Archive for July, 2007

Some may find this offensive

But really I thought it was well done. If you’ve already seen this I apologize for bringing it to your attention more than once. Also, I don’t think this applies strictly to the target audience, everyone can take something from this.

Clearly I don’t have enough work

I have lots of free time at work. Enough to read just about anything I want to read. I can chat on AIM and chat with my co-workers. I can even write blog posts, like this one. Reading other people’s blogs inspires me to reflect about my life, and usually some surprising things come out of that reflection. One is that I feel bad reading back through their archives. Like I shouldn’t be reading these personal things they put on the internet for everyone to read. These things they probably wanted read, at least at the time. I personally forget all the things I used to blog about, and if someone were to go back and dredge all those forgotten things to the forefront I might be a little shocked by what I found. I was a different person back then, but the lone reader doesn’t know that. Provided they’ve never met me, or I’ve never met them. Maybe thats why I feel bad. I feel like a stranger riffling through another person’s things. You need to be invited in, offered those things, and then it is okay. So my apologies to Janet. You’ve kept me entertained at work today. Her new stuff is good too, but I read that already.

Sometimes when I’m walking by myself through New York City the song The Only Living Boy in New York pops into my head. I first heard it on the Garden State soundtrack and its been with me ever since. It reminds me of the scene at the opening of Vanilla Sky where Tom Cruise drives into Times Square and he is the only person there. It’s a haunting scene. I feel like I’m the only feeling person in the city. Or at least the only feeling boy. Is that loneliness natural when you’re standing in a crowd? Anyone else ever feel that?

I also feel like I’m from that class of people who are desperately trying to escape what they are and where they came from. It’s not that I don’t like where I came from, I just want to be different. I’m part of that Great Gatsby American Dream. Those people who set out with great expectations and want to someday achieve greatness. It’s a shame. I was having a conversation with a friend. It went something like this:

nick: I suppose if [female] talked about working at camp and called the kids crazy brats and said there was a male camp counselor she was always making eyes with that would be more exciting
friend: did you just make that up in your head?
nick: she does work at a day camp. and after camp if she went to a coffee shop or other place like that and had haughty conversations with the staff, or read a self-important novel and acted like everyone should wish they were her and were getting as much out of this novel as she was. then I’d really want to be there and wish I was reading the same novel and getting the same goodness out of it.
friend: but i would say that a person like that needs to get over themselves
nick: but by the time I get around to [reading] it she has moved onto the latest new thing and can’t be bothered to talk about that novel because it is old hat.
friend: so if you meet her, and shes not like that, is she immediately not interesting? could you give her a chance to be interesting in another way that maybe you don’t realize that you like?
nick: she is interesting in other ways, and I think a different guy would really appreciate those things, but I find that I fake interest in those areas. like the [interests of the female]. they aren’t me. but I [really] should give her more of a shot.
nick: I think I project the things I want to be onto the people I’d like to date. so if I want to be well read, they should be well read; if I want to be an artist, they should be an artist;
friend: i cant disagree with that
nick: if I want to be exciting and be part of the upper crust, they should already be those things. I want to envy their lifestyle so much that I become it.
friend: i think youre right about that.
nick: I’m right? that’s nice.

I’m not entirely sure what this says about me, but I’m working on finding out.

I’ve been watching a lot of CSI, phrases like occipital lobe keep popping into my head. Ever wonder where your mind goes when you aren’t watching it? I was walking in the rain on Sunday and as I drew near my dorm the phrase “Pirates of Penzance” popped into my head. I don’t know where from or why. It wasn’t until I had ridden up the elevator and gone into my room that I realized how odd that was. Where do these things come from?

It seems once a month I get the urge to write

I have short hair, so recognize

At least write publicly. I like to write e-mails. I think I’d write letters if my penmanship was better (and I had someone to write to). I never really fashioned myself a writer. Sure, I wrote in High School, but who didn’t? Nothing I wrote was particularly memorable or meaningful, and so in my past it will stay. Today I am a reader, not really a writer. I don’t think you can be a writer without also being a reader, but being a reader requires no extra effort. Of course, writing after you read is a great way to sort out your thoughts and gleam some deeper meaning from the literary work. I don’t write enough in that respect. I don’t write for me, and maybe that is where I fall short. I write for others, like I do so many things for others. What do I do for me?

Which truly is an appropriate question (insert :, ;, or , accordingly) what do I do solely for me? Solely for my personal edification? I think I use big words, or if not big, at least words packed with meaning. I use proper spelling and, to the best of my ability, grammar. I try to keep up to date with current events so I don’t feel left out. I watch TV, not real on-right-this-second TV, but TV shows. Like CSI. I try to escape.

I’d like to be a writer. I’d like to give back, make my mark, open myself up to criticism and improve. Take a chance to suck royally. But I don’t, or at least I haven’t so far. Maybe I’ll sit down this weekend and write something. Saying this just gives me something else to avoid. I try my hardest to avoid the things I have to do. I’m just setting myself up for failure. Maybe writing isn’t something you can schedule, you just have to let it happen when the feeling comes to you. I haven’t felt that feeling in years.

And all of a sudden the urge to write here has left me. I should have told a story, stayed in the moment, but that all encompassing buzz is gone from my head, and anything I write now will be littered with poorly chosen words and….I lost my train of thought. I’ll meet you all back at the station, hopefully the next train pulls in soon. I don’t care where to, I just need to be on one.


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