Sociability, Cleanliness, and the Removal of the Evidence of Living

                I am reclusive and solitary, but social.  How so, you might ask?  Well, I am not exactly isolated, but am comfortable keeping largely to myself.  Now, interacting with people on a daily basis?  No problem!  Heya, howya’ doin’?  Okay?  Okay!  Yah, me too.  It’s all good.  (Unless you’re an Ass Clown.  But that’s a different blog entry.)

                But when it comes to interacting on a more personal basis with friendships or deeper relationships, such intimacy requires a deeper sense of understanding between me and the other participant(s).  I know many who are comfortable interacting in large social gatherings of many people.  I, too, can accommodate such social circumstances, but if given the choice, I choose not to.  I suppose that makes me an introvert, but on the other hand, if given a social outing that is composed of myself and one or two others, then I am less likely to bug out.  I am quite social and engaging in such an intimate setting – outgoing, one might say – because of the opportunities for deeper, more genuine interactions and experiences. 

                Now some social obligations cannot be avoided, at least for me, such as my personal sense of obligation to my family during major holidays such as Christmas, Thanksgiving, or on birthdays of immediate family members.  The latter is not so intrusive for me, as my family is pretty low-key, and after all, I must’ve inherited my secluding tendencies somewhere from my family of origin, no? 

                The major holidays, namely Thanksgiving and Christmas are indeed a big deal for me.  This is because there is an unspoken expectation of sociability, such that there is a collective assumption that a.) I have family with whom I can share the holidays with [which I do and am grateful for], b.) I am automatically comfortable and at ease when I interact with those whom I have not come into contact with, except this particular once a year circumstance, and/or c.) I interact with those whom I don’t know, and relay an air of complete sociability and etiquette executed to perfection.  It can make for an uneasy homecoming, despite the fact that I am and have been living in my hometown for the past decade. 

It’s not that the experiences are unpleasant; on the contrary, I find most social outings to be enjoyable and reflect on the experiences largely with a sense of contentment and happiness afterward.  It’s just that the build-up to the event and the uncertain variables of social interaction can be exhausting.  I’m almost always glad when it’s over and find myself feeling a bit surprised that I once again made it out of another large social event relatively unscathed.  I know it’s not entirely rational and can even chalk it up as a mild form of anxiety, both of which are probably true.  But ultimately, I think it’s too much of a bother.  I feel like I have to charge up my batteries for the event, and try to expend the energy in as efficient a manner as possible, lest I fall prey to mistakes made by undergraduates attending a happenin’ party: it’s never a good idea to discharge your reserves all at once, allowing the dam to break open only to awake the next day regretting something done or said, or both, which generally manifests physically in the form of a hangover. 

Yesterday, I had two friends come over and we made vegetarian egg rolls.  For those of you wondering, as well as those who aren’t, here’s what went in them: napa cabbage, kim chi, tofu, carrots, celery, garlic, cilantro, ginger, and walnuts.  When we ran out of innards (that’s what I call the stuffing), we filled the remaining three egg roll wraps with string cheese and cheddar cheese.  If you should ever venture to make egg rolls, look forward to running out of the innards so you can make deliciously bad-for-you cheese-filled egg rolls.  Then, afterwards, it’s like an enjoyable form of Russian roulette: you’re not quite sure if you’re gonna get the cheese-filled deliciousness, but when you do, yum!  The downside is that anything deep-fried and filled with cheese is undoubtedly a form of Russian roulette that you may not want to play.  It’s just that they’re so damned tasty!   Oh, and if you get a “flat” while you’re rolling, which is a tear in the delicate egg roll wrap, you just have to double-up on the wrapping, which forms a double-wall of deep-fried goodness that’s just bad to the bone… badass, actually, literally and figuratively.

I must say that I am so grateful that my friends came over.  It forced me to examine life in the ol’ homestead.  First off, they came up with the idea themselves and we joked about how they invited themselves over.  As mentioned, I have a tendency to be a reclusive hermit, perfectly comfortable dwelling in my cave, albeit a nice, clean, furnished cave.  Okay, not “perfectly comfortable” as I find myself having feelings of dependence upon others at times, just as anybody does.  But I was very pleased that they came over, as they are both good, trusted friends, and otherwise, I wouldn’t have reflected about my experiences which culminated into this blog entry.  Secondly, had they not initiated coming over, I would not have actively cleaned my house with a consciousness that I normally do not hold. 

