EPTIf you're unsure of what this blog is about, it's just generally food for thought [of my day] so 1. ease back and get out your utensils, 2. don't fill up on bread and 3. tip your waiter with your own thoughts or sentiments.
Thanks
Winter Parmesan and Myself, Tortellini
Retrieving old connections
Originally, I had no intention of writing anything. What I could muster yesterday in writing seems like all I could give as a ray of light to this withered plant.
Nonetheless, I felt I should try anyways. I used to do this a lot, way back when she traveled. It was therapeutic and at the same time, it allowed her to know how I was feeling or thinking on a day-to-day basis since I would never verbalize these things in-person or over the phone. I wrote them in forms of letters, she never replied to them and to be honest... I preferred it that way.
I awoke today in fear that my previous entry would either A. not get much of a reception, that it might've been too long to contain the attention of any readers (and I'm sure it is too long for some, I tried to place images and videos/music to ease the length). B. be labeled or shamed into pouring something that I originally thought was perhaps just too much, too personal, too... pedantic (?).
Nonetheless, I awoke and saw quite a few people relieved by the idea that they were not the only ones feeling, thinking or seeing the things I was feel/think/seeing. On one hand, it's great to know that despite my anti-social inhibitions, I am still human and think quite commonly like the peers I generally respect and appreciate. But on the other hand, the strive to be unique or at least continue the false notion that I am someone that people are generally interested in figuring out or understanding, like a Rubik's Cube, is but a simple novelty for the first impressions, moments or confrontation. But what's unique about trying to be unique? A classy pondering question, eh?
Two sighs of relief and a couple of replies later, I received a phonecall from my VP of Competition & Events from the club I was mentioned in my previous entry: apparently our university newspaper has agreed to put us on the front page or featured section of their paper and may need us to come in for some photoshoots, etc. etc. I was ecstatic, but my reply came out stale. I knew what kind of attitude, reaction/response he wanted by his own enthusiastic intonation and anxious-like choice of words and pace of speaking, but I couldn't rival it and just muttered a "terrific" with mild glee. I thanked him, told him he did a good job and hung up feeling like a father who just politely clapped for his son's accomplishment (that far surpasses any I could achieve).
Before I could contemplate on how I could have reacted, my sister has stepped inside. If you are unaware of my contacts with my family, let me give you the down-low: there is no contact. Another long story but it goes along the lines of both divorced parents vilifying one another, financial concerns, spoiled siblings and the form of communication amongst one another through gossip and hearsay. I generally just stay out of everyone affairs in exchange that they leave me alone: overall, it's achieved what I want, but at the same time, I lost out on a key aspect of a person's life: family. Terribly long-story and it'll just be another puzzle put to the side, continuously being rotated, wondering how it fits into how I cognitively behave.
As she walked in, she barked that she was going to have friends off, a cue for me to disappear and occupy myself. Something that should be easy considering how close I live in the city of Montreal. One quick glance outside had me reconsider wanting to step outside.
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![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P7030006.jpg)
A bitter sunset (or rise?) chilled with ice and white winds. Typical Montreal day.
Gave my hair a quick toss of the old brush, slapped some deodorant and rummaged through my cellular phone to see if I could reconnect with some old contacts. I had promised my friend Matt I'd visit him, so I might as well. It's been awhile since I last took the metro. Since I last weaved through the underground corridors, in and out of stations passing an innumerable amount of faces, smiles, frowns, exhaustion. It may have been sunny with some cloudy scars outside, but underground, it was quiet, daunting and poorly-lit. The homeless that I hurdled through were scattered like a child's mess of toys. What do you when one makes eye contact with you? Do you smile, greet them courteously? Stare blankly and unintentionally give them the demeaning sense of self? Typically I just give a nod, a respectable hello in the form of tilting my head downwards, acknowledging their presence, but while also establishing my need to go somewhere, be elsewhere.
On the metro, it was all really a blur. Women got on, got off, looked at me, looked elsewhere. I went back on craigslist earlier today, but stayed away from all sexually-infested areas and just sifted through all the missed connections. Have you ever been there? I just love the stories reading there, some of them, obviously mocks or jokes, but those that are generally sincere are so heart-warming. So... human. You read them and you don't know a thing about the writer, little detail about the person they're trying to reconnect with, yet you feel or illusion yourself with the idea that these people, despite their backgrounds, honestly and whole-heartedly regret not having the courage to confront someone they're enticed by.
