Going Home (sorta)

Okay, so my homecoming is this weekend. When I first started getting informational materials on homecoming a few months ago, I unceremoniously chucked them in the trash like I usually do with mail from my alma mater. But they're persistent, those alumni relations people, and eventually I opened one piece of mail and thought, "Maybe I will go this year...."

I called my friend Chad, who not only graduated from college with me but also from high school with me, and asked him if he was planning on going. This simply because I had absolutely no intention of going to the homecoming alone, not knowing if anyone else I remotely like was going too.

See, the problem is, I didn't really enjoy my college experience at all. I didn't make many friends there. I didn't even enjoy being on my own. I had spent the first 17 years of my life in cozy seclusion, not being spoiled by my parents per se, but not really left needing anything of any importance. At first going away to college was like an extended summer camp -- you got a room, you had activities, you spent 100% of your time away from your parents... oh yeah, and you had classes too. Those pesky classes.

I quickly came to realize that I simply did not have the discipline to smoothly make that transition from high school kid to quasi-independent kinda-adult. I could skip class and no one would know. I could not do my reading and no one would yell at me. I could stay up until 3 a.m. on Tuesday and sleep until 5 p.m. Wednesday and the world would not end.

And I was not used to this. Nor was I prepared for this.

Obviously I didn't actually do all of the things I could have done, but I did relish my new-found independence all too well. While my peers made a nightly ritual of dinner followed by a few hours studying at the library, I bummed around my student lounge because I simply didn't feel like studying. Come midterm season, and then again come finals time, I panicked like nobody's business and managed to keep my head above water, but ugh. I could have handled it better. I should have. Somehow I never quite learned after first year that studying was a pretty damned important part of the college process. Every semester I'd repeat the same vicious cycle of goofing off and cramming, goofing off and cramming. It's a wonder I got the grades I did; even more so that I got accepted into law school and then passed the bar.

See up until the day I moved to college my life goal had simply been to get into a good college. Having accomplished that, I had no idea what happened next. I had failed to make any life plans beyond application and admission. Sure, I'd go to college, but what would I do there? I didn't have a clue. I had a general thought that when I left there I'd have a degree, from a good school, which would lead to a good job. But a degree in what? A job in what? I was aimless and drifty; as long as someone else was paying the bills, I was happy to do whatever.

I was no better socially. I was a maladjust. No one really wanted to be my friend. I kind of imposed myself upon certain groups just because they were there, but we were never really great friends. Eventually after first year we all moved to different dorms, and my contact with them was sporadic at best, again mostly because I hadn't formed the friendship bonds with them necessary to actually consider them good friends.

It didn't help that I was starting to finally acknowledge sexuality as part of life. In high school I was so busy with academics and extracurriculars and being with my friends that, honestly, I didn't give sex much thought at all. I graduated from high school a virgin and seriously don't think it was that big of a deal. I had more imporant things to do, like prepare for a speech and debate tournament, or study for that pop quiz which you know is just coming up in U.S. History when you least expect it, or rent movies and hang out with my friends.

But in college it was inescapable. People all around me were having sex, and no one thought twice about it. A bunch of 18- to 20-year-olds all running around the dorms, it's a recipe for orgasm. But I knew that the people I was sexually attracted to were not the ones who I should be attracted to. I didn't think Amy was sexually appealling. She was cute, but certainly not someone I'd like to have sex with. Now Kurt. Kurt was cute, and I definitely would have loved to see him naked. And so was Bob. And Mark. And the other Mark. And Peter. And Chip. And his roommate, whose name escapes me at the moment. You get the picture.

They say coming out is a highly individualized process, and each person takes it at their own pace. That being said, I still think it took me much longer than it should have to own up to the fact that I like guys. For two years I continued to hang out with Janet, a girl from my home state whom I knew when we were in the fourth grade. We were never dating, but just having her around made me feel more normal, like I was hanging out with the "right" people -- that is, a person of the opposite sex. But there was always something else. In my second and third years, my next door neighbor, whom I would see from time to time leaving for class, was cute as all get out, and carried a book bag which prominently featured a pin with a pink triangle on it. Oh, how I wanted to get to know him, if only to talk. Sure, it might have been fun to experiment with him sexually, but what college fag is going to want to get it on with a newbie? I never got to talk to him, and eventually in my senior I took an off campus apartment instead. My neighbor across the hall was hot, and straight. The first time I met him he had his shirt off, and I almost gasped.

So now as I look back on my college years, I wonder what life would have been like if I had had the nerve to come out back then. If I had tapped into the available support networks on campus to let myself become more comfortable with guys-who-liked-guys. I like to think that I would much more socially developed now. I like to think that perhaps I'd have a bit more confidence in myself, that I would know myself better just because I would have had that much of a head start in the process of self-awareness, that I would have just been happier in general if I had met a boy or two in college.

Then again, had I come out in college, I could have simply turned into the bitter, jaded, and evil person I am now that much sooner.

So this weekend I'm heading back to campus just for the day to see what's changed, what hasn't, and maybe just by chance bump into people I may very well want to say hi to. But as a matter of my personal experience, it's a time for me to return to that time of not-so-innocence, where I can face some demons down, look them in the eye, and say, I lived through my own private hell here, and I made it out alive.

