Is This For Real?

Hypothetical situation...

I want to you "close your eyes". Of course if you do that, then you can't continue reading so I want you to act like you're closing your eyes, clear your head and imagine this scenario.

You got up today and you're in a good mood. Today's your day off. You've got a couple of lazy hazy errands to run in the AM, and then you're going to meet up with friends later and spend the rest of the day out and about. So you're in the shower, trying to piece together your outfit for the day; something a little nicer than casual and easy enough to move in but bottom line: something you know you'll look good in. It's always so much more enjoyable spending some extra time in the mirror when you don't have to go to work...

Your gas tank is on E, so first stop is to fill up. The attendant at the gas station who you're pretty sure hasn't showered in a week & in between ringing up customers is whooping at his 5 inch portable TV over Jerry Springer re-runs, is giving you bedroom eyes while trying to lick his lips like LL. Even LL hardly does it anymore. "Ok," you think, "Whatever".

Next stop is the grocery store and as you're checking expiration dates on a half gallon of milk, a gentlemen who could easily pass for an extended relative of Frodo Baggins begins asking you random questions like, "Do you eat pork and have you ever seen the Queen Mary in Long Beach, CA?"#ifeelweirdnow



Finally, you make a last minute decision to grab a quick workout so you won't feel so bad about the confectionery nose-dive you fully intend on making later on. Now, all of the hot-shot 25-30something guys are spending more time looking at themselves in the mirror than at you but once upstairs on the treadmill when you're spitting all over yourself in the middle of an interval sprint, a very nice young man who could fit into your jeans twice decides to unveil his soul and reveal to you that he's been admiring you from afar for quite some time now.

Math is not my forte, I will admit. But looking at the equation here, 1+1+1=3, right?

Question: Should we determine our individual level of physical attractiveness based on the type of people we get consistent attention from?

The Essence of We

Ok, I'm sure all of us at one point have heard the phrase, "When you have sex with someone, you take a piece of that person with you and they take a piece of you with them."

Essence of self is lost.

So the more one has sex with different people, the more one loses themselves, giving their essence away.

Apparently then, in today's world, the reason SEX is so important, so necessary, so rushed into with a blaze of breathless excitement is because we have given so much of ourselves away already, there just happens to be nothing left to offer. To share. To discover. To talk about. In truth, what else is there besides sex? Honestly. Because without the protection and guidance of Christ, traveling bleary-eyed down the pathway of life we manage to back ourselves into a corner, empty-handed, having by this time, slowly poured out the "essence" vial that contained who we were and what we consisted of; Through, quite simply, the multiple acts of sex itself. . .

Perplexing

I have no idea if anyone else feels this way or if I'm about to stomp all over a verbal landmine; well I probably am. This is completely off the topic of what I originally sat down to write about but whatever...I'll get back to it. As with almost every other human being in the world, I have a bunch of weighty and not so important thoughts trouncing around in my head and I'll hold them in for months, sometimes years for fear of once expounding upon them in public, I'll be met with a silence that could send Edward Cullen to the grave and then I'll be forced to wallow under a label of ignorance for the rest of my life.

For instance, when I was in college, I took a journalism class in which our professor was a huge U2 fan and a total "favoritist". Not sure whether or not Webster agrees with me on that one but given the fact that "bootylicious" was added to his esteemed pages a few years ago, I won't let it worry me too much. He wouldn't even try to cover up the fact that the prettiest girl in class could have defined journalism as the act of hiding a bunch of diaries under her bed; he still would've given her an A. Needless to say, I tried really hard to pay attention and would agonize through the duration of a class period on whether or not to contribute to a group discussion. Every now and then, I'd luck out and sound halfway intelligent, but most of the time I'd start talking and simultaneously battle out an inner dialogue running through my head. You know, that exact moment when you open your mouth to say something, knowing you have no idea what the heck you're talking about but you have to keep going (otherwise instead of coming across as merely being nonsensical, you would look like Emma from Glee, fully operating in her spiritual gift of social awkwardness). So, you just have to Thelma & Louise it; finishing your incoherent thought, tearing off the side of the cliff, hair tousling in slow motion, perishing in fall explosion of flames brighter than a 4th of July fireworks finale. All in the time frame of 5 seconds. And everyone's staring at you looking slightly confused and uncomfortable. Anyways, I started writing today with a completely different thought on my mind...about using the people who approach us as a gauge to determine our own attractiveness. A fatalistic attitude??

Progression & Transition

Well, I think it's safe to say that if I were getting paid to blog, I wouldn't be making much.