Let's give a few examples:
+ Show Spoiler ++ Show Spoiler ++ Show Spoiler +
I was going to ask you to come sit with me then you got up and left! I would have called out after you but someone came and sat not far from where we were and I chickened out. Yup...kickin' myself :S
you were in my sexual ethics conference this afternoon in birks. I noticed you right away from across the room - dark, tousled hair, blue, longsleeve shirt, writing in what seemed to be a moleskine. you only looked my way once or twice, unfortunately. just letting you know that you're very, very attractive.
We found each other once in a rather extraordinary way, and we had a fantastic 3 weeks, but the distance made it impossible to have more. If you find this message, as you did the first one, I just wanted to say thank you, and I think of you. Bonne chance...
So they're no Cyrano's, but I read these messages and I think to myself: okay, so craigslist still has civilized and redeeming people, endlessly riding the Ferris Wheel waiting for their partner to get on at the bottom of the ramp. I read these messages and I just find myself impressed at how much a person notices, appreciates and is attracted to the smallest detail of a person, the conversation, the moment and admit to such regret. Such deep and utter regret that they couldn't do what they feel should have been done to ensure at least one glimmer of happiness, enjoyment or a good night. As a last ditch effort, knowing full well that the likelihood that person will read their message is miniscule, they post how they truly feel about it all. Maybe they'll get a reply, maybe not, I prefer not to know and just be satisfied by the perception that they will poetically checking their inbox for that one letter, that one reply they never thought would come. Call it a Sandra Bullock film, call it a Meg Ryan feeling, whatever.
On the metro, I traveled to the other side of the city. A more dainty place, losing its personal side to the infesting creeps of chain stores and impersonal service. I was to meet an old friend: Matt, a once child actor previously on the same boat as me academically: failing two grades at some point in our lives and consistently defined as being brilliant, intellectually above-average and lazy. Big emphasis on the lazy part, however for me, I never got the respect, acceptance nor chance to redeem myself during high-school. Won't bother with details, trying to ease up on the whining and pity-party invitations.
Long-story short, I met up with my good friend Matt. Initially giving up on CEGEP (pre-college here in Quebec), he jumped back in a music-producing degree. I believe I was the first to suggest it, but don't bank on it and in the end, it doesn't matter (it only matters that he goes somewhere with that degree). I gave him the details of it all: the end of my relationship, the distance of family and I and my inability to get out of my predicaments due to my large tolerance and perhaps my own cowardliness. Overall his advice was frank, cut dry and to the point: immerse yourself in a new environment, stop cherry-picking qualities of people you no longer can keep in contact with and figure out your ambitions. Logical, yes, possible? Well... of course. It just comes down to me doing them. I've become a person I generally dislike. Do you know those people? The people who bitch and moan about the same problems over and over again due to either wanting to collect enough sympathy eggs for their Easter basket or purely whine and gripe because they, themselves, are incapable of pursuing the solution (laziness? lack of willpower or just simply unable to solve their problems because they may face the idea that there really is nothing dramatically interesting or noteworthy in their life? I don't know...).
Closed the night with some nice meals. We just talked about frank subjects, how I cherry-picked my previous love's qualities, which is withholding me from considering other people I could couple with (once I meet them, haha). Meaning that I continue to put her on a pedestal in order to maintain a sense of needed sympathy or attention I typically wouldn't be able to get with my demeanor or mannerisms. It was odd, three guys, generally bright, decent-looking (I think?) and proficient in cooking could not seem to appeal to any women. How do you portray these qualities on the initial first impression? How do I tell a woman through a glance or a smile that I am not only a caring person, but intellectually competent to keep conversations afloat, have good taste in furniture, food, art and music ("good" meaning the same or similar) and capable of being independent, treating her as an equal and equally intellectual being. Maybe that's why people enjoy Facebook so much? I used to view it as a cesspool of narcissism, a showcasing of impressions people want to show to their friends to assume and ensure that they are socialistic creatures capable of living a conventional and generally fun, happy life.