Tempe Talk

Strangely enough, I feel like I have no comments on the third debate. I agree with one of Wonkette's observations: the whole thing just got booooring. Sure, W. stretched the truth a lot and dodged questions like you wouldn't believe... but then so did Kerry. No one really touched upon a lot of new ground and after a while, I was ready to just call it a night. Didn't help that I had been putting in back-to-back-to-back 10-hour days in the office and I was just plain tuckered.

My fave bit of scuttlebutt about the debates now is how Lynne Cheney is apparently livid over the fact that John Kerry dared mention in the debate the fact that she and the Veep have a lesbian daughter. Gasp! The shock! The horror!

Apparently it was okay for Gwen Ifill to ask the question of the Veep himself in the VP debate. Apparently it's okay for W. to want to write Mary and her partner out of the Constitution, because the Veep "just supports the President." Apparently it's okay for Republicans like Alan Keyes to go around saying that lesbians are "selfish hedonists" and that if he had a gay daughter, he'd tell her so. But for John Kerry to say that the Cheneys have a gay daughter who "is just being what she was born as" is revolting.

Someone bring these people into the 21st century already.

More Thoughts

As we get ready for the third presidential debate, I wanted to get down a few more thoughts about the second debate.

First, I'm not sure I was clear in how stupid the Dred Scott reference by W. was. Basically, he said (1) I don't like judges who don't strictly interpret the Constitution; and then (2) invoked Dred Scott. Problem is, the Dred Scott case did strictly interpret the Constitution, and in doing so, held that slaves are property of their white masters. In effect, our president declared that Dred Scott was a well-reasoned, good decision. 'Cause, you know, some people just should be considered property and nothing more.

Second, I left out one major observation from my last post, to wit: Is it just me, or does W. seem like he's still running as a candidate? Most of the debate centered around his plans: plans for economic stimulus, plans to bring more jobs around (after losing a million and having them slowly trickle back), plans, plans plans. He's a fucking incumbent. That means he's had four years to get things done. What the fuck has he been doing if now, after four years in office, he still has nothing but plans? John Kerry has plans, but he hasn't had the office to attempt to execute them yet. W. has had the Oval Office. Plans shouldn't cut it when you're a sitting president. Actions should.

Finally, I find it amazing that W. has the audacity to challenge Kerry's "long record" about this-and-that. At least Kerry has a record. W.'s spent most of the past 30 years engaging in losing business transactions (oil and sports) and generally waiting for his moment of glory. Well, he hit it. He doesn't have the long track record to attack. Strange election tactic, that: "My opponent has proven himself to be bad. I haven't proven anything at all about myself. So vote for me."

My World is Falling Apart -- Literally

How do I begin to explain? Everything I touch lately seems to be falling apart.

1. My cell phone. I hadn't realized how long it has been since I charged it, and seeing as it's been in my bag all weekend (I've been working, so there was very little need for me to ever pull it out), I didn't even hear the discreet "Help me! I'm dying!" tones it emitted. When I finally did pull it out of my bag, I foolishly attempted to actually use it -- turned it on and dialed quickly, hoping to get a word or two in before the battery zonked out again. The other phone rang once and it died again. No problem, I thought. I'll just charge it when I get home. Unfortunately, for some bizarre reason, my attempts to shove the charger into the phone properly were not met with success. No little "Battery Charging" symbol showed up. Nothing. I could have stuck a Q-tip in there for the same result. So, for now, my cell phone is dead and incapable of revivification.

2. My Jukie (I like this word -- just the way it sounds). Just bought it. Eventually managed to get Dell to tell me how to fix it, but for a while I was concerned. I did what the instructions told me to: I charged the device for over six hours, installed some software on my home machine, and started transferring music. It worked for a bit when I first opened the box, so I was happy. Then I took it to work -- because my office machine actually has a better music collection than my home computer at the moment. I happily started putting a slew of music from my computer on to my jukie (I still love this word). After I left for the day, taking my jukie with me, I got home to find that I couldn't turn the jukie on. The little battery indicator bar was there, but I could not get to a main menu. This irritated me greatly.

Eventually I got a customer service rep to talk to me about my problem. He suggested I use the "reset" button on my machine. Honestly, I had thought of that before, but I didn't want to have to reload all the music if I could avoid it. So I made sure I wouldn't lose the data if I hit reset, and he assured me so. So I did it, and it works now! Funny thing is, he said I shouldn't use that button often. And he also said that the jukie, like operating systems, sometimes requires a reboot after installing new stuff. Wait, says I, if I have to reset every time I load new music on, but then shouldn't reset too often, doesn't that mean I can't put new music on here very frequently? Now that I think about it, I don't think I received an acceptable reply to this question: I was just happy that the thing was now playing my music.

Oh, random aside: The hold message I had while waiting for my support guy (in India) said:

We are currently experiencing longer than usual hold times due to a recent outbreak of an internet worm. If your computer crashes upon startup, or if [blah blah blah], you may be infected with this worm. . . . Point your browser to [Norton or McAfee web sites] to fix this problem.

My question is this: If your computer is "crash[ing] upon startup," how the hell are you supposed to point your browser to anything, let alone anti-virus sites?

3. As mentioned above, my home computer isn't doing so hot. I installed a second hard drive where I'm storing data (as opposd to programs), including my music collection, and (ahem) pictures. Well, the hard drive is slightly farged. I've identified that there are some specific files in there that suffer from a "cyclic redundancy error", making them unreadable and, thus, useless. Problem is, the error also apparently renders them undeleteable, and they're stuck on my machine. Moreover, something about this error, it seems, prevents my Explorer from being able to "see" everything on the drive. So while my RealPlayer gives me a complete list of the music it can get to, my Windows Explorer won't show me music files past "D" on my subfolers.

