Self-Stimulating Intelligence

When I look back at my previous posts, the few that exist, I am fascinated. I try and remember what was going on in my life that might inspire what I managed to upload into the ether of the Internet. However, I don’t want to dwell on my analysis of my own writing, the act of which seems very self-aggrandizing and makes me uncomfortable.

The other day I was asked the question: “Did you ever think about the fact that some of the most intelligent conversations you'll ever have are not necessarily with another person?” This was in reference to one my earlier blogs regarding Intelligent Conversations. This friend was implying most of the intelligence occurs within your own head and not among your group of friends chugging watered-down pitchers for $2.50 at your local watering hole. Answering the question without thinking, I would assume one might say yes. My statement is justified by a typical conversation one might hear on the street about clothes, money, or “that girl is a real bitch and I can’t stand her!” I will admit, I have engaged in all of those at some point.

A little more thought reveals a drastically different point of view. I agree I sometimes feel I’m the only sane person left on Earth – a leading cause of isolationism – but the train of thought in my head is constantly derailing on tracks that were placed abysmally out of order. I find myself chasing my tail repeatedly until I figuratively hit my head against the wall, and either make a decision or completely leave the thought process. I would much rather share my ideas with someone and listen to their opinion versus keeping everything bottled up. When you confide in another person, you allow for other views to expand your horizon of thought and possibly lead the train down tracks you never knew existed. I can be very cynical and love playing Devil’s Advocate, but I still encourage people to throw ideas off me and tell me what is going through their head. I try to remove myself from any bias and objectively analyze a situation. It fosters healthy social interaction and opens the mind to new frontiers. Obviously the majority of discussions I have with my friends are simply “shooting the shit”, but I think the most intelligent conversations are held with people you know and respect, who are capable of building upon your own ideas in a constructive manner.

Out of Context

I don’t want to start this off giving the impression I am chronically depressed and think life is futile, which is not true. However, as you may know, life is not always cupcakes, and writing is my way of venting (HINT: That is why the topics here are not about sunshine and frolicking in fields of daisies). I become very pensive while I write, which creates a tone of seriousness. The creation of a blog entry actually requires quite a process. My mind generally has to have been obsessing about something more so than usual and I am forced to write it down to try and make sense of it. However, once I start writing, it becomes difficult to put my thoughts in the appropriate order and fully explain what I am trying to relate. Because of this, I have a number of unfinished entries lying around collecting dust. My hard drive is like the Island of Misfit Blog Ideas, ideas with great promise yet abandoned when I lose my inspiration or train of thought.

I find it eerily ironic how this issue has come to the forefront in my mind in the season of Mardi Gras. A friend who has read this blog once told me how much she appreciates the unabashed honesty I convey in my writing. We all wear masks around other people because we are always trying to make an impression. When I write, I don’t feel like I have to impress anyone or maintain a certain reputation. All of my walls come down and I can write how I really feel. It is my way of escaping the superficiality and hypocrisy of life through brief moments of keyboard honesty, something many of us find nearly impossible to do in everyday life. We feverishly toil on the maintenance of these “masks”, or lies we tell people everyday, both in the words we say, and the actions we take. Not the type of lie you say to keep yourself out of trouble, e.g. my dog ate my homework or I have a job as a foreign exchange arbitrager, yet in reality I am a bum living off of my parents, but the lie you perpetuate so people will maintain some opinion of you that you have created. The lies you create to protect yourself and your insecurities, your vulnerabilities, and aspects of your personality you are terrified of the world ever discovering. How many people do you think go through life, meet new people, get married, and have families while never compromising or eliminating the lies they have created around themselves? How many times have you been so honest with someone that you have lost control of your emotions and simply broken down into tears? And how many of us will never do that because we refuse to be that vulnerable around anyone?

But I am digressing from the reason I began writing this in the first place. I’m sure at some point you have felt misrepresented, perhaps by your own fault or by the faulty judgment of other people. People at their very core are extremely judgmental and our actions are no help in whether public opinion views you as too shy, too stupid, or too much of an asshole. So what happens when you have realized this facade, or these lies have festered a perverse misrepresentation of who you feel you truly are? That you’ve spent all this time developing a certain image only to finally realize its destructive behavior to yourself and the people you care about. Thinking this image is a ski lift taking you to new heights and the top of a mountain, only to be deposited not on fresh powder, but off a towering cliff. To feel like you cannot accept kind gestures and compliments from someone because you don’t deserve it after the way you have treated other people. And that for the rest of your life, certain people will judge you according to this behavior, people with whom you will never be given the opportunity to change their mind or are completely unaware of the little things you have done or are doing to try and become a better person.