Reminds me of this comic:
![[image loading]](http://www.greentaxi.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/dilbert-twitter.gif)
But in reality, Facebook is exactly what it is. A convenience. It's convenient, useful, but I feel it degrades so much "fun" (or presumably what is fun) of discovery. Y'know... discovery? That childhood wonder that quenches that other childhood characteristic of curiosity? Remember when you first played Starcraft 2? Where you were a measly bronze player recognizing your improvement each and every game by the mechanics you learn and build upon? Discovery; where your imagination stuffs an empty box once hallow without imprints of a child's crawl-around or stains of children's laughter as they imagine they're in a race car, spaceship or airplane. If I could reverse time, that'd be my sole intention. Rediscovering my life, rediscovering myself or at least the parts of myself I can be proud of and not use to write drivel about my days with the slant of insecurity that people will be turned-off by these overly-drawn out sentences that seem to lack punctuation (ha, I made a funny!).
Curiosity. I just don't have it anymore. Matt has been trying to get me to try Shrooms and marijuana for the longest time. Says it'll "release me" and by default, I deflect his irrational justifications by notating that psychedelics, to me, have almost no medical or therapeutic mental relief in the long-run. They're an outlet, a sense of wonder or illusions that let you escape the miseries of your life. I have no problem with him taking drugs, just like how I have no problem with atheists and religious folks continuing to pridefully prance their beliefs (or non-beliefs, though the belief of non-believing is a belief of skepticism, but still a belief), I just honestly don't care. I don't care to try it because overall; it doesn't change how I'm feeling the next day nor later on in the night. Then again, I'm speaking out of my ass considering I've never tried it. But how else would you answer one's lack of curiosity to try something authoritatively frowned upon?
Here's what I cooked up:
![[image loading]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v713/Xeroxer/P3150016.jpg)
Either Angus or a French Steak, seasoned with garlic powder (they had no onion powder), Himalayan salt (it's pink!), dash of spices and herbs and then blanketed with monterey jack cheese, dab of sour cream and classy buttered spaghetti and tomato sauce (light, too much tomato sauce and you just drown the subtle taste and texture of the smooth spaghetti!). Like I said, we can both cook, but no women to cook for (I feel like a craigslist ad now).
So that's really it. I left that night with the feeling of confidence, understanding and general fun. I never realized how much fun it was to cook with other people and Jazz songs chiming in the background as we both joked around, tickled our tongues with deliciousness and related our difficulties to meet women (he doesn't desire it as much as I do since he's had a lot more "action" than I).
I headed home and just admired the people around me. One was taking a gander at my shoes, some other women felt it was a good idea to dress nearly identically, revealing what curvy figures they wanted to siren to the other men around me and then there was this one beautiful girl. She wasn't gorgeous by most standards of men, but she just looked so peaceful, simple and moderate. No make-up to disguise, emphasize or highlight her facial qualities. No clothing that told me what kind of physique she had, but rather let me inquire with my imagination (does that sound perverted? Trying to make it sound normal here...). Mind and eyes on the book, but her hair coiled around her ears, creating a curtain-like presentation of her docile and kind face. Her eyes bobbing through each line on page 235. As for her feet, toes reached the ground, but her heels dangled like puppets in the thin, cold air.
It was truly a sight to behold. I wasn't attracted to her, but I did find her beautiful. An underground beauty that is often overlooked for the more "ready" women. Is that a poor choice of words? I mean women who create a musk of sexual-appeal by luring men towards their broad chests or firm derrieres. Anywhere but their face, their mind or hand gestures. No complaints, I'm not above any other male and hell, I've snagged peeks myself [isn't that what they want?; to be noticed, but not touched, like an art exhibit, arousing our emotions, interest or piquing our sense of curiosity (see what I did there?)].
In any case, that is it for tonight. As for choice of songs, how about some Matt Dusk? A relatively unknown jazz singer and perhaps some won't enjoy his voice, but he was my gateway to jazz when I was young and I've always cherished his choice of songs. He does a lot of remakes, but lately, he's been branching out to his own stuff.
I was going to give you his remake of "Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad", but I have been feeling more an "Always" guy tonight.
Also this sound way better than "but I have nowhere else to vomit" :D