4. My ceiling. Okay, so I didn't literally touch it, and it's really not even my fault. But earlier this summer, I noticed some slight water stains on the ceiling in my living room. Eventually these water stains turned into a giant water bubble -- sort of like an off-white version of those black domes that house security cameras in department stores. One night it finally hit breakdown, and dripped all night long onto my shelf. I know because a pilsner glass I have was filled with water, and then some. I complained to the condo about it, and they're getting my upstairs neighbor to pay for the fix-it job.

5. The closet door in my bathroom. Okay, again, I didn't touch it, and I don't know how this happened, but I was awakened in the middle of the night last night by a tremendous THUD. It had been a long day at work (literally 10 hours in the office -- on Columbus Day!) so I awoke groggily, thought What was that?, and looked up to verify that my front door was still closed. As long as no one had broken in and started doing bad stuff to my apartment (or me), I decided whatever that was could wait until morning. I went back to sleep.

This morning I found my closet door halfway to the floor in my bathroom, its fall broken only by the ironing board which used to sit right in front of it. (The ironing board, by the way, is now rendered dangerous to useless, seeing as a door collapsing upon it caused its legs to become uneven.) I spent a good part of the morning just trying to get everything out of the way so I could shower and other prepare for the day. I just didn't have the time or energy to fix the actual door.

So that's my laundry list so far of things broken. I do sincerely hope my work machine doesn't pull a kaput on me. I have got a lot of work to do this week.

Flaming Liberal?

I've never considered myself a strong partisan. I'm a registered independent, and I like to listen to opposing points of view and make up my mind about things.

But this election cycle has spurred something in me. George W. Bush called himself a "uniter, not a divider" during the 2000 campaign. He was wrong. He has polarized the nation. If nothing else, he has inspired such ire, such revulsion, in ordinary, free-thinking people like me, that we are rising up and taking action. Well, at least I am.

I have jumped from centrist to left-of-center. This means I have given enormous amounts of money -- more than I can afford, frankly -- to John Kerry's campaign as well as to the DNC. I see young, idealistic people on street corners downtown saying, "Do you want to help get George Bush out of office?" and I can't keep myself from stopping and providing my credit card number. I spent some volunteer time at John Kerry's campaign headquarters. I attended my first rally: The NARAL March for Women's Lives.

I am so angry at this administration. It literally hurts my head to think of it.

I have watched all the debates thus far. George W. Bush is an idiot who can't string together two sentences without flubbing. For some reason, the American public seems to think that John Kerry's ability to speak foreign languages makes him less attractive as a political leader. A man who can barely speak English is preferable. Remember my past post about stupid voters?

During the first debate, George W. came across as moronic and uninformed. He was clearly annoyed and is not used to being challenged. If you dare challenge the administration, you are deemed traitorous. John Kerry wiped the floor with W., appearing presidential and calm, and commanding a solid grasp on the issues. W., on the other hand, looked stupid.

The vice-presidential debate was of a completely different character. Cheney and Edwards were both in solid command of the facts. Neither of them really answered any of Gwen Ifill's questions, of course, but at least they were generally articulate. Cheney definitely seemed strong and firm in his convictions, yet professional and decidedly boring. Edwards, on the other hand, came across as the personable one, charming, smiling and animated. Both were charicatures of themselves -- Cheney unlikeable in his woodenness; Edwards freakishly saccharine. Sadly, the substance of the debate was a little lost just because no one responded adequately to the questions, and Ms. Ifill failed to reign in irrelevant responses.

Wait, I'm sure "You may not reign in irrelevant responses" was a rule imposed upon Ms. Ifill. Still, it looked stupid.

The second presidential debate was relatively dull to watch. George W. did better (after all, he had no place to go but up), but again he clearly demonstrated that he's not used to being challenged. It was painful watching his face; he was clearly coached very strongly to avoid smirking or otherwise looking annoyed. After a season of "campaigning" -- i.e., picking out Bush loyalists for "town hall forums" which feature laughable softball questions ("I'm going to toss this very large beach ball to you ver-r-r-r-y slo-o-o-o-o-ow-ly....") -- he's clearly not used to having to actually answer the hard questions. Interrupting the debate moderator was classic. "No, shut up, I want to talk, so daggone it, I'm going to talk!" And the man was completely unable to come up with ANY mistakes committed during his administration. NONE. Admitting defeat is for "girlie men," I'm sure. It's all about the talk, and the talk is "we're never, ever wrong."

Don't get me wrong, Kerry didn't do that well, either. He had a few attempts to hit W. out of the ballpark and didn't pick up on them. He had some great points, though, so I guess he did all right. He really should have taken down W. on the Supreme Court question, though. Did W. really say, "I want them to like me because I want them to vote for me?" -- a man who had the presidency handed to him on a silver platter by a court rather than by the electoral college should not be making jokes like that. (By the way, did someone say something about being against "activist" judges?) And why didn't Kerry mention W.'s track record for judicial nominees already? Screw the Supreme Court -- the Supreme Court hears under 100 cases every year out of the thousands that seek their review. What that means is the real law is made by the thirteen courts of appeals and the handful of district courts, each of which also are composed of presidential nominees who are put there for life. W. has shown that he's prepared to push for placing radical, right-wing judges all over the judiciary. The Supreme Court is drop in the bucket. The lower judiciary is a bigger threat.

