The Other Woman

If you're afraid of Mad Men spoilers, you'd better stop right now. Seriously. You don't want me to ruin it.

So here's the thing. Wanting something hard enough doesn't mean you get it. I mean, everyone knows that. Or we learn it eventually. Still, there persists a notion that wanting something creates the motivation and drive to achieve something -- almost anything. This is a remnant of our optimistic upbringings right? I mean, if you had one of those. I think most of growing up is learning to live with things you won't be getting. A slow accumulations of "no's" until you find the "yes's" that make you happy. Alternately you could just keep looking and never be happy. Which sounds like option too.

My friend said that I seem to always just do what I want. That I only do what I want. Responsibilities, the "right" thing, peer pressure, it's all generally sloughed off me and took a distant second to my own wishes. I argued that this made me extremely weak willed, as I was unable to resist being wholly selfish. But even the words I chose to use in talking about this, like "subjugate (my own desires for something else)" made it seem like I was so proud of this so-called weakness.

The same friend argued that doing what you want is in fact possibly a strength, as there's always people and things pushing you to do something else. I didn't agree at all. Anyone can do what they feel like, it's the balancing of should and would that makes you strong. Or at least mature.

In this past week's Mad Men, Peggy leaves SCDP in an emotionally wrenching scene with Don. Peggy has been my favorite character on the show and facing her (possibly) diminished role was just too much to bear. Coincidentally, earlier that day I was leaving a partnership of my own. It wasn't exactly easy, or timely, but like Peggy, I felt like I knew the right thing to do, even if it totally sucked. Or was difficult.

A friend also told me that she doesn't believe in "can't," only "won't." If that's true, then there's simply things I won't do. I say "can't" because it sounds like something out of my control -- like I can't climb palm trees or breathe underwater. But I guess if you do get right down to it, it is a matter of "won't." It's really a luxury, to even conceive of these things. Most of the time you don't have a choice about it.

Embracing what you will and won't do is also part of maturity right? What I don't get is why it's always framed that way. Some things you just won't be, even if you try hard at it. Then again, in my twenties, I believed that anyone could be anything, as long as they tried hard and worked at it. If you want to be a good person, you just became that. End of discussion.

"Please may Oliver be excused from class. His tiny heart is broken."
-Submarine-

Shadowcat

Things I hate when people say "This, this, a thousand times this."

Here's an article about Priscilla Chan, longtime girlfriend and now wife of Mark Zuckerberg. It contains this gem: "The couple agreed that they would not live together, but that Mr. Zuckerberg would spend at least 100 minutes of private time with Ms. Chan a week, as well as take her on at least one date." A hundred minutes per week. That's about an hour and a half. Most movies are longer than that. I can't tell if this is facetious or not. But I suppose the Zuck is a busy guy. I can't tell how I feel about this article, except that I had to read it. And then share it.

I've been reading this blog, Modern Nomad, which is about exact what the title suggests. Being a nomad isn't exactly the adventure I'm looking for, but maybe it is. Who knows right? The past few years I've had no money so I couldn't really go anywhere. Now I have the money to go wherever I want, but suddenly I'm not sure where to go.

My initial thought was to go visit friends overseas so I spent some time Googling airplane tickets to places I couldn't even pick out on the map. Then I thought, "You can't just pick up and fly to another country. There are visas and advance planning and stuff like that. Wouldn't it be a lot easier to just go to Hawaii and chill out?" But wait, I hate (vacationing in) Hawaii. Then I thought about going to hang out with my friend in Texas. And not even Austin, but like Texas Texas.

Gustav, the guy behind Modern Nomad, says that he was in his stagnate nine-to-five and just decided to pick up and leave. He was worried that he would be enslaved to routine and that his life would amount to nothing. The latter part doesn't concern me but the routine portion I can relate to. There's a comfort in routine, of course, but it can quickly become tiresome and then I get super antsy. How do people do it?