When faced with the task of preparing to entertain guests, I found the looking glass self came into play.  It was a form of accountability that largely need not exist when strictly cleaning up for your own sake and contentment of your personal habitation space.  It forced me to consider cleaning places that I generally overlook, such as the tops of picture frames and even the slats of the window blinds.  As I cleaned, I began to observe my dwellings in a new way, forcing my awareness to view things as though it was for the first time.  (Very Buddhist-like, really.  It’s too bad I don’t always look at my world as though for the first time!)  On some level, I foresaw that this could become a serious OCD situation.  Thankfully my mind doesn’t get out of control in that way, or I would’ve spent hours trying to eliminate every dust particle on one blind. 

As I cleaned, I was reminded of something that I noted to myself when I first moved out on my own and into a one-room efficiency apartment.  When living in such a small space, it is crucial to maintain cleanliness and minimize clutter.  I found that as I cleaned ritualistically on Sunday mornings, I was busy eliminating every trace and evidence of human biological life processes.  This included inevitable hair that fell to the floor, particularly in the bathroom and tub, as well as dust particles, of which is in part composed of dead skin cells that are shed.  Therefore on some level, it is socially desirable to maintain a living space that minimizes the evidence of the living.  But it’s a delicate balance, as you don’t want a museum space that is sterile, nor do you want a messy, packrat-infested space that’s out of control. 

I am pleased to say that my home is clean and yields a comfortable space with a lot of character.  However, there is also much room for improvement, such as the hardwood floors, which could use a cleaning and treatment with something or other, the details of such processes I do not know.  There are also various repairs that need to occur, such as a question that was posed last night: why are there holes in your wall?  Oh, that?  I got mad and punched two successive holes behind my couch one night.  No, really, they are for sconces that once existed, but were subsequently covered up by a previous owner.  They have since been exposed by a wall repairer that had an eye to pick them out and asked if I wanted them exposed.  I have yet to get around to purchasing sconces and installing them, assuming that I can do it myself and make it look good.

If you ever purchase a home or own your own home already, good luck.  Not only is it a challenge to keep it clean without making it institutionalized and sterile, but guaranteed: you will have plenty of repairs that need to occur as things age and break down.  But it’s nice to have your own space.  It’s even nicer to share it with some people, so long as they’re trustworthy friends.  Just no more than two people visiting at a time, please.  And also, give me a heads up so I can clean my house with a newfound Zen-like outlook.

Color Matters

                I was listening to NPR yesterday on my drive home from work and heard a fantastic editorial on the recent assassination attempt of US Representative Gabrielle Giffords.  It raised an interesting point, written and read by a Latino woman, Daisy Hernandez.  She spoke not of the obvious, such as violence, hatred, anger, or the “why/how did this happen” style of discussion; but instead, of how relieved she was that the killer was white, and not Latino.  How true this is.  A sad fact, but a truth nonetheless in these United States.  As quoted by a Mexican character in the 2006 movie Bobby, to another Mexican coworker, “Hey, we’re the new niggers, brother.”  Since that movie was depicting an event that took place in 1968, let us update the context to present day 2011 and add Middle Easterners (aye-rabs) and as not yet a close second, the Chinese (who shall carry the burden of representing the global Asian community in its totality), to the list.  And let us not pretend as though black Americans have transcended this world, for they too are of course, still relegated to this class of subhumans.  As a matter of fact, African-Americans are probably the top of the list, or the bottom, depending on how you want to look at it.

                With the recent hubbub about immigration reform and all of the rhetoric surrounding the “illegals”, the hatemongers would have transformed the events in Tucson, Arizona into a frenzied discourse of singling out a people and fueled the already expansive hatred of “the others” into hyperdrive.  Instead, there is now an attempt to reconcile a hatred that can be packaged neatly into bipartisanship.  Bipartisanship is undoubtedly a major source of contention in the United States, with chasms that increasingly separate and divide its citizens.  However, it is but one facet of hatred that happens to be a convenient focal point, as though it is representative of the problem. 