Oh, and Dred Scott? I may be mistaken, but that case held that slaves really were property. After a slave escaped his master, the Court ruled that he could be lawfully returned to his master against his will without running afoul of any right afforded to him by the Constitution. (Of course, this was before the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments, but still.) Did no one notice that the Dred Scott decision is actually perfectly consistent with the "strict interpretationist" crap that W. thinks is so great? W. just pretty much said the Dred Scott decision was a great one, since it read the Constitution for exactly what was there -- meaning that poor runaway slave was screwed. Since Dred Scott, most of the advances we've made toward civil rights in this society have come from the courts, not the legislature.

I'm frankly disappointed that the polls are still so close. There's actually a huge population of people out there who actually like the direction this country is taking: record deficits, net job loss, tax breaks to millionaires, baseless wars.

All I can say is, if worse comes to worst, I need to prepare to move to Canada come November 3.

Paycheck Envy

In each of the past two days I have had lunch with law school colleagues. Each has done well for himself and seem pretty content.

James is a partner in his firm already. Okay, so his dad's a founding partner, so there may be a slight upper hand there, but still, he's a partner. He's married and living in Annapolis. Talk about a hellish commute. She doesn't really work right now. I can only imagine how much a house in Annapolis costs, on top of the fact that he's supporting a spouse who brings in no income.

Aaron, who was married by the time we started law school, is now divorced. He's moved around from Wisconsin somewhere to Chicago and now is back in DC. He's with a big firm here which is undoubtedly paying him quite well, because he had a $40 lunch. (Mine was $8, plus a $2 cup of tea.) Oh, and did I mention he's selling his 2BR/2BA condo in Georgetown because he bought a bigger place near Eastern Market? (See this previous post about how I've actually looked at houses in the Eastern Market area -- and can't possibly afford them.)

A few weeks ago, my friend Mira held her 35th birthday party at a swanky restaurant downtown. She rented out the "party room" in the back area of the bar, with a full open bar and hors d'ouvres circulating regularly (though perhaps not as regularly as they should have been given the aforementioned full open bar). I can't imagine how much such a party would cost. But seeing as I spent $80 there for dinner the one time I've been, reserving a room can't be cheap.

How is it that I've somehow managed to surround myself with people who all earn more than I do? They seem to have decent lives, they do very well for themselves, they probably have more saved up than I've ever seen attached to my name, and I barely have a cushion should I lose my job tomorrow.

Okay okay, yes, I should be happy that I make a decent living for myself and I'm not starving and own my condo (small that it is), but Aaron's talking about how he's invested $150K of his own money to start some housing construction business in Houston and is looking for investors. If I had $150K of my own ... heck I don't know what I'd do with it, but starting up a whole new business probably isn't want I'd be doing.

Even my other friends who aren't big-shot lawyers seem to earn more than I do. These are people who decline European vacations not because they don't have the money to plop down, but because they don't want to take the vacation time. These are people who think weekend jaunts cross-continent are fun. These are people whose idea of bargain hunting is finding lodging in Tahoe for under $1000. These are people with more frequent flier miles to their names than I accumulated flying back and forth from Philadelphia to Hawai'i for college breaks.

I was born into a middle-class family. We never had all that much money. They say you can't miss what you never had, but you know what? You sure can covet what you never had. I suppose it's cleaner for all involved to instead call it "setting a goal." My goal is to somehow or another accumulate more wealth. Without compromising my social life or my personal beliefs.

Wish me luck.

Marriage Movie

Check out Tying the Knot. The movie chronicles the problems facing two people whose same-sex partners have passed away. Obviously, in the absence of legal marriage for same-sex companions, their stories are heart-rending. I plan to see this movie and blog more about it later, but I wanted to make sure whoever's reading this sees it too! The movie opens this week, so it needs a big push especially on the first weekend to survive so that more swing voters can see it. Look for it in theaters now and go see it!

When Thesauri Go Bad

So I got an email from a client today which, I can only presume, is an attempt to thank me and my boss for a decent job in settling his case. I'm quoting the relevant language (more or less the entire email) below.

. . . I received my check today. I really appreciate the deference your team gave us. Its hapless I'm unable to revere all of you face to face. I believe that our relationship has been pithy, and affable during my resurgence. You are my implicit family, I hope to visit you on my vacation next June. In hindsight, you were sagacious, and this promoted a win/win aplomb for our denouement.

Huh?

I particularly enjoy having our attorney-client relationship being described as having been "pithy."

Jack & Bobby

I have to say, I was prepared not to like this show. It's from the WB, what do you expect? But somehow I started watching it at the third episode, and I'm hooked.

The show is remarkably well-done: powerful both emotionally and intellectually. It's fascinating to know from the onset that Bobby is going to grow up to the be the President. With such a great premise, the show can take liberties with the historical events between 2004 and 2040, and we get to watch as life events shape Bobby's mindset, which leads up to his eventual political career.

Tonight's episode was particularly fascinating because of J&B's mother's position on organized religion. Now, personally, I'm not a fan of organized religion myself, but Prof. McAllister's tirade was inexcusable. So what really turned my head is when the Muslim woman whom the Prof. singled out as being too constrained and, indeed, enslaved by her beliefs took her to task for that comment. It really gave me a new perspective. I've never even thought to call anyone stupid for willingly oppressing themselves under the guise of religion -- that's just rude -- but watching the Professor get her comeuppance like that was, well, cool.