In Legends of the Fall, One Stab describes Tristan like this: "I think it was the bear, growling inside him. Making him do bad things. Nothing that Tristan did was truly his own fault. It was the bear." Obviously my spirit animal isn't a bear -- it's been said that mine is a prairie dog (I object!) -- but something in me does make me just want to follow my wandering instincts. Does that ever go away? Or do you just keep moving until something ties you down, something that you can't get away from.

Seen Kitty Pryde yet? Her viral rap song is "Okay Cupid." Actually to call it "rapping" is a pretty big stretch. But no judging. Upon first watch I'm like WTF but after a few more I found myself needing to download it. She's already got the New York Times treatment, she's playing shows, she's probably made a nice wad of cash selling her MP3s online. She's a modern day success story!

Ms. Pryde is the latest in a semi-recent not-so-recent trend of young white girls that become the next thing everyone is talking about. From Kreayshawn to Rebecca Black to now Kitty Pryde. I guess you could throw Lana Del Rey -- and sort of Marie Calloway -- in there too. This qualifies as new and edgy I guess. It makes me think about the state of contemporary young adult fiction and how none of the girls in those books are anything like this. They are never doing anything actually interesting. Two sub-worlds dominated by young white teens but the similarities end there. I'm curious if they'll ever cross.

"As long as we’re going to have a misogynistic culture that teaches women that their desires are dirty and that they shouldn’t ever ask for what they want, can we at least also have songs that acknowledge that reality? I know that part of the reason I let boys treat me so badly as an adolescent (and, um, more recently than that) was because I felt like I would never be as pretty or pure as I needed to be to be loved, to be loveable, and I assumed I was the only one who felt that way."
-Zanopticon-

• Kitty Pryde Is Our New Favorite Tumblr Wave Rapper
• Stop Condescending to Kitty Pride
• Fear of a White Girl Planet

That's So Fletch

Major announcement: I've made the executive decision to get into bird watching. "About time!" you say. I know, I know. For the record, bird watching is the second fastest growing hobby in America, right after gardening. There are 48 million birders and I'm enthused to be the newest member of this elite club.

A few years ago I read Franzen's The Discomfort Zone and didn't think much of his bird watching obsession -- "My Bird Problem," excerpted here. But as I read more Franzen, and as his personal profile got (much) bigger, everyone started associating bird watching with him. Clearly to become the next great American novelist, you must get into birding. Well, I'm in.

Besides the Franzen stuff, the other reason my interest was piqued is because JMZ has decided he's into birding. Living in the countryside as he does, he gets all manner of wild life. In fact, after years of prodding, the only thing he's used his Twitter account for is to throw up bird photos this past week. Already he's seen some cool shit and I'm jealous. I need to find out what's lurking in my backyard.

A big impediment to getting my new hobby started was that there wasn't a single pair of binoculars in my house. So of course I spent most of my afternoon yesterday researching binoculars online. After learning all the lingo and the specs, I'm ready to make a purchase. There's something lovably dorky about having fat binoculars hanging from your neck. It's so white grandparents right? I can't wait.

Oh I really can't wait; I just made a purchase. You are mine Bushnell Falcon 7x35 Binoculars with Case! Did you know that all binoculars can focus at infinity? That sounds really presumptuous until you realize technically it's true.

Things I already like about birding: it's cheap, it's something you can do anywhere, there's a weird stalker-y aspect to it, there's tech geekery involved, there's useless obsession followed by small thrills, there are clubs to join and plenty of resources online. It's something you can instantly bond with a fellow person about, like a not-so-guilty pleasure. And also, birding is so lame it's wrapped right back around to super awesome. I wonder how many hipsters bird. I'd bet a lot.

The biggest hurdles ahead for me are that birders tend to do mornings. I'm thinking I'd better become an owl specialist and get really good at identifying hoots. I think I'd also like to specialize in "ear birding," meaning identifying solely based on sound. Yesterday after I downloaded the app JMZ recommended -- iBird Pro, available temporarily for the low low price of $2.99 -- I lay with the window wide open, trying to nap but really concentrating on hearing all the birds outside my window.

