bound to make the same mistakes time and time again before they really learn from them. So pay attention. Did your prospective mate have that one really big heartbreak? How many times did they try again with their ex before they moved on? How recent was it? You may very well be the rebound, and they may very well not be over that one love. That first is a bitch to get over.

How much experience has your prospective mate had in general? How many serious relationships, short term relationships, sexual partners? Do you guys agree on what qualifies "a lot" of sexual partners? How many people have they dated? How many times have they been in love? If you two are significantly unmatched in any of these areas, a red flag should go up. There is an appeal to going after someone with less experience: they seem more pure, less callous, less likely to break your heart. But in truth, these folk are very unstable and more likely to do so, because they don't yet have enough experience to know what they want out of a partner or a relationship.

2. "You should _____."

You should pay your bills on time. You should try eating sea urchin. You should grow a goatee. I don't care what the blank is, big or small, good or bad; someone you are interested in for a serious relationship should never tell you that you should do something. This is a sign of someone trying to change you, and that is never acceptable. Asking someone to try something new? Sure. Encouraging someone who wants to change something about themself? Great. But you the word "should" is one to be wary of, along with all other unsolicited advice.

3. Influences.

Be aware of the influences that face you, and try to maintain your logic and reasoning. Be aware that when you do feel a connection with someone, it may be for reasons other than compatibility. Keep your head on straight and make sure you share the most important things, like aspirations, philosophies, and values. Do you both believe in god? How do you deem something morally wrong? What do you want to accomplish in your lifetime? Can you agree to disagree? Do you plan to circumcise your kids? Someone can give you warm fuzzies fucking galore, but that wears off after awhile, no matter who they are. When the passion fades, will the intimacy and companionship hold together? Will you even be the same person by then?

Everything else is... really just a matter of taste. I personally try to stay away from anybody that likes Glenn Beck or Papa Roach. You can nitpick a million little things, but it's all small beans. You have to know what you want, realize what you have, and recognize the other party's stance regarding these.

A Most Disconcerting Feeling

I was napping on the large circular chair in my living room when I felt a hand on my arm. I forced my eyes open groggily to see the person was standing behind me in such a way that I could only see their hand. It was a man's hand, rather tan. I turned my head to see who it was but got increasingly groggy as he entered my vision, and my eyes were forced closed again. This bothered me, but I tried to ignore it and fell back asleep.

I awoke to the hand on my arm once more. "Look at me," a voice said. A familiar voice, but I couldn't pin it down. I turned my head slowly and the same thing happened, something forced my eyes closed by the time I was facing where he should be. I began to panic, and tried my very hardest to open them, and I was able to see through for just a moment. Where I was facing, there was nobody, but the feeling of the hand remained. I could see only static, nothingness, a non-entity. My eyes shut again but my heart raced because I knew what I was facing was not possible, and it was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen.

"I can't." I felt extremely agitated and started to cry. I felt like I was suffocating.

"Why won't you look at me?"

"...I see death."


And then I awoke properly.
I was scared to look behind me.

Desires and Convictions: When Being Childish is a Good Thing

When I announced to my friends and acquaintances that I was going to be adopting a puppy, I was met with a barrage of negativity and seemingly well-intended (though unsolicited) advice. A fairly large number of people older and wiser than I told me repeatedly that is was a bad idea, that it would tie me down and just about destroy my life. I did let it get to me somewhat, enough to crush some of my initial excitement, but I still went through with it, because I really wanted a goddamn dog.

Roughly one year later, I have a healthy and happy dog named Fortinbras sharing a house with me. He has destroyed numerous possessions, caused a fair share of trouble, and been quite an inconvenience at times. He also curls up with me in bed at night, and makes me laugh and smile every time I come home or take him out, as well as many times in between. He is the only thing in my life that consistently makes me happy, and I love him to death. He satisfies my instinct to nurture as well as my need for companionship. Adopting him was arguably the best decision I ever made.

When we are children we are told we can do anything we set our minds to, and encouraged to follow our dreams no matter what. We want to be things like astronauts, doctors, ballerinas, inventors. When we get older though, realism comes into play. "I'm not physically built to do this," or "I'm not smart enough to do that," or "I'll never make a living that way." But more often than not, it is merely a case of "I don't want to put in the effort."

We develop schemata for ourselves that seem to fall into two main categories. Those who believe they can't, and those who believe they can. The way we think shapes our decisions, actions and behaviors so drastically that it has a significant effect on our futures, and our lives are directed thusly. So much that, if you expect some new food to taste bad, then it probably will, and if you're hoping that girl you meet on your blind date will be awesome, she probably will be. Many people give up the things they want in favor of a "smarter" decision. They favor settling for something less instead of using it as a stepping stone for something better. They develop notions of what they "should" do and what is easier to do and set themselves up wasted potential without even realizing it. Oftentimes they simply let a fear of failure hold them back.

Then there are people who keep dreaming, who never lose sight of what they want, and constantly try to figure out how to get there. A fine example is Randy Pausch, an extraordinary man who managed to fulfill most all of his desires in his short lifetime, including working for Disney and being launched into space. People of this sort hate to be told there is something they can't or shouldn't do, on principal, and will often go out of their way to prove themselves. They may develop a pattern perceived as childish stubbornness, being drawn to goals specifically because of the notion that they're the sorts of things they're expected not to do. These people want things, and they are motivated and invigorated by frustration and dissatisfaction, and their convictions are made stronger by people who disagree. And with enough effort, they can usually get shit done and make themselves happy.