Competition in Bed

Continuing the ongoing thread of "Wow, I am so pathetic" lines of thought:

Last night I had the strangest dream. I wish the dream had involved me sailing away to China in a little boat, only to meet someone who had to get their laundry clean, but it does not.

The characters in this odd dreamscape: Mark, my friend in Seattle; an Unnamed Sexy Man (kinda reminded me of Anderson Cooper, but it wasn't him, alas); and a third man with whom I know USM has been flirting all night. USM and the third man are not "together" -- yet -- but if all goes according to USM's plan, they will be. I find USM incredibly sexy and nice, so of course, I'm kinda crushing on him as well.

I forget the circumstances leading up to the events, but the setting basically is this: Mark, USM, USM's Object of Interest, and I have somehow been brought together for an evening. It could have been a party, or perhaps we were all volunteering for an event together and were chatting during down time. In any event, we were all gradually getting to know each other over the course of a few hours. (I don't know if I knew Mark in my dream, or if he was just some random avatar of Joe Everyman.)

At some point, USM kisses his OOI. This does not make me happy, but I'm cool because, frankly, I'm used to not being anyone's OOI. The dream takes a turn, however, when Mark expresses his interest in USM as well, and somehow draws him into a kiss of their own. This is remarkable in and of itself as Mark (in real life) has a boyfriend of several years. This, of course, annoys me.

So, being the upfront and ballsy guy that I am (literally, in my dreams), I decide it's my turn. I take USM's hand and gently direct him towards me, where I have every intention of making out with him. Unfortunately, even in my dream he turns his cheek to me so that I don't make contact with his lips, but the Forceful Me takes a hold of his face and directs it back to me so that I actually succeed in making lip contact with him. And he doesn't resist, and in fact, it's quite nice.

I don't know what happened next. I don't know if that's because I woke up, or just because I dreamed on but don't have a recollection of it.

Even in my dreams, I play second fiddle. Something's not right.

Animated crushes

Okay, so we've established that approaching a random blogger on the street to say hi is probably inappropriate, although potentially fun.

What makes me even sicker than you could ever possibly imagine, though, is that I can develop crushes on comic strip characters. I'm flipping through an online strip right now thinking, Wow, the boys in this strip are CUTE!

I'll have to allow you to judge for yourself: Check out Boy Meets Boy. That link is for the first day of the strip. You can keep reading ahead a day at a time. I've been addicted to this for hours now.

I should possibly also point out that I have crushes on Rob from Get Fuzzy (though he does have some not-so-flattering moments) as well as Jeremy from Zits. Or perhaps I shouldn't point that out. It's just plain embarrassing.

I am sick beyond my wildest dreams. I need help.

Angry Asian

I have to give a shout-out to my man Minsoo. Okay, so I've never met him. But he runs this fantastic blog called, appropriately enough, Angry Asian Man. It rocks! This guy is on the pulse of all things Asian and Asian-American, and isn't afraid to call things as he sees them with respect to the pervasive racism against Asian-Americans, and other minority groups, in this country. Check him out. He's got a great writing style too.

¡Goooooool! -- or not

Okay, so here's a non-exhaustive list of medium-term goals I'd like to achieve. Just for fun, let's say I'd like achieve them before I hit 35.

1. Learn to play the guitar. The regular, wooden kind, not something that's plugged in. I think it's sexy, and besides, it's easier to practice a regular guitar than something that has amps out the wazoo without bugging your neighbors.

2. Become competent in one more foreign language. I'm thinking of either Italian, Japanese, or Korean.

3. Find that ideal job.

4. Have enough to buy a new house without selling my condo.

5. Travel abroad at least three more times.

6. Go snowboarding.

7. Get in shape.

8. Clean the damn apartment up.

9. Finish those books that have been on my dresser for months now.

10. Find poker buddies for regular hold 'em games.

Blog crushes

Is it wrong to have a crush on someone just because you read their blog and find it funny, witty, relevant, etc.? (Doesn't hurt that they also have their picture posted.)

I have this strange fantasy that one day I'm going to walk down the street, either here or in some city I'm visiting, then suddenly do a double-take and say, "Hey! You're [insert blogger's name here]!" only to have them turn around, look at me, and morph their face into some mixture of abject horror and strange fear, and say "... and who the hell are you?"

It'll be worse if I'm actually able to rattle off a bunch of stats about him, like what television shows he watches, the names of some of his siblings, the cruise he took in 2002, a rally he attended, and even the names of his pets.

I need to get out more.

Voters are Stupid

Okay, so that statement isn't necessarily true on a blanket level. But Ward 8 D.C. residents leave a lot to be desired.

Marion Barry as been pretty much been reelected to the D.C. Council after a break from politics. Mr. Barry won the Ward 8 democratic primaries, ousting incumbent Sandy Allen from the post. (Seeing as Ward 8 is heavily democratic, it's unlikely he won't win the general election now.) Ms. Allen has been gracious about her defeat, stating that she will continue to represent the city, but then just lost an election to Marion Barry. That must be quite humiliating.

Backing up a bit: Mr. Barry was elected to the very post (Ward 8 Councilmember) in 1992 after having done prison time stemming from his arrest (based on videotape evidence) that he was doing crack in a hotel. Yes, the voters decided a crackhead would make a good person for political office.