To describe this entry as depressing might be an understatement. With my entries I usually try to include a resolution, which in this particular instance has been exceedingly difficult, though I will try. As I have said in an earlier blog, you cannot force people to change their opinions of you or other people. At the same time, you must not live in the past and continue to harp on what has already happened that you cannot change (advice I have stood by). Even when you want to become more honest, you cannot expect it to happen overnight, it may take years. All you can do is distance yourself from those who cannot see you in another light and try the best you can now and in the future to change for your own piece of mind, while hoping a few people realize and appreciate it, because to hope everyone will is a fantasy.

A Brokeback Moment

Two weeks ago I saw Brokeback Mountain, the new film directed by Ang Lee that is taking the country by storm. If you have not heard anything about it, you surely are living in a cave, perhaps in Afghanistan, perhaps with Osama bin Laden, and perhaps you should inform the authorities. However, the movie, set in 1960’s Wyoming, is the story of two cowboys who develop a relationship while herding sheep on Brokeback Mountain and the ensuing years of their struggle to hide this relationship from their friends and families. The movie has become quite a cultural phenomenon with everyone from TV personalities to my friends using it in their day-to-day vocabulary: “Another Brokeback Moment brought to you by Bud Light!”

The movie had a profound effect on me, not for the groundbreaking homosexual themes that have incredibly transcended all ideologies and phobias in this country, but for the overarching theme of the movie. As homosexuality is greatly frowned upon in the cowboy/ranching community they try, ultimately unsuccessfully, to keep their relationship a secret for over twenty years. Their fear of the consequences: destroying their families, and becoming pariahs lead them to discreetly meet twice a year back on Brokeback Mountain. While they continue normal lives, they long for a life together that in reality will never exist. Thus leading to the question:

Has there ever been a point(s) in life when you have been too afraid to take action when you should have or tell someone how you really feel?

Friend or Schmuck, Part Deux

I now realize I may have been a tad bitter in my last post, more so than necessary. After a couple days more of logical thought, I feel I've reached a succinct and rational conclusion. We all know certain decisions and events lie under our realm of control and the rest do not. How other people treat each other is something I have no control over. However, I do control the way I treat people and it is my responsibility to do so with respect and dignity, while having the sense of humor to poke fun as well. To hell with how other people want to act, I am going to take control of my behavior, and worry less about how other people think of me [insert sarcastic "Girl Power!" remark here].

"I control how I feel, not the environment or people around me."

Friend or Schmuck

The holiday break provided me ample time to think about life and such. Occasionally one has to wonder whether all this thinking really serves any purpose. Sometimes I feel my thoughts and logic are all cyclical and quite frankly it is very frustrating. I spend countless hours pondering, and in the end does it really get me anywhere or am I just chasing my tail? Always seeking self-improvement, my train of thought led me to the frontier of actually writing my thoughts, hence the existence of this blog. We frequently lose our place in the arguments we create in our heads and by physically recording my mind I can effectively use a mental bookmark, helping me to establish what ground has been covered, and how I might proceed if at all.

A group I belonged to has a sort of pseudo-digest written a couple of times a year. This “publication” generally uses sarcasm and insensitivity to poke fun at everyone else in the group. As mentioned, I no longer participate in this group, but I do enjoy spending time with current members I met and became friends with during my tenure.

I had the so-called privilege of reading the publication the other night, though I may have wished otherwise. The dripping irony of this entire story would be Seinfeld-esque if only it was amusing. I was celebrating a friend’s 21st birthday at the time, something I take seriously because this is arguably the most important age in American society. You want to be there for your friends on dates important to them, considering life happens only once and you never get a second chance.

On a lighter note, we played the most dysfunctional game of quarters I have ever been involved in, and no one rivals the way one of my friends played several guys out of their money and drinks. I think the birthday girl landed her quarters on the first try with the same consistency as the sun rising every morning.

However, let’s return to the reason I am writing. There were numerous references to my group of friends, more specifically as the older guys who are useless and a waste of space. Apparently, since we are not yet wildly successful or millionaires, we aren’t welcome in their revered presence, the epitome of the holier than thou attitude (you first have to know, where I come from is defined by arrogance and populated with spoiled, selfish brats). I understand the whole intention of the publication is jest, but there was a thinly veiled dagger hiding beneath the photocopied sheets.

After I finished reading, I began thinking and evaluating my relationships/friendships. I realized just how manipulative and two-faced some of the people I associate with are. Now I do not want to appear to be passing judgments and casting stones because I am perfect, I am not. It also dawned on me how those same adjectives may be applied to myself just as easily. Rarely do I find flaws in people around me without quickly seeing those same flaws in myself. The human race is fickle and hypocritical in its whole to begin with. We claim to be altruistic and empathetic, yet when your back is turned we embezzle your money, life and dignity. How many times have I turned my tongue against someone when they weren’t in the room? How many times have I exploited another’s weakness and insecurity for my own personal gain?