I'm am happy, though, to announce the slight improvement of my circumstances; I now have a part-time job (cheers and applause in background) and am also helping out at my church with the high school group. I can't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the latter part of that sentence because ever since I graduated from high school, I've avoided all things concerning it. Mostly due to the fact that my experience during those years was horrendous...to say the least (except for senior year; that was kinda cool). And without darkening the skies in Disney-esque fashion with my tales of woeful heartache, ending with an uncomfortably long silence, I'll keep it simple. The thing is, as a family, we moved around quite a bit growing up. I believe I've said that already in an earlier entry. Every two to three years, we were packing it up and heading off somewhere new. As a result, I was always trying to morph into whatever my surroundings called for, never really catching up. So that whole phrase the Saturday morning cartoons & my parents would throw at me, "Just be yourself," was confusing and seemingly unrealistic. *Yes, let the record state: Moving affected me a lot. Apparently.*

I recently read an article in which the actress Naomi Watts was being interviewed and she stated it very nicely, "It came to a point where my personality was so diluted because I was trying to please...and in the process [of] doing too much pleasing I was losing myself."

Soo, that being said, as the years have gone by, I can now fully understand why up until this point, mention of high school activities or being around people within the delicate age of adolescence have left me mildly horrified & skittish.

But, I've survived my initiation and am still going strong. It's been said before that you spend most of your adult life getting over your childhood and it seems God used that exact reason to lead me here. If I can come alongside a few girls and help them realize that there are indeed, other boys in the world, just as cute as that one; that their life won't end if they can't reach 862 Facebook friends 3 months into their freshman year; it's ok to rock curly hair even if all of their friends have straight hair, and that God has a specific pathway for their lives.

I think if I could help just one student believe that this year, I'd be happy.

There and Back Again

Arrrggghh!!

Long time, no see, eh? That would be the case if you were in fact, looking. As it turns out, my "oh-so-clever" digital homage to the introduction and settling into New York has taken quite an interesting turn. The Great City did indeed grant me access initially; proceeded to swirl me around in her mouth a bit for taste and ultimately decided to spit me out on the sand; thus rejecting me the chance to learn of her gems, rabbit holes and everything in between. For the present. I hope.

Naturally, this leads me to wondering how many people try once, then try, try again and still yet again to stay planted there. Not that I have an uber-dramatic story to explain having to leave. It was simply one of those things that happens with a leap of faith...

Much like the rest of the world, I was affected by the downturn in the economy. Lost my job; lost my house. And the past couple of years have been an exciting, unpredictable, terrifying & hope-shattering experience all wrapped up in a not-so-pretty package. Matter of fact, you know like one of those nice, neat boxes you take to the shipping facility and send off yourself? Either because it's too bulky to travel with or you don't want to pay the checked baggage fee? And then when it shows up, it's so tattered and beaten it looks like the delivery guys have been living out their childhood fantasies of playing in World Cup by using your package rather than a soccer ball?

Yup, that's what my past two years have looked like.

So, alive and well, I'm back at home. "Home" as in under my parents roof after 8 years of being out on my own. For those of you that can relate, let's have a pow-wow. But I should say that it isn't all bad. I'm in Atlanta, I'm with my family and I can go anywhere from here.

Hey There

Needless to say, it's been a while since we last spoke...

I try to keep in mind that there are millions of people out there who are just like me; freshly re-located, adjusting wide-eyed and mouth agape to the nuances of the city therefore making it quite easy for me to write about things that are award-winningly "unspectacular." I'd like to avoid that.

So, I strive to write only about things that seem interesting and easy to relate to which surprisingly enough, can be somewhat of a challenge. I mean, who hasn't gotten completely soaked while waiting too close to the curb for a bus in the rain; shocked when the wheel of a truck splashes an invisible lake on you? I thought stuff like that only happened in movies. Seriously. And doesn't everyone have neighbors upstairs that have tricked themselves into believing that no one lives underneath them, so they think nothing of walking around in ski boots at 4:30am and playing dance revolution 19 hours a day? That's normal for everybody, right?

Sigh

For people living in New York, it is.

The thing that I've been wondering lately is how many people end up doing what they actually came for? Do those that come for love really end up finding it? Hmmm, ask a few girls on the street what they think of "love" in this town and you'll most likely get a more heated response than you would of expected. Is that just here, or is that everywhere? Take myself...I wanted to move here ten years ago, right after I graduated from college. But, I didn't have any money and one "saving up" job turned into another and before I knew it, I ended up in a field I wasn't so passionate about. Fast forward several years and here I am, where I would've liked to of been in 2000. I can't help but ask myself, "What if?" What if you could go back ten years and change your mind on a big decision you made? How different would your life be, do you think?