As if this weren't enough, Mr. Barry eventually ascended to the position of Mayor of the nation's capital. Although I was already living in DC at the time, I was still in school, and still wasn't voting in the District: I disclaimed any affiliation with my neighbors for their idiocy.

Mr. Barry's tenure as mayor was a rocky one. Even though he served three terms (why did the voters keep re-electing him???), he never could quite dog the federal drug charges and perjury issues. Moreover, internet sites and other common lore started chronicling a history of Dan Quayle-like verbal mis-steps. (To be fair, many of these quotes appear to lack documented sources, although the lack of on-the-record quotes isn't really dispositive on the issue.)

This kind of voting pattern makes me wonder about our wonderful voting system. We've given power to everyone, including the most misinformed, misguided people in the country. If voters can't critically analyze a candidate, we truly do deserve exactly what we get.

Whither friendship?

I read this in someone else's blog recently and it got me thinking:

I'm lucky to have my friends there too. My real friends, the ones that know me, the ones that let me cry at 3am when they'd rather be sleeping. The ones who would be there through thick and thin. LK, JN, CJ, TB, LT, MP...in no particular order of importance, you make my life possible. I only hope that I've brought to your life what you've brought to mine.

(Source: JPK: You can never have enough water. I stumbled across this blog using the random blog search function from blogspot. I don't know the guy (though he's quite amusing -- when he's not depressed). Heck, you too can go to another randomly-selected blog now by clicking on the "Next Blog >>" icon in the upper right-hand corner. But finish reading this first!)

So as I was saying, Jason's comment kinda struck me, because I suddenly came to realize that my friendships aren't like what Jason describes. I've never cried to someone at 3 a.m. when they'd rather be sleeping -- and trust me, there have been times I've wanted to. (I end up crying at home alone instead.) I've always felt strange imposing upon my friends for almost anything. Even when I was recovering from surgery I felt really bad for having to ask my friends to come stay the night with me. I've promised each of them a dinner in return for putting them out so much.

But there are those who would argue (and I wouldn't disagree) that stuff like crying at 3 a.m., or incredibly inconvenient favors, are the stuff of which friendships are made. If your friendship can't survive late-night "I'm-depressed-and-just-wanted-to-talk" phone calls, then what do you really have?

Of course, there's a flip side to that argument, which I again can't disagree with. The flip side argues that if you can't respect your friendships enough to realize that your friends have lives too -- lives that don't revolve around you -- and reliving your drama isn't their purpose in life, then you're abusing the friendship. Late-night phone calls are the stuff of sappy movies, this theory claims, and friendships suffering from that in real life don't last long. Besides, it should be pointed out, even in the movies, those late-night calls either don't result in anything helpful, or in fact lead to bad decisions on the part of the comfortee.

I wish I could say I have a theory on this, but I don't. I can only take note of the friendships I have. Although I know I could rely on most of my friends for all kinds of things, they tend to small things -- like dragging my carless ass to parties, or even for a Target run. One once offered that if I needed help with a down payment for a real estate purchase, I should ask her. (Thankfully, I didn't take her up on that -- I don't think substantial debt between friends is ever a good idea.) Although I generally feel like I could crash at friends' houses out of town if I had to, I would feel like I'm at an age and success level by now that it just seems stupid not to find a decent and affordable hotel.

But at the same time that my friends are good for that kind of small stuff, I don't know, really, who I would have to rely on if, say, a member of my family were to die tomorrow, or if some other devastating personal catastrophe hit me. Knowing me -- and the relationships I have with my friends -- I'd probably put on a brave face, say that I was okay and everything will be okay... and mourn alone. In the movies, we see this all the time, but those people usually seem to have a spouse into whose arms they eventually collapse in a mess of tears. I think I'd have a teddy bear. It's the same thing that makes me unlikely to engage in the aforementioned 3 a.m. phone calls.

So is there a clear line to be drawn between leaning on your friends and respecting their right not to be burdened by you? I'm sure there must be. I just haven't found it yet.

Remembrance

Three years ago today, our nation was attacked in brutal fashion.

I still remember vividly how my day unfolded. It started with my typical tardy self, trying to get my butt out of bed to make it to the office at a reasonable hour. For some strange reason, I went against my usual routine and didn't bother to turn on NPR that morning. Had I done so, I probably would have heard news just a bit earlier.

I went downstairs and saw the people at the front desk watching some morning show. I asked what was going on -- after all, I had yet to hear -- and was just told "They're showing the Pentagon now. They're gonna switch back to New York soon." I didn't know what that meant. I just thought it was a typical Today show thing. I didn't realize that we were under attack.

I began to walk to work, where I saw some police officers standing by their car. There was smoke in the distance. I asked a cop what was going on. I was told something about a bomb at the Pentagon. (Serious misinformation going around.) I started to get the sense that this was serious.

I got to work. Everyone was there. There was a television set up in the kitchen, but with only a pair of rabbit ears and no cable, the picture was awful. Soon I retreated to my office to surf major web sites -- anything for a hint about what was going on. Finally the truth emerged, in all its awfulness. By then I saw the still photos of the collapsing towers on every major news source. By then the television in the kitchen had rebroadcast the impact ad nauseum, as if we really needed to see, over and over and over, the planes hitting the World Trade Center.

