So, here we are, a few weeks into summer. Anything good happen yet?
'I’m having an awfully strange summer, all things considered. I used to have strange summers semi-annually, but strange summers tend to dissipate as you get older. In 1991, I lived with two guys, one of whom was a collegiate pole-vaulter; we had pole-vaulting poles lying across the floor of our living room for three months, and we tripped over them constantly. I played video games all night and never had any money. There was a Mexican guy in our apartment complex who worked on his van 11 hours a day, and we referred to him as “Van Guy.” We would play Skid Row on maximum volume at 2 A.M., and nobody complained. This was the kinds of housing development where nobody complained about anything, ever. Van Guy would actually ask us to turn our stereo up if we happened to be playing “Monkey Business.” One night, a drunk girl broke into our apartment while I was sleeping on the couch, but it turned out she was simply confused (she thought she was breaking into her ex-boyfriend’s apartment). I fell in love with one out our neighbors; her name was Heather, and he would rush over to our apartment every time MTV showed the Alice in Chains video for “Man in the Box,” coquettishly claiming that the video’s imagery terrified her. We went to see Point Break together, but nothing happened. That, obviously, was a weird summer.'
–Chuck Klosterman, Killing Yourself to Live.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Sometimes I Wish I Was Part of a Weird Bus Couple
Weird bus couples. I think I see one every time I ride the bus. You know the ones I mean; they get on the bus talking very loudly. They have no regard for anyone else, they are audibly making fun of the people sitting in front of them and not giving one ounce of a shit about it. They will probably start making out before you get off of the bus. There are probably teeth missing from both parties. At least one of them will be wearing a cracking leather jacket. They are probably much younger than you think; you ballpark them at around 50, maybe 40. That figure is probably closer to 30, but that many cigarettes and who-knows-what else doesn’t do wonders for ones appearance. There is certainly a mullet involved. Probably a WalkMan, too. So why, why would I ever want to be a part of a grubby couple like this?
Simply because, underneath the missing teeth, questionable fashion choices and way-dated cell phones, they seem happy. They have a simple, fun-loving, compatible relationship: they don’t care what anyone thinks, they are obviously not very concerned with very many material things and they can have fun––I assume––anywhere they are. I mean, I’m not saying I would want to grow a mullet, wear black New Balances and knock out a few of my teeth just to get into a relationship of this caliber, no, but the attitude behind a relationship like this is definitely appealing––when applied to your own life.
Think about it. You are dating someone you don’t have to constantly worry about impressing; you are comfortable enough to talk about anything you want (I guess you could wear anything you want, too) and the both of you do not care at all what your friends––or random strangers––think about your relationship because you know it’s a good one. I dunno, but that sounds pretty damn good to me. Plus, you can be a total douchebag on any mode of public transportation you find yourself riding and nobody will say anything to you. And if they do, they’re just jealous. Or really offended. Or both. But forget ‘em, because you’ve got your woman at your side and as soon as you pull that cord thing and request a stop and you’re off the bus you can make fun of that guy for the rest of the afternoon. Hell, you could even make fun of him while he’s still sitting two seats away from you, what do you care? You’re a weird bus couple now.
Simply because, underneath the missing teeth, questionable fashion choices and way-dated cell phones, they seem happy. They have a simple, fun-loving, compatible relationship: they don’t care what anyone thinks, they are obviously not very concerned with very many material things and they can have fun––I assume––anywhere they are. I mean, I’m not saying I would want to grow a mullet, wear black New Balances and knock out a few of my teeth just to get into a relationship of this caliber, no, but the attitude behind a relationship like this is definitely appealing––when applied to your own life.
Think about it. You are dating someone you don’t have to constantly worry about impressing; you are comfortable enough to talk about anything you want (I guess you could wear anything you want, too) and the both of you do not care at all what your friends––or random strangers––think about your relationship because you know it’s a good one. I dunno, but that sounds pretty damn good to me. Plus, you can be a total douchebag on any mode of public transportation you find yourself riding and nobody will say anything to you. And if they do, they’re just jealous. Or really offended. Or both. But forget ‘em, because you’ve got your woman at your side and as soon as you pull that cord thing and request a stop and you’re off the bus you can make fun of that guy for the rest of the afternoon. Hell, you could even make fun of him while he’s still sitting two seats away from you, what do you care? You’re a weird bus couple now.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Summer Is Here!
Alright, so it really is summer now and we know we all need good summer lists. Here's mine. And don't even think about stealing any of the things off of this list. Just don't even.
(Click it to make it bigger.)
(Click it to make it bigger.)
Monday, June 4, 2007
How Does It All Happen?