Hatred has been stewing, brewing, and bred both over the course of the history and origins of this country, as well as more recent advents of having a black president, the fall of the global economy and subsequently, overall US global stature, the lattermost of which had been in the making for some time: it’s just that a majority of Americans were too arrogant, myopic, and self-absorbed to have imagined such a possibility, jerking off to their gas guzzling SUVs and whatever else that afforded the individual a sense of status and power.  Such are the effects of distraction: those non-original thoughts that we welcome into our feeble minds as occupier, in place of the human condition that all too often includes pain and challenges, self-reflection and concerted effort for personal change; precisely the things that make the world real, a little too real for comfort.  Pain is not desired.  Therefore despite it being a part of life, it’s much easier to succumb to products that are available to the masses, which serve as distractions.  Hey, where’s my smart phone?

After decades of imagined prosperity cultivated in a culture of self-absorbed individualism, Americans have largely grown accustomed to feel entitled to whatever they want.  This has produced a people whose gluttony cannot be easily quenched, and a mentality whose worldview is a shortsighted one: immediate personal gratification.   To this day, I doubt many Americans have much an idea of where Iraq is or that Africa is not a country, unless you’re referring to South Africa, which, if that were the case, you would have said, “South Africa”.  As a matter of fact, I once attended a party and met several people (adults, mind you, not when I was six, attending a friend’s seven-year birthday party) who adamantly defended their belief that there are 51 States in the United States of America.  Now at least one of these people I can say was a friend at the time, and I don’t put down the fact that he didn’t know something all American kindergartners typically learn: there are 50 States in these You-knighted States of Amahricah.  Okay, my last sentence could arguably be construed as a put-down, but it proves my point precisely: Americans need not know much and still feel entitled to everything.  The irony goes without saying that this country is based on immigration (imperialism) in the 200+ years of its young existence.  However, give any fresh immigrant lineage a generation, maybe a generation and a half, and presto: the inhabitants will feel content to live within an insular reality, eating fatty-patty burgers and freedom fries, as their arteries clog in ghastly traffic jams of fat.  Hey, so long as you’ve got the next distraction, it’s all cool.  Gimme that Verizon i-Phone, man.  I’ll throw this shitty AT&T i-Phone away!  What?  It’s the same goddamned phone?  I don’t care.  I want Verizon anyway so I can talk to my “friends” about how I have the latest i-Phone.

                I do believe that something positive can be garnered from this tragedy.  It is my genuine hope that this is so.  I am certainly not putting down the President’s speech or the left and right coming together even temporarily, despite it being largely superficial.  On the contrary, any reinforcement of unity is a beautiful thing and I am a cheer leader on the sidelines rooting “Go!  Go!  Go!”  What’s so disappointing is that something so drastic needs to occur for people to realize even for a moment that the anonymous Joe Schmoe that you see every day is an actual human being.  He too has connections and origins, feelings and dreams, pains and hopes.  It’s too damned easy to forget that, and become self-absorbed.  I raise my own hand and will condemn myself: Guilty!  However, I confidently and perhaps unjustly shall claim that my guilt in this area is less egregious than that which I observe in others’ actions and behaviors on a daily basis.  At least I’m willing to acknowledge my guilt and otherwise, openly state that I think most people are stupid.

                It seems to me that the overall political climate in the United States is in an uncomfortable state of flux, where the greater population is beginning to realize that things are starting to go south for not only themselves, but the entire country.  For the US, this is felt perhaps most strongly for White America.  Not all whites, mind you, but those who are threatened by their perceived loss of power.  No doubt, a shift in the racial landscape has begun and is continuing to occur.  White majority in the United States has its days numbered.  This is threatening for many people.  Unfortunately, too many of those threatened have no idea that they aren’t even close to being in power.  However, the perceived association with the powerful few allows such individuals to define themselves and orient their social location, which of course, is but a farce.  So long as the perception exists, the social order can continue, at least for a little longer, into the unforeseeable future.