See, here, I've just posted my first YouTube video ever to show you all the stuff that's potentially beyond the safety of my man-made walls. Listen carefully. There are at least a dozen different distinct tweets, and something hawk-y screeching around. I couldn't parse out any of them though, even with the app's help.

iBird Pro comes equipped with a really great array of ways to search for your mystery bird through visual cues, flight patterns, habitat, time of year, etc. The one I was forced to use sans binoculars was distinguishing birds through song and song pattern. Seems pretty easy until you look at the options. Is what you're hearing a buzz, a honk, a rattle, a prattle, a quack, a shriek, a warble? And is that then falling, flat, rising, or singsong? Who the hell knows, it all sounds like chirping!

I can't wait until my ear is attuned to the distinct voices of each of my feathered friends. Then I'll fucking know.

Note: I am not going to be one of those crazy birders who goes on trips and crouches in nature to see things. My goal is just to identify what's around me and to be able to name the interesting critters that pop up in the front/backyards of wherever I've traveling. I might be convinced to go on small hikes though. I mean, I hate walking for scenery but I'll stroll a few hundred yards to scope out a bird. This is going to be like real life Pokemon collecting, which is perfect because I was just lamenting the other day with a friend about how the iPhone really needs a good Pokemon port. No more, I have turned my attention to the creatures that God has created instead. What a feeling.

AMR says I may be going overboard here. He's saying I'll be over this in a week. But the thing is, unlike JMZ, once I pick something up I'm on it for awhile. That's the pattern. JMZ starts it but then I just keep going, never looking back even after he's dropped out after three laps. For example, things I could blame JMZ for: Wu Tang Clan, blogging, singledom, snowboarding videos, ramen. And oh so much more. (One of those is not true.)

Update [5/25]: My first catch, a mighty Cassin's Kingbird! Albeit a baby. And dead. And the ants already got to it. Still, it's a start.

Through a Window

And it's all over. I have a three-quarters sleeve and now I'm a totally different human being. Okay not really. It'll just be easier to identify me if I'm ever dismembered.

What started in March finally ended in May after three sessions. As space continued to get filled up on my arm, I just assumed we'd have more work to do. I stopped asking the tattooist when it would be done. When she announced this time around that we were going to be finished, I said, "Oh I'm gonna miss this."

While this process had prevented me from swimming, sometimes balling, and leaving San Diego for too long, I realized I enjoyed the element of surprise from going in each time. It was fun not knowing. Some people report a sort of meditative state when they're getting tattooed. That does not happen to me. While there's not much pain -- except on the elbow! -- I kept staring at other much more heavily tattooed people and wondering how long those pieces took. If something like this was about ten hours, what could a full sleeve be? An entire back? Likely I'll never find out personally, but I'm curious.

The final piece isn't exactly what I envisioned, and there have been points where I was like "where is this going?" but it's about process and knowing it's yours. I just keep staring at it, wondering what's next. After having just the outline for so long, it was a shock to see the top filled in with shading. Like damn, my arm suddenly just got colored in by super crayon and super dark.

I've been talking to my long lost friend quite a bit recently. We shift through the memories from years ago. It's really strange to not have thought about someone for over a decade and then to have it all come rushing back, just like it was yesterday. We're sort of re-tracing our steps, back through our entire friendship, day by day. The things that she remembers, and the details that we both haven't forgotten, are numerous but always still surprising. The other day she was telling me about how excited I was to share the word "defenestration" with everyone in sight. I was like, "Oh yeah, I did do that. Haha. How lame was I?"