After having a somewhat debauched evening the other night, some friends and I decided to go get on a bus and head downtown to drink coffee, iced tea, chai tea and imported Mexican Coca-Cola (it tastes better, so shut up!) at a stylish place that was strangely crowded for being 10:30 at night. Okay, simple enough. Things got interesting, if not a little cosmic, though, when we walked up to the bus, which was stopped at the stop for a layover, or something, asked how long we’d have to wait (10 minutes) and then sat back down on the stone wall, which, also somewhat strangely, surrounded a cemetery. The five of us were sitting for a few moments before the bus driver leaned out of the bus and asked us what we were up to that night. We told him we were just at the park, etc. He pointed to the cemetery and asked if went there. We said we didn’t. At this, he got off the bus, stood in the street and began talking to us about coincidence; launching into this obviously preferred conversation topic by using the cemetery’s proximity to the park and the fact that that proximity was clearly “no incident” as a segue. He had a thick, relaxing Eastern European accent and we were eager to listen.
“Do you, you believe in destiny?” He asked each one of us, going down the line. We were transfixed. It was evident that he was a strong believer in this destiny business, and to illustrate this belief, he told us a story. I am fairly hazy on that story’s actual plotline, details and conclusion, but I remember that it was some 2,000 years old, took place in Arabia or something and vaguely proved the theory of destiny. The “destiny” (the belief that your life will unwaveringly follow a predetermined path) versus “free will” (the belief that you have explicit control over your actions and decisions) discussion is an old one, and a very interesting one to have every now and then––especially with a bus driver who has a soothing accent late at night outside a cemetery. I believe in a final destiny, but I think how we arrive at that endpoint is pretty much up to us. I told the bus driver this. He seemed to agree, although he believed that someone else dictates our individual actions to make us aware of the fact that we are not in complete control. Ever. He has a painfully good point; a brain-hurtingly good point. “When have you ever planned something that turned out exactly like you planned it?” was his next question. We all answered honestly: Never.
It’s true; nothing you yourself plan ever can possibly turn out exactly how you plan it. Although, you’re never going to plan every single detail of something––you just plan the big picture––and however that plan changes is just what happens, right? For example, you’ve got a big party coming up. Sure, you plan the theme, you invite who you want, you decide what music to play, you decide what catering company to use…but any number of things can––and will––occur that you could never have ever planned. Like two of your guests will have a conversation. That conversation will be about the new Gwen Stefani album. You would have never possibly have been able to conceive that. And you have no control over it. Except you hosted the party where the conversation took place. Would that exact same conversation have happened anywhere else? I don’t think so. But it happened at your party. Is that destiny? Let’s see: (a) You planned the party; (b) People come to it; (c) Person 1 and Person 2 both happen to be standing next to the buffet at the same time; (d) “Wind It Up” starts playing; (e) Person 1 says that she really likes that song. And there you have it, the conversation has begun.
You have no control over this. No one does––not even the people talking, really. So who decided that these to people would spend four minutes of their night talking about the way less good follow-up to Love.Angel.Music.Baby? Is this destiny? Because it can’t really be free will, I don’t think. Or is it just something totally different? Is it human nature? It’s human nature to just talk about shit and roll with a conversation, sure, but why did that conversation take place to begin with? Furthermore, if those exact two same people were standing in a different place at the party, the song was playing, and they were talking to each other, would the same conversation still happen? That shit can’t be planned out by anyone, yet stuff like this happens every minute of every day. Do we actually have any control over our actions?
Think about it. Yeah, I told you it was cosmic.
We all exchange looks of awe and excitement. Come to think of it, is randomly meeting and talking to this guy destiny? It sort of has to be, right? How could any of us ever imagined and planned out that later that night we would linger on a corner, cross the street, sit on a cement wall and have a philosophical discussion with an Eastern European bus driver? That’s not the kind of night I’m “planning” yet it happened like that. It just fucking happened. Everything just fucking happens.
It’s been ten minutes. We climb into the bus; the he’s still talking to us. We’re, obviously, the only people there. We try to pay. He waves his hands and tells us not to worry about it. We genuinely thank him and then take seats at the front in order to easily continue our conversation. Now it’s our turn to ask the questions. First we want a name. He tells us his name is Lola. He tells us he’s from Ex-Yugoslavia, he used to be a chemistry and biology teacher there, he’s been a bus driver in Seattle for three years and he has a son graduating from the University of Washington this year, and another in his sophomore year. Think about that. What could have possibly led him from Yugoslavia to Seattle? From a chemistry teacher to a bus driver? From sitting on the bus alone 15 minutes ago to talking to the five kids he is now? Sure, he made all of those decisions, in the earthly sense: He decided Yugoslavia was too _________ (Dangerous? Maybe.) and had to leave, he bought the plane tickets to Seattle because he heard it was _________ (Amazing? Yes.), he applied for the job as a bus driver because it would _________ (Be a good opportunity to read a lot? Of course.), he decided to get off the bus and talk to us because he was _________ (Bored? Probably.). Yeah, that’s how it all goes. We all know we make our own decisions, and we know why. But why?