                When things are going smoothly overall, even a slight bump in the road can be felt, seemingly a big, gaping pothole.  However, when you’re driving on a gravel road full of rocks and bumps, the shift in perception from uneven gravel to a pothole is less noticeable.  Perhaps that is why the rather sudden shift from prosperity to economic woefulness in 2008 has resulted in a vulnerable and fearful public, exacerbating tensions and anger through the anxious reality of personal and national uncertainties.  In times like these, it is all too easy to huddle together with others that are seemingly like-minded, similar, and familiar.  Unfortunately, this results in factions of many groups that cannot relate to each other, as they are independently too busy defining who and what they are by what they are not.  Such an exclusionary tactic can only bring temporary relief, if any.  It is time to embrace the pain, the reality of today’s challenging circumstances, and acknowledge that we need each other, as humans, as people, and work together for a better collective future.  Individualist attitudes that solely benefit a select few isn’t working.  Just look at its results that surround not only you, but everyone who has been affected by selfishness.  Shamefully, that just about includes everyone in this global day and age.

Ass Clowns Take the Right of Way

                I went hiking again this weekend and was on the trail, anticipating solitude since the temperature earlier that morning was in the teens, Fahrenheit, that is.  For those who use the more sensible Celsius, it was approximately -9 degrees or so.  Really, why don’t Americans use the metric system?  Temperature measurement in the metric system is based on the natural molecular structure of water.  It freezes at 0 degrees C, and boils at 100 degrees C.  Makes sense to me!  Similarly, the metric system of measurements such as length or weight makes so much more sense, too.  You just move the decimal point over and, voila!  1000 grams = 1 kilogram, or 1000 meters = 1 kilometer, etc. (Kilo means a thousand, that’s why in movies that have drug sales, they talk about how many “kilos”, because international dope pushers have enough sense to use the International System of Units, lest they be offed for fucking with a drug king pin talking nonsense about 16 ounces = 1 pound.)  I just had to laugh when I saw that the United States is one of three countries in the world that hasn’t adopted this system.  Thank goodness there are two other countries that haven’t adopted the stupid metric system: Burma and Liberia!  Clearly these three countries represent the bright and hopeful Post-Industrial future of the world.  (Do you recall the NASA mission to Mars that undershot its trajectory because someone forgot to convert numbers to the metric system?)

                Back to hiking.  By the time I hit the trails it was nearly 1pm.  I went to a more commonly hiked trail because I really like the ups and downs of the particular route I do.  However, as mentioned, I didn’t anticipate seeing anyone due to the cold, although it had warmed up since my morning run.  About 45-minutes into my hike, I came across a group of three trail runners, one guy and two gals.  Trails are generally wide enough to accommodate one person.  I heard Mr. Jackass chatting between pants as he ran, approaching me, and saw the group of three running in single file.  Naturally, I got over to the side to let them pass.  It just seemed like the kind thing to do.  So there I waited in the snow, off the beaten path, as they approached and passed me. 

                Now I’m not asking for much here, but at least eye contact and an acknowledgement of my existence would have been nice, such as “hi” or “thanks”.  Nope.  Nothing.  Motherfucker just kept talking between his panting breaths as the three 20-somethings wearing cool ass sportswear actively averted eye contact, as though I didn’t exist!  The two girls that followed did the same goddamned thing.  That shit pisses me off.  I should’ve just kept walking and not yielded the trail, just to see what those fucks would’ve done.  It would have been funny to watch them suddenly be forced to stop their running, and to jump over to the side into the brush so they could go around me!  That’s right, you fuckers.  Go around me, and I would have at least looked over at you and said, “Hello.  Thanks!”

                I was irritated, since this wasn’t an anomaly.  It’s happened before and it will happen again.  Last month, on the same trail, a father and son were trail running, and I saw them in the distance approaching me, so I waited to the side before crossing a bridge that spans a small creek bed.  Daddy-o just kept chatting to his overweight son whose top-most layer was a t-shirt indicating that he had once played football in high school. (Probably a lineman whose job was to sumo wrestle the defense without getting a hold penalty.)  They obviously saw me waiting, but Pops turned his head slightly over his left shoulder, and said to his son, “hey, be –pant- careful on –pant- the bridge!” indicating that there were some frozen patches.  Same exact pattern: I wasn’t there.  I should have tripped him and told them that I was expecting to cross the bridge first, since I got there before they did.  I could’ve easily outrun them both if they got mad about it.