We marveled over how just hearing each other's voices brought us way back, to the beginning of college when we knew each other. Which is strange though, because while we did many things, we never talked on the phone. So in a way we must be just generating memories of phone voice and the familiarity that comes with it. And there's a good chance we don't have mental images of each other right now. I mean, I've been trying to piece together what she looked like exactly. How was her hair? What did she wear? Did I see her on campus when we stopped being friends? I did, but I think we both totally blocked each other out. And now, no old photos exist, no Facebook profiles to explore. Nothing.

Also for me, I recall the beats, the what we dids, but for some reason I don't recall what we talked about, like no actual specific conversations. Even though we must have covered a lot, because all we did was hang outside on campus and talk and talk and talk.

My mom just asked me what I was doing this weekend. She then handed me some papers and brochures for a "leadership and character development company." Her friend just took her for an introductory night or something and my mom thinks it would be good for me. Mothers are always looking out. (This is a good time to mention that since I left my phone in the valeted car for last night's wedding, I didn't even call home to say "Happy Mother's Day." Geezes.)

The last question on the enrollment form is "what do you want to accomplish by participating in the personal mastery seminar?" I'd pay a small sum just to hear people's answers. Actually wait, no I wouldn't. The retail price for this weekend course is over a grand, which is a little less than what I paid for my tattoo. I don't need life change and transformation, not when I have ink. Body over mind right?

Man, you should watch these introductory videos. I think you'd really enjoy them.

Adult Sized Skeletal

Basketball has taken over my life. I mean, more than usual. Every other day I'm glued to the TV, watching heartwrenching Celtics playoff games. Afterwards I have
to read all the post-game analysis to decompress. I don't think people understand how crushing a loss can be, unless you are a fanatic yourself.

It's only the first round.

Then on the weekend I gear up and try to play a little myself. I used to know where all the places to ball in San Diego were, had people to call to tell me to spots, it's just scrounging around to find games. Luckily, some guys I know from way back when still play together.

A lot of my summers were spent driving around to various gyms to check the games and see what the level of competition was. Nowadays I'm just happy to have nine other players around. That and I'm horrible. I've hit the point of "just don't get hurt" and that pretty much just means I'm invisible on the court. I feel terrible about it, but I also can't hustle for longer than a few minutes at the time and I am constantly worried that I'll break a finger or something. My fingers are so precious now. How else can I type?

My friend and I used to play one-on-one every day, and our word was "attack!" as in "attack the basket." Those days are long gone and I think it mirrors what happens in old(er) age. You stop attacking life. You just get worried about getting hurt and wondering what to eat afterwards. This summer, if I'm in San Diego, I'm gonna take back my game and get some respect back on the court. People used to be glad to see my show up for a game; now they mostly just want me to miss the free throw so I don't make the team.

In good news, the family business is looking good and my next few months should be smooth sailing. My mom has rarely been prouder even though really, I didn't do that much. She's kept the business running for the past few years with virtually no computer skills and an inexact command of English. Impressive. Now I'm here and trying to carry it through, and by chance a customer needed more back and forth this year. Last week that all settled itself out and if things work out like I think they will, it's gonna be a good year.

Now I can turn my attentions to what I'm supposed to do from here on out. Which is, um, what exactly?

Since the day the deal got done, every time I see one of my mom's friends they tell me "congratulations." Clearly my mom has been bursting at the seams to finally have something positive to tell her social network. The past month or so it's been all "let them (her friends) see your arm, how ugly it is." She is not a fan of the half sleeve. Not in the littlest bit. Sometimes she'll touch the ink and just shake her head.

"What is so terrifying about feelings? What is so dreadful about admitting that people have them? People have been having feelings for as long as people have been people, and we've developed, as a whole, a lot of really unproductive methods of coping with them and addressing them. One of the least effective of those methods is pretending they aren't happening. Women forced to suppress their emotions, to play nice, to not admit that something is hurting or angering them, have to smolder in silence until they explode. And when they explode, they do so rather spectacularly because they had no outlet."
-What's So Bad About Feelings Anyway?-