Slowly but surely, my colleagues started making their way home. Which was difficult, of course, since Metro had shut down most of its lines, leaving those people who had commuted into work that morning without a terribly effective way of returning home. I live way too close to the office, so I really had the choice to either walk home or stay at the office, either one being the substantial equivalent of the other: Being so near Ground Zero Washington, it wasn't like my two home bases made any different in terms of effect on impact. So my colleague Bert and I (Bert being stranded by lack of Metro service) wandered the ghost-town streets of downtown Wahington. We kept a vigil as close to the 16th Street view of the White House as we could. Upon hearing that the Washington Post was publishing an EXTRA edition, we went to the Post headquarters and got one. We went back to my place and kept watching the news from there. There was nothing to do but watch the reports and just keep seeing, "Holy fucking crap."

I could go on and on about how 9/11 has become a major political lynchpin in today's race, and unfairly so. I could opine about how it's a crutch for the Republican party used to mask absolutely no substantive platform otherwise. And I could draw parallels between the religious extremism that led to 9/11 and the religious extremism on American soil that leads to First Amendment violations as well as ideological issues like opposition to gay rights.

But for today, I should probably just let this be a day of remembrance.

Still gagging

Some people just can't take a hint. Either that or I'm just too subtle.

Him: after tomorrow I'll not see work for a WHILE
Me: i'm surprised you've seen work at all.....
Me: lol
Him: and God I'm so looking to spending a lot of time in someones arms :)
Him: he gets here in 12 hours and 45 minutes
Me: blah blah blah
Him: dude Ive been missing him so damn much
Me: uh huh.
Him: seriously
Him: the sex will be nice
Him: but I just want him here

To his credit, the first line of the above is actually line number 15 of our conversation. At least he lasted longer than he did last time.

Seriously now, "blah blah blah" is probably as rude as I can get on IM as a way of saying, "I don't really care at all about this conversation." I don't know about you, but when someone "blah blah blah"s me (and believe me, it's happened more times that I care to remember -- particularly with that little invisible-puppet hand motion), I take it as a cue to shut the fuck up. Does he just not get it?

Or am I just being a mean ol' bitter ass Grinch? Again, I have nothing against anyone being happy in a "relationship"... but I don't need to hear about it every time an IM window pops up with your name in it. And I'm by no means required to be enthusiastic about everything in your life. That just gets tiring.

Schmoopiness makes me want to puke

So I had the following IM conversation with a friend of mine recently. Background: my friend ("Him") is in Germany now, stationed there for a few years. Just before he left, he met a guy and fell head over heels or whatever. (Always seems to happen that way, I guess.)

I have nothing against someone being happy in a relationship, but when you can't talk about anything else, I rapidly lose interest.


Him: hey
Me: hey
Him: whasup
Me: not much.... how are you?
Him: chilling out
Him: missing my baby

[N.B.: This was line number six in our conversation.]

Him: talked to him this morning and woke him up
Me: lol
Him: just surfing around looking for a site I can't find
Him: what about you
Me: nada... just getting up. chilling.
Him: late night
Me: fell asleep earlier in the night.... woke up... went back to sleep late ...
Me: so i'm blog-surfing right now....
Him: ROFL
Me: some of these blogs are so incoherent
Me: it's annoying
Him: well someone called me at 3 am my time
Him: and then put me to sleep
Him: happily
Him: and then worked called me at 8am
Him: and then I slept until noon
Me: good to see they're working you hard.

[See how the conversation could have turned to a neutral topic. But instead it veered back again to the boyfriend.]

Him: well when I come back to DC I might let you read Gerry and mine blogs LOL
Him: right now they are private corespondence
Me: i'm pretty sure that's the last thing i want to do is read your blog.
Me: no offense.
Him: ROFL
Him: well Gerry is very coherent

[And yet again, we take a neutral topic and re-direct it to the boyfriend.]

Him: damn I can't find this site
Him: AARRRGGG
Me: sowwy
Him: I think I might have found it
Him: yeah I did find it
Me: yay
Me: one word: bookmark
Him: yeah yeah

[By this point I'm deliberately not asking what site he's looking for, because I'm certain that his search is centered around one thing, which I really don't need to be privy to. And sure enough....]

Him: I want to buy gerry a gift
Him: cool got it ordered :)
Me: cool. what'd you get?

[A slight moment of weakness on my part. Or just forced politeness. I can't tell which.]

Him: a pair of short (board shorts)
Me: ah.
Him: they are really cool looking
Me: good
Him: yeah they'll match a shirt he had
Him: oops has

[And here's where we get into obsessive idiocy.]

Him: hey got a question to ask
Me: yah
Him: what would you have waiting for your boyfriend when he came home from the airport ???

[He knows I haven't had a boyfriend in years.]

Me: are you on crack?
Him: what are you talking about
Me: why would you think i would have any kind of answer at all to that question?
Him: you are creative
Him: would what you do
Him: or what would you like
Me: yeah, there is no way i'm qualified to answer this question.
Him: oh help me out
Him: what you you think would be really cool
Him: what would leave you breathless when you walked in
Him: come on help me here
Him: flowers aren't enough

You can't tell from the above, but the last few lines were spread out over time. I had by that point refused to answer, and allowed the IM window to just lapse.

There comes a point when your obsessive talking about your boyfriend becomes insanely annoying. It's worse when you're slathering your blissful existence upon someone who can't score a date to save his life. After a while, it just becomes rubbing it in.