"If I Can Make it There, I'll Make it Anywhere..."

In the 14th Street-Union Square subway, there's a man with Alanis Morrisette hair that wears a black leotard, doing an Usher-esque sideways shimmy and high kicks while shredding chords on his electrical violin.

There's a 3-man calypso band that plays in the 42nd Street station who's cheerful rhythm's are usually accompanied by a delighted, yet slightly inebriated woman who'll dance along on the platform, unconcerned by the fact that her train has come and gone, twice.

I've seen a boy who looks to be no older than 10 years old playing concierto's by Mozart, Dad quietly observant a few feet away, on a keyboard bigger than he is at 34th Street.

And that's just underground...

I spilled half of my coffee the other day while reading in Central Park being startled by an unexpected yell piercing the air, followed by "Thriller" booming so loudly on portable speakers, you could feel the bass vibrating through the wooden benches. A Michael Jackson impersonator/B-boy crew. Go figure.

When I think of New York, I imagine the best of the best. The most talented, the most competitive, the most heart-wrenching battle of the survival of the fittest. People from all over the world come here to succeed; make a way for themselves & give their dreams a chance to take flight. And there are indeed a few who go on to to gain international recognition; their faces on the cover of UsWeekly and a 2-minute chat with Matt Lauer on the Today show.

But more often, there are those who push for years. Never getting that "Oh-so-exciting phone call from a famous director or the accidental notice of a multi-million dollar business executive. But they've managed to become celebrities here. Of the people.

There's a man by the name of Craig Schwartz, more commonly known as "RadioMan" who years ago started riding his bike around town from the Bronx to Staten Island popping up on different movie sets; earning his nickname by wearing a radio around his neck everywhere he goes. Irony should have it that even though he appears to be homeless, he probably gets more onscreen work than the typical struggling NY actor (most recently in the Leonardo Dicaprio film, Shutter Island!).

One fact I've come to realize in my short time here is this: You could have dreams of moving here and opening a knitting school for the blind and thoroughly fail in the attempt. But New York city seems to be the only place on earth where you can get right back up and open a disco-themed knitting school for the blind and take off like a rocket.

Mean Dogs

Here I am traipsing down the sidewalk, on my way to the laundry mat, wrestling with my "granny" cart which has been painfully stuffed to it's maximum...Next thing you know, every single one of my unmentionables has spilled onto the street; a few of them skipping down the road having a colorful conversation with the wind. "How did this happen?", you ask? Simple. Your's truly was running from a DOG. Yes, a 20 pound bulldog that had spotted me from afar and had frozen into "attack" stance, waiting for me; Clint Eastwood style.

Observation: There are a few things that stand close to a New Yorker's heart: food, art, social networking, literature & their DOGS. The only problem with that is the fact that no one would dare think of their fluffy companion as a secret, rabid, flesh-eating killer. Today happens to be the third time in a week, I've been lunged at, growled at, snapped at and near-bitten and like always, the human on the other end of leash, releases a string of, (think high-pitched voice, full of surprise & chagrine), "Ohhhhh, my goodness, I can't believe you (insert dog's name)! He's really very friendly, he'd never hurt anyone!!" Really? Never? Excuse me, but your four-legged friend's eyes have just turned red and he's foaming uncontrollably at the mouth looking like he'd enjoy nothing more than to have a go at me much like how the velociraptors went after that helpless cow in Jurassic Park.

And the thing that puzzles me is that people get pretty familiar with their pet's behavior, right?? Soooo, when your DOG tries to mangle some poor child every time you take him out for a walk, call me crazy, but that's a red flag. And of course you insist on using one of those retractable leashes where your DOG can walk, like, 100 feet in front of you and then, when he goes Planet of the Apes on some unsuspecting pedestrian juggling their groceries, you utterly have no control. Naturally then, when someone like me has had enough and hauls off and kicks your DOG in the face, I get arrested & jailed for animal cruelty... Insert Shakespeare quote: "O, I am Fortune's fool!"

Let the record state: I am not a DOG-hater. I honestly love dogs & much prefer them to cats. My parents got a dog a few years ago and I adore her, like she's my own. But really, the badly behaved dog has the same thing in common with the badly behaved child. One common denominator...eh-hem.

The DOG Whisperer is no joke. I don't even have a DOG and I've watched every episode because it's really that fascinating. Watch it people. Seriously. Because one day, someone might just haul off and do something crazy. And they might be wearing steel-toe boots as well...