We refer to a person as our friend and then vilify them. We drink with them, allow them to confide secrets in us and then we turn around and call them a raging bitch. And do we realize that through this gossip we expose ourselves? Do we expect the people we degrade to always be blissfully unaware of our actions or the ones WE confide in will not turn around, return the favor and stab us in the back?

At this point you wonder: do I really have any true friends or is everyone just in it for themselves? My brother spoke about the camp he is a counselor at and how everyone acts as if you are their best bud, but when shit hits the fan, no one is there get your back. In the end, the ends justify the means as long as I’m the one enjoying the good end, right? The society we live in is a festering pool polluted by violence, greed, apathy, and the almighty individual. The many people who work for a better world (and they do exist) always appear to be fighting a losing battle to the “me, me, me” in everyone. Throughout this continual struggle, we are losing the foundation of friendship: loyalty. Friends are not merely someone you hang out with, they are supposed to be there for you when life is intolerable, and they fight for you when no one else will. Where is the loyalty? What do you have when your “friends” talk shit about you behind your back? You have empty, meaningless relationships based upon superficial premises. We treat our friends as these people we associate with until we find someone else, someone we can better manipulate to further ourselves.

There is a point to this entry and I will write my conclusion tomorrow when my brain is not as tired.

On quick note, we always say the grass is greener on the other side and when we get there it’s not always as green as we once thought. Just remember, you only think it is greener, the reality is rarely true.

Drawing A Blank

I created my first blog with the intention of maintaining a strong political slant, but devoid of a clear mainstream ideology; specifically, my interpretations of world news. After focusing on newspapers, magazines and other blogs with such intensity, my work quickly morphed into a regurgitation of the news with little evidence of my personal analysis. I continued to develop and transitioned from general events in the news to international news with a strong focus on Middle Eastern politics. Still, I wanted to get away from the monotony and redundancy of simply writing articles and using the ubiquitous hyperlink as the Internet version of a bibliography. I wanted to bring the blog to a more personal level, so I could better relate with myself and others.

The past summer has left me, on many occasions, confounded and full of “philosophical” questions about life. Questions asked by nearly everyone yet rarely answered by anyone to any degree of satisfaction. The majority of people on this planet will never answer life’s most profound questions or even bother to try. Many chose uncompromising ignorance, while others, in an equally uninformed fashion, accept what they are taught. Be careful in your interpretation, by no means am I implying one cannot accept an idea with which they agree. Acceptance should follow the questioning and analysis of another’s ideas.

“Ignorance is bliss,” is one of the greatest truths in human history. Every time I explore a new corner of the World, expand my knowledge or experience an emotion, more questions arise and the mind suffers just a bit more. Given my inquisitive nature and inability to accept what I am told, I am driven to seek answers. Earlier this summer, I was inspired to start jotting notes in a “journal”. The journal’s purpose was not to recap events in the traditional sense, but to write and visualize questions I had and the thoughts circling overhead like vultures. Ideas in my head come and go as quickly as the mind’s nerve impulses dart from one synapse to another, hence the priceless art of writing. I write not only for the pictures drawn in the imagination, but for the history they keep. Twenty years from now I can look back and think: “Boy I was young and naïve, but I worked things through in my mind and I am a better person today because of it.” Or perhaps, “I can’t believe I was such a terrible writer! I must have been asleep in English class.”

To my dismay, the ideas racing through my head are generally too disjointed for the smooth flow of a blog entry. Rereading some of the material in my journal is a chore in of itself. One that, to be read coherently, requires several hours of polish. The level of effort involved is a damper on the frequency of posts.

I love writing and currently have two posts in the works. I am heading to NYC for the weekend which will inevitably provide me with ideas. Of course, I am certainly open to ideas if someone would like to offer a suggestion.

Intelligent Conversations

My world was slightly shaken this past weekend. We were barhopping around Adams Morgan Friday night with the air so thick you felt as though you were walking through a sauna with some asshole continuously throwing water on the rocks. I have never understood the appeal of the Adams Morgan night scene to a group of mid-twenties professionals. Adams Morgan is a neighborhood watering hole in Northwest DC for the college frat boy and sorostitute, and a locale I absolutely cannot stand: a quarter mile of bars and restaurants offering the same fare, atmosphere and ridiculous prices. The exception is the Jumbo Slice pizza parlor, offering the largest slice of pizza you will ever see. The scene every Friday and Saturday night rarely diverges from the norm. Guys wear the obligatory Polo with the collared popped and have spent more time on their hair than any girl walking by. The girls all wear heels, spaghetti strap tops and some pair of pants that rarely matches and just screams, “I am preppy trash who needs you to take me out and fuck me, so I can use your money to buy nicer clothes and chase richer men.”