I have realized something about myself recently, which is that I fall into the second category. After going for a long time with no desires in particular, I find myself wanting things because for very strange reasons. Why does joining the army veterinary corp sound so enticing? Because it's precisely the sort of thing that is not expected of me. Why did did I get a dog? In part, because I was told not to. And I don't regret a thing.

What kind of person are you?

Back of House

I stared at the raw chicken in front of me, lying on its back with its legs splayed.
There's something obscene about this.
Knot, loop, loop. Knot, twist, flip. Loop, loop, knot.
A nicely trussed chicken if I do say so myself.
The phrase "chicken bondage" flit through my head and I smiled. I used my index finger to push underneath the skin on each breast and make a pocket, which I then filled with two garlic cloves. Positioned properly these looked somewhat inappropriate as well.
I never knew working in a kitchen would be so graphic.

"HANDS," someone shouts in front of the line. That means someone working the front of house has a plate to deliver.

The young but motherly hispanic woman training me today seasons the prepared chickens with a spice mix and then impales them on rods three at a time. She mounts them in the rotisserie machine. I can tell she's a tad impatient with my speed. In broken English she suggests I go get drinks for the employees working the line. When I finish doing so I walk up and look at her with an unsure smile. "What can I do now?"

She pulls down a recipe book and flips to a page. "Make this, half." I need the prepared cream sauce, peppers, and spinach. I venture into the walk-in fridge but I'm not sure where these things are. Everything is hand labeled in very sloppy writing. I take a tub of white cream and a tub of peppers and bring them to the prep area. The woman looks over, shakes her head, and takes the tubs from me without a word. She walks into the fridge, and comes back out with different white cream, different peppers, and a glob of spinach. She plops them in front of me and goes back to her business.

"Sorry, but you said to make half the recipe, right?" She looks over and nods. I have been double or triple checking on everything I do to be sure I don't screw up. Which I suppose is very annoying to the people around me, but I think it works out alright, as I've yet to screw up. I weigh out the ingredients, do some chopping, and mix everything together. It gets poured into a prep tub, labeled, and stored back in the walk-in.

I am entirely happy doing prep work, because even though it doesn't require much thought, it means I'm not working the dishtank. Really though, prep means I get to practice a variety of basic but important cooking skills. Do you know how hard it is to clean and cut butternut squash? Very hard. I weigh out nineteen pounds of black beans for the veggie burgers. Then I get to cut up the pickles and turkey with the electric slicer, which is a whole lot of fun.

I think to myself while I cube the turkey, anyone who claims to enjoy cooking is admitting that they like to play with knives and fire and dead things.

The third person working prep is a grumpy but cuddly hispanic man, and the sweet potato hash he is making smells delicious. I sneak tastes of the finished hash in the fridge every time I go in to fetch something. The woman leads me over to the baking section of the kitchen to show me how to prepare the parbake dough. She chops it up one 6oz chunk at a time and tosses the pieces around the wooden counter. I watch as she picks them up, flings them off her fingers in front of her, and kneads them into smooth little balls before plopping them in trays to rise. I follow suit, kneading them two at a time with curved fingers in a circular motion. Christ the culinary world is dirty.

It's time to clean up and I stand around awkwardly, not sure what to do with myself. The man tries to give me some direction but I can't understand him in the slightest. The woman pulls me aside and shows me how to separate the clarified butter. Do you know what clarified butter is? Me neither, but it smells delicious. I accidentally splash some butter onto the low shelves and curse myself silently. It could have been worse I guess.

We scrub down the walls, the counters, everything. We sanitize the knives and send every part of the kitchen possible to carry through the wash. "CORNER," I shout every time I carry a piece of equipment around to the dishtank. We splash soapy water on the floor until it resembles a small ocean, and squeegee it in waves toward the main drain. After we clean out the drain we're done for the night. Between my sore feet and slippery shoes, I am walking like an old lady, but I make it to the computer to clock out.

I never imagined working in a kitchen would be like this. I think I like it.

Intended Ethos

This is perhaps the most well recognized image of the indie rock band Modest Mouse, a group with humble beginnings in suburban Washington. What do we notice about this picture? In the background is a dingy, dull yellow wall, and the borders seem to contain some numbers, perhaps to indicate that the image was spliced from a reel of film? We see Isaac Brock, the writer and lead singer, holding up a gramophone horn to his ear as if it were an ear horn. The rest of the band members are gathered around the horn, three peering into it, one shouting at it, and the other looking pleasantly bemused. They are all well dressed yet casual, and Isaac has his sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos.

The members of Modest Mouse, judging by this picture, are obviously not high-rollers. They look quite ordinary, and seem to be displaying different personality traits among them. The three peering into the horn are curious, the one shouting is bold, the one looking amused is critical. Most of the focus however, is on Isaac, whose face is aimed toward the camera in an intense expression of thought. Because he is in fact holding a gramophone horn, it symbolizes that he is the core of the group, and that their music comes from him. Perhaps his thoughts and views are exiting his head through the horn, for all the world to hear. And some people might be critical, and some people may not listen, but the majority seems to pay attention.

More obvious than this, Isaac is at the same time using the horn to listen. It is a balance. It shows that he does not let his opinions out without observing the world carefully, and by his expression, pondering it thoroughly. The picture overall reflects the style of the group very well, which is humble simplicity with underlying levels of complexity. The group sings songs about real life issues, sometimes silly, sometimes serious, and often with many metaphors and hidden meanings, so it seems appropriate that they are well recognized in the manner they are depicted here. And Isaac Brock is an ordinary person, who maybe just takes a closer look at things, and works a little harder to make other people see too.