Twitterpated

Ahhh, spring is in the air, and this is exactly why I missed living in a place that actually has four seasons. Now, that being said, when it's 14 degrees outside and the wind itself seems to be in the mood to play a game of freeze tag with me, I could easily drop that number to three, but then I truly believe the first signs of spring wouldn't be as sweet as they are. Granted, I've had it easy this time around due to the fact I've only had to endure two months of winter in comparison to the rest of New York. But two months definitely makes it easier to understand the guy who's whistling down the street wearing shorts and a T-shirt in 45 degree weather. This past weekend it hit 68 degrees and you could literally feel the shot of electricity in the air; people start smiling more, girls pick up their step a bit and guys get a little bolder in their glances...and we're only in March. I have to admit, it's exciting and slightly intoxicating all at once and the best word I can use to describe it is...twitterpated. For those of you who had to go back and re-read that word, I understand. For those of you who're on my same page, I commend your vast and yet peculiar range of vocabulary. Disney, that's all I have to say.

The only heart-breaking aspect is the false alarm effect...as I sit here and write this the day has arrived gloomy & cold accompanied by a incessant drizzle that's not heavy enough for an umbrella but significant enough to make it impossible to ignore. *Sigh* I always did prefer Stormy to Rainbow Brite and deep down inside wanted her horse to beat Starlight during the big race in the thundercloud...But today, I think I've had enough.

Staying Positive

When I was little, it felt like every few years or so, we'd have to pick up and move. And naturally, I hated it. As a kid, life and death hung in the balance of Saturday morning cartoons and Valentine's day cards so moving was of course, a near-apocalyptic event. The moment we stepped into our new house, no matter how inviting the fresh paint smell or spectacular the view outside my bedroom window, I'd find every reason I could, to hate it. And the sentiment would continue until one day, unbeknownst to me, I'd forget to stop hating. I'd start laughing about something with a friend who wasn't so new anymore and suddenly, not a day would go by where I didn't laugh. And then we'd move again.

So, given the fact that so many of us as adults shy away from change and the unfamiliar, I am trying to keep that in mind as the strangeness of my new surroundings begin to melt into the familiar & comforting.

Oh the irony in the fact that I moved here from sunny South Florida where I was sick of the heat and humidity, not to mention all the creepy-crawlies that came with it. "I miss the seasons!", I would say, shaking my fist at any Floridian who claimed that winter and freezing temperatures were a byproduct of the underworld. And right about now, I really miss the heat. Actually, I should mention that it's warmed up quite a bit since I got here; I can leave the house wearing a mere six layers instead the original twelve...

But I shall hold true to those famous words spoken (sung actually) by Annie dashing around the mansion (and new home) of "Daddy" Warbucks...I think I'm gonna like it here...

Adjustments

So...as I'm sure is the case with a few other million people out there, I've just moved to New York; January 14th to be exact. Considering the fact it took me over a month to actually be able to mentally process the MTA subway map, is indicative of how astonishing an adjustment to New York can be.

The thing is, I know that when I'm on the train, straining my eyes to see what stop we're at there has to be another person on there who's as lost as I am. But something I've noticed and adapted to probably quicker than anything else is what I'd call the "New York wall." (I'm a HUGE procrastinator when it comes to stuff like this and I've been putting off writing my first post for a day and a half now. That being said, it's 6:30am and "New York wall" is the best I can do. A few hours later when I've had coffee and pancakes I could easily be truly horrifed at what I wrote and offer a string of witty apologies to my millions of readers and come up with something that's even worse.)

I think the title in itself is pretty self-explanatory but I'll give you my ponderings to fill in any gaps. The "NY Wall" seems to be a behavior that people exhibit while out in the rumble & tumble of everyday life. For the most part, people have perfected the art of looking disinterested, otherwise preoccupied and even bored. A 15 year old kid jumps onto the train loudly reciting his pitch on how buying his $1 candy will keep him off the streets and no one bats an eye. A three person mariachi band stumble into the car and one of them ends up flying into the metal pole because the train is stopping so abruptly and they might as well be invisible for the reaction people give, or lack there of. A mere two hours off the plane, my first day, I'm sitting next to a man wearing a trench coat on the 4 heading uptown; he stands up, faces the window and starts singing, "I'm a Genie in a Bottle" and licks the door. My head pivoted so fast I lost my balance sitting down. I wanted to see who else was witnessing the craziness; someone who could meet my eye and together, we could come to a non-verbal agreement on the situation and relax back into our personal dealings, but no. No one did anything.

So you see, there is something there. And I could go on writing much more on the subject but it is now 6:50ish AND I just remembered this is Daylight Savings...no wonder I'm extra delirious. I'm going to lay back down and dream about my pancakes and coffee. I love breakfast.