The majority of my friends here in the District share my displeasure for Adams Morgan, yet when the weekend rolls around, my lawyer friend called: “I’m meeting this girl and her friends in one of your favorite places…Adams Morgan, do you want to come along?” Adams Morgan! Are you kidding me? Without even meeting this girl I already knew everything about her. But I digress.

As the morning clock reached two, we made our way to the exit and the nearest Metro station. As we swam through the humidity, one of my friends discovered a fleece coat on the sidewalk whose owner probably discarded it thinking, “Why the hell am I wearing this in 90 degree weather!” My friend, drunk and high, grabbed the 4XL coat and donned it for the remainder of our walk to the Metro.

Waiting for the train, I frantically searched for the slightest bit of cool air, and my chem. friend began talking about intelligent conversations. The subject was brought up as a delayed reaction to an argument we had been having earlier about America’s role in the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict.

Over the past couple years I, with some difficulty, convinced myself I must “get smarter” and hold intelligent conversations with intelligent people who had intelligent ideas. A month ago I actually missed the last train while debating early WWII air power and the possibility of a cross-channel invasion of Britain. I thought the Luftwaffe and Wehrmacht missed a perfect opportunity at Dunkirk to invade Britain while my lawyer friend argued it was in no way possible.

Well, my chem. friend continued and said most people do not relate with Washingtonians and their obsessions: Karl Rove, Supreme Court nominations, etc. She even went so far as to describe my lawyer friend as exceedingly boring and it surprised her girls actually talk to him for more than 15 minutes. I was taken aback for a moment – I had been drinking and my head is already a jumbled mess of nonsense. More surprising than what she said was that I never realized it myself. I’ve even been in assholes anonymous for the past several months and have been trying to avoid beltwayitis like our government avoids responsibility. It’s unbelievable how insulated we are in the shadow of I-495. Reminds me of West Virginia, but with Banana Republics, ten dollar martinis and suits to give the impression of a civilized society.

If I break down the premise of intelligent conversations, I’m left with serious tone. Having an intelligent conversation generally implies that you are seriously discussing weighty matters. Keep in mind, the theory does not work in reverse. Sharing a latte and having a discussion about the new line from Louis Vuitton is not intelligent. Affairs of state, the meaning of the universe, why Danica Patrick is a horrible racer, those are conversations of necessity.

Her words really resonated and after a couple of flashbacks I came to my own quasi-epiphany: I really don’t have as many intelligent conversations as I think I do. In fact, this entry may degrade in literary quality as I continue to write it! Of course I can talk politics with the best of them, while equally doing my best to avoid association with the Kool-Aid guzzling ideologues on Capitol Hill and in the White House. For the most part, I focus on fascinating topics including, but not limited to, clothes, “rug burn”, how I exhibit gay tendencies, why one of my friends is completely un-dateable (her words not mine) and nothing in general.

Perhaps I am not a lost cause after all or perhaps I’ll live in a state of self-delusion (which for many people is life). Maybe instead of barreling at a hundred miles an hour down the road towards seriousness and my father, I’ll slow down, get off at the exits, and take the scenic routes.

SummitPost

My favorite web site, SummitPost.org, had a great poll asking people to choose: "What trait do you look for most in a climbing partner?" The obvious winner with 36% percent of the votes was: "Safe to climb with," but third place and my choice was: "Is very attractive, single, and the opposite sex."

...That's actually three traits, right?

In the beginning

And so it begins...again! I have revived my once defunct blog. However, this time around I want to take a different approach. Instead of simply reporting the news, I am going to offer more commentary on whatever tickles me that day. It is the resurrection of my online persona, now with more life and literary experience.

Roadtrip Archive

Blogs are infuriating when trying to relate a story in proper chronological order (old to new). Consequently, I have been asked to compile the writing from my roadtrip in a more readable fashion. So, drum roll please, below are pictures and links to my posts from beginning to end.

In Search of America

Do We Have Any Salt Trucks Around Here?

Trouble in Paradise

For Glory, God, and Gold, and the Virginia Company

Airplane

Southern Hospitality

Free at Last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty We are Free at Last!

Flo Rida

Religulous*

The Big Easy

Love Me Tender, Love Me True

The Hills Have Eyes, and Undercover Cops

The Sun Sets in the West; In Arizona Actually

How the West Was Won

Very Supertitious, Writing's on the Wall

Only Vehicles With Chains May Continue

Happy Birthday Abe Lincoln

A Long Time in the Making

There is Just too Much to Say

Come on You Wolverines!

A Treatise on the State of American Manufacturing

My Lands are Where My Dead Lay Buried

The Kings of Corn

People Listening

This is Sparta!! Ha-ooh!! Ha-ooh!!

The Bucket List

Ann's Arbor

Wicked Pissah!!

The End is the Beginning is the End



*Received critical acclaim from readers