***

On a shockingly related note, I received an email from my friend Henry. I hadn't heard from him in years. It started off as one of those emails where you just cut and paste certain questions (and their answers) and forward them to all your friends and stuff... you know, mundane stuff like "What's your fave color?" or "What time do you get up in the morning?" I'm putting excerpts from this email below. I think it's just the world telling me I'm going to die alone.

1. What time do you get up? get up at 830am to get my baby to school by 930am. :)
6. What do you have for breakfast? sharing cereal with my baby.
15. Favorite sandwich? pastrami or any kind that my baby makes for me. :) yummy!
19. What color is your bathroom? yeah, we have the ugly lime green/yellowish tile with faded white walls. ick.
22. Favorite day of the week? monday - date nite with my baby! meow.
23. What did you do for your last birthday? a wonderful thai dinner with my baby, then spent the night working on a project :( thanks baby, for being so supportive!
28. What fabric detergent do you use? whatever is on sale. but that stuff my baby got at costco smells really good! mmmmm

Okay, upon further reflection, either this is a sign that I'm just going to die alone... or I'm just being way oversensitive to this shit.

Temporary Impotence

So I have (had?) this condition called strabismus for, like, ever now. It's commonly known as "walleye" or "cross eyes," and it's when both of the eyes don't focus on the same thing at the same time. This can cause some confusion for the brain, as two different sensory inputs are being received at the same time. In my case, it seems like it involves two muscles in my left eye, which worked too hard and keep yanking my eye up and out when my dominant right eye found an image to look at.

I've noticed that I had this condition for over a decade now. When I graduated from high school, I noticed that my eyes in my graduation photo weren't both looking at the same place. The condition apparently also manifests itself in the subconscious tendency to tilt the head to compensate for the eye maladjustment. I notice that I'm doing that now as I type this.

I've consulted with one or two eye doctors about this before, and was basically told that there's nothing really one can do about it. Although an inconvenience, I certainly wasn't blind. But the truth was, it also could give me headaches, and it gave me some substantial problems with depth perception, such as when I looked at a pair of telephone wires overhead -- I couldn't tell how far away they were, or even if there really were two of them or just one. It also made renewing my driver's license a bitch, since the eye test involves looking at a screen which wasn't ideal to a guy whose eyes were at odds with each other. (The examiner literally looked at me like, "you can't see that at all? The letters are there.")

In a most astonishing coincidence, my colleague Cynthia turns out to have also had this same condition. And to my utter surprise, she managed to find a doctor who actually could fix the problem. I let her be the guinea pig, then went to see him myself.

The surgery involves the doctor going into the eyes (I'm not exactly sure how) and weakening the hyperactive muscles behind the left eye. There was also the possibility of some overcompensation in the right eye, so another muscle would have to be adjusted in the right eye as well. As you can imagine, this occurs under general anesthesia.

Sure enough, after Cynthia's surgery, she could still see, and her eyes were definitely more pointed in the same direction. That's what we're looking for. She told me there was nothing to be worried about, that there's some distress or discomfort on the first few days, but then afterwards everything would be okay.

I went in for the surgery yesterday.

Cynthia understated the discomfort.

For some really stupid reason, I thought that I'd be able to walk out of the hospital that afternoon, sleep for a little bit, deal with a bit of discomfort, and deal with my day. Unfortunately, this was not the case. My eyes were effectively welded shut with the pain of micro-stitches in the eye, and a thin layer of ointment. This meant that every time I tried to open my eye, all I could see was a dull haze. There would be no hobbling around on my own in my cramped, messy apartment. Someone would really have to sit with me.

Thankfully, Tracy was able to spend some time with me, helping me feed myself and placing things in good positions so I could find them again. But for a few hours there, I really felt completely impotent. There was nothing I could do on my own. I couldn't see. Walking around involved substantial use of the hands. Even using the bathroom became an endeavor, as I not only had to find the toilet but then try my damnedest not to miss. (Eventually, someone smarter than I advised me to just sit down already.)

But the panic attack really started to hit me when I realized that I would be completely unable to feed myself if I got hungry and Tracy wasn't around. How would I be able to find something in the fridge? How would I prepare it? Suddenly, even something as mundane as a peanut butter sandwich, or a frozen pizza, or even a friggin' frozen tv dinner, would become a tremendous effort, involving lots of navigation that I would have taken for granted on any other occasion.

I think not being able to care for myself has quickly become my greatest phobia in life.

Tracy had to leave (she was tired and needed to get home), and I begged my other friend Elizabeth to come by and spend the night, just so I wouldn't be alone if I broke out in another panic attack. Thankfully, Elizabeth did, and thankfully, I did not have another attack. I slept through the night. When I awoke, at 6.47 a.m., I thought to myself, "What time is it?" and, somewhat reflexively, looked at the alarm clock lying next to me (which is how I found out it was 6.47 a.m.). It was then that I suddenly realized... I could see. There was minimal pain. There was no nausea. And though slightly uncomfortable, my eyes could open. There was nothing more than little pain one might get if there was a little too much gunk in it from the night before.

Today, I am, surprisingly, doing very well. I have my glasses on to see, but otherwise, it's okay. I'm not sure the strabismus is completely fixed, but my doctor tells me it takes a little while to get used to it, and it might realign itself gradually. But at least I can see. And function. And take care of myself. And for this, I am very, very thankful.