                I continued on my hike after the encounter with the threesome trail runners, and saw a young couple standing on a flat ridge.  At first I thought the girl was smoking a bowl, but then realized that they were taking a break and she was sipping water from her beau’s water bottle.  They both saw me approaching, but their eyes were hidden behind I-see-you-you-see-you sun glasses.  They just looked at each other until I came right up to them.  At least the girl acknowledged my existence by saying “hi”.  “How’re you all doing?” I said, glancing from the girl to the guy.  Dude said nothing.  I just kept walking.  Now in this case, at least the girl said something, but again, the pattern is, ignore, ignore, ignore.  Dude, at least say “hi” or respond to my question by saying “good”.  Maybe he was deaf and couldn’t hear my question, and she happens to lovingly communicate with him via sign language.  That almost seems plausible…

                The rest of the hike was uneventful and enjoyable, with exception to my new snow pants making me a little too hot and sweaty.  But overall, I was pleased with them.  They’re more for skiing, so I am a little concerned about their use for snow shoeing, which will undoubtedly make me just as hot if not hotter than the hiking I was doing. 

                That evening, I went to refill my 5-gallon (18.9270589 liters) capacity plastic kerosene jug.  I use kerosene to supplement my home’s heating system with a kerosene heater when I’m hanging out in the living room.  I always noted that this particular gas station has very polite attendants.  Since polite and respectful people are so few and far between, it was always noteworthy that the attendants there have been consistently nice.  Compliments to that particular station owner for hiring good personnel in this day and age.

                I filled my jug to capacity and went inside to pay.  There was a small line with a young couple in front of me buying a Frappuccino or some shit like that, and a 50-something man at the counter purchasing a 12-pack of Miller Light and some dollar lottery tickets.  Immediately I could sense that the fucker buying the tickets was an asshole.  “Gimme another ticket!” he said somewhat forcefully to the gentleman attendant.  The attendant asked, “another dollar one, or…?” 

                The fuckhead then responds, “well, if you’re gonna give me a ten dollar one...  Yeah, a dollar one!”  He put on an air of exasperation at the clerk’s question, and continued, “I just got a dollar one!  You can give me a ten-dollar one if you want… for a dollar.”  He was clearly smug, proud of himself for being so clever in front of an audience.  The clerk responded, “well, you said ‘another ticket’ so I wasn’t sure…”  He got him the ticket, paid him out, and said to the customer, “Thank you.  Have a good one.”  The fuck walked out mumbling some shit, shaking his head, carrying his 12-pack and out the door. 

                The attendant looked over at his coworker, saying to her, “Man, I hate that!  That guy’s always like that,” as I shook my head and rolled my eyes about the dumb jackass who just walked out the door.   The couple in front of me bought whatever items they had and left – another unremarkable interaction out of thousands that these clerks undoubtedly experience.  I asked the attendants if he was a regular customer.  “Yeah!  It’s not like I said anything to him (that would warrant such behavior),” the clerk said indignantly.  “No, not at all!” I said in agreement, and added, “what a jackass!”  We wished each other a good night and I went along my way back home.  The theme this day of Ass Clowns was pretty apparent and now concrete.  It’s too bad, really.  It’s not always like this, but man, what a world.  Dealing with Ass Clowns on a daily basis is bad for one’s health.  I hope this isn’t a harbinger of more things to come. 

Unfortunately, on this very afternoon U.S. Representative Gabrielle Giffords was shot, along with several others who were wounded and killed.  Among the murdered was a 9-year old little girl, Christina Taylor Green.  In this day and age of anonymity, where your fellow human being is just another mass produced piece of shit number, in a country divided and full of hatred, one can only hope that the Ass Clowns come around to realize that it’s not all about them.  It’s not all about the individual.  I can only hope that citizens of the United States come around and realize that we are collectively a people that share this society, environment, and planet.  As much as one might be in denial, yes, you do depend upon other people every day.  Start acting like it, Ass Clowns.