Destiny? Probably.
More people eventually got on the bus and we had to stop talking to Lola; he had other people to deal with, though he didn’t say anything to them; he just stopped talking to us. We came to our stop near the trendy coffee shop, got off, thanked Lola and wished his sons good luck in college. What a night.
Similarly, yesterday I went to a small taco stand for lunch. There was an extremely not-Mexican guy sitting in there reading a book on Italy. It was a large coffee table-style book; lot’s of aerial pictures, very few words. As soon as I entered the place this man stood up and sauntered behind the counter to take my order. He worked there. I told him I wanted three shredded chicken soft tacos. “With cheese, sour cream, guacamole?” He asked, in some sort of European accent––French, or possibly Italian. How immensely interesting, although it probably wouldn’t have struck me as such if I hadn’t met Lola one night before. And of course I wanted cheese, sour cream and guacamole. As soon as he gave my order to the very-Mexican woman in the kitchen, he lifted up the removable piece in the counter and came back out to read his book on Italy. I asked him if he was going to go to Italy. “Yes, yes, I always go to Italy.” He said he grew up in France but his mother was Italian so they spent every summer in Italy. This prompted me to make him aware that I went to Italy last summer. He asked me whereabouts in Italy. “Florence, Rome, Sorrento, around Tuscany; Assisi,” I replied. He looked happy, he told me that he always goes to Venice and how beautiful the ocean is, etc. I told him I was in Sorrento the night that Italy won the World Cup. He found this very, very cool and went on to say how Italy hadn’t really been playing soccer at all. “There was no finesse, it was violence.” This is probably true. I really couldn’t give less of a shit about soccer, but my new French-borne taco stand worker friend seemed to love it (and a lot of my actual friends do too, actually) so I continued the conversation by telling him that I went to the soccer game at Qwest Field last year. He knew exactly which one I was talking about. “It was okay, not too exciting,” I said. “Yeah, they’re fine. It was an exhibition game,” he offered. “If you want to see real soccer, go to Brazil or Africa.” We talked for a little bit longer about the merits of young African players (“Everyone over there is young, if you get too old, you die,” he insight-ed. I have to say, I agree.) before my tacos were ready and I waved good-bye and headed out. Granted, this conversation was not nearly as profound––or random––as the one I had the previous night with a certain chemistry teacher-cum-bus driver, but I still found it strange and intriguing. Just the fact that this French man who visited Italy every summer and played lots of soccer in his youth––and still visits to this day and would play soccer, if he hadn’t “hurt my knees when I was twenty”––now works at a hole-in-wall taco stand in Seattle astounds me for some reason.
I think this is why: (1) I am in a very destiny-y mood because of that aforementioned late-night encounter. (2) I do find all of that stuff really interesting and I want to know what made him change his life so drastically. Why the hell is he now living in Seattle and selling tacos? Doesn’t that sort of have to be destiny? (3) The whole phenomenon of just plain old starting conversations with strangers––and having them be meaningful, deep conversations, no less––never ceases to amaze me. (4) This phenomenon seems to happen a lot; too, in just one weekend I had two such conversations with people I will never––most likely––see again. (5) How everything works together = motherfucking mind-blowing.
All of this, of course, ties back into my topic du jour, destiny. I mean, why did I decide to go to that taco stand? I wanted some chicken tacos. Okay. Why did I start talking to the guy reading the book on Italy? I dunno, I felt like it. Fine. But really, is it all total coincidence? I went to Italy last year; I had something to talk to him about. Something actual to talk to this guy about. What are the fucking chances of that? What if I had ordered beef tacos? Would I still have had the same soccer conversation? Would my entire day be the same as it was with the chicken tacos? Would my entire life change if I ordered beef tacos? Would I have gotten in a car wreck on the way home, because I ordered beef tacos. I mean, I ordered chicken and I got home perfectly safely, but would beef have changed that? Whew.
Life really is amazing. Honestly, it is. Forgetting about this whole destiny thing for a moment, life itself is an incredible thing, no matter how it’s controlled. Is it all a web of completely unrelated things that, because they are all happening at once, occasionally turn out to be connected? Or is everything actually connected? So connected, in fact, that most things appear to be totally disconnected? It’s pretty much impossible to say for sure, but it’s overwhelming to think about.
“Do you, you believe in destiny?” He asked each one of us, going down the line. We were transfixed. It was evident that he was a strong believer in this destiny business, and to illustrate this belief, he told us a story. I am fairly hazy on that story’s actual plotline, details and conclusion, but I remember that it was some 2,000 years old, took place in Arabia or something and vaguely proved the theory of destiny. The “destiny” (the belief that your life will unwaveringly follow a predetermined path) versus “free will” (the belief that you have explicit control over your actions and decisions) discussion is an old one, and a very interesting one to have every now and then––especially with a bus driver who has a soothing accent late at night outside a cemetery. I believe in a final destiny, but I think how we arrive at that endpoint is pretty much up to us. I told the bus driver this. He seemed to agree, although he believed that someone else dictates our individual actions to make us aware of the fact that we are not in complete control. Ever. He has a painfully good point; a brain-hurtingly good point. “When have you ever planned something that turned out exactly like you planned it?” was his next question. We all answered honestly: Never.
It’s true; nothing you yourself plan ever can possibly turn out exactly how you plan it. Although, you’re never going to plan every single detail of something––you just plan the big picture––and however that plan changes is just what happens, right? For example, you’ve got a big party coming up. Sure, you plan the theme, you invite who you want, you decide what music to play, you decide what catering company to use…but any number of things can––and will––occur that you could never have ever planned. Like two of your guests will have a conversation. That conversation will be about the new Gwen Stefani album. You would have never possibly have been able to conceive that. And you have no control over it. Except you hosted the party where the conversation took place. Would that exact same conversation have happened anywhere else? I don’t think so. But it happened at your party. Is that destiny? Let’s see: (a) You planned the party; (b) People come to it; (c) Person 1 and Person 2 both happen to be standing next to the buffet at the same time; (d) “Wind It Up” starts playing; (e) Person 1 says that she really likes that song. And there you have it, the conversation has begun.
You have no control over this. No one does––not even the people talking, really. So who decided that these to people would spend four minutes of their night talking about the way less good follow-up to Love.Angel.Music.Baby? Is this destiny? Because it can’t really be free will, I don’t think. Or is it just something totally different? Is it human nature? It’s human nature to just talk about shit and roll with a conversation, sure, but why did that conversation take place to begin with? Furthermore, if those exact two same people were standing in a different place at the party, the song was playing, and they were talking to each other, would the same conversation still happen? That shit can’t be planned out by anyone, yet stuff like this happens every minute of every day. Do we actually have any control over our actions?
Think about it. Yeah, I told you it was cosmic.
We all exchange looks of awe and excitement. Come to think of it, is randomly meeting and talking to this guy destiny? It sort of has to be, right? How could any of us ever imagined and planned out that later that night we would linger on a corner, cross the street, sit on a cement wall and have a philosophical discussion with an Eastern European bus driver? That’s not the kind of night I’m “planning” yet it happened like that. It just fucking happened. Everything just fucking happens.
It’s been ten minutes. We climb into the bus; the he’s still talking to us. We’re, obviously, the only people there. We try to pay. He waves his hands and tells us not to worry about it. We genuinely thank him and then take seats at the front in order to easily continue our conversation. Now it’s our turn to ask the questions. First we want a name. He tells us his name is Lola. He tells us he’s from Ex-Yugoslavia, he used to be a chemistry and biology teacher there, he’s been a bus driver in Seattle for three years and he has a son graduating from the University of Washington this year, and another in his sophomore year. Think about that. What could have possibly led him from Yugoslavia to Seattle? From a chemistry teacher to a bus driver? From sitting on the bus alone 15 minutes ago to talking to the five kids he is now? Sure, he made all of those decisions, in the earthly sense: He decided Yugoslavia was too _________ (Dangerous? Maybe.) and had to leave, he bought the plane tickets to Seattle because he heard it was _________ (Amazing? Yes.), he applied for the job as a bus driver because it would _________ (Be a good opportunity to read a lot? Of course.), he decided to get off the bus and talk to us because he was _________ (Bored? Probably.). Yeah, that’s how it all goes. We all know we make our own decisions, and we know why. But why?
Destiny? Probably.
More people eventually got on the bus and we had to stop talking to Lola; he had other people to deal with, though he didn’t say anything to them; he just stopped talking to us. We came to our stop near the trendy coffee shop, got off, thanked Lola and wished his sons good luck in college. What a night.
Similarly, yesterday I went to a small taco stand for lunch. There was an extremely not-Mexican guy sitting in there reading a book on Italy. It was a large coffee table-style book; lot’s of aerial pictures, very few words. As soon as I entered the place this man stood up and sauntered behind the counter to take my order. He worked there. I told him I wanted three shredded chicken soft tacos. “With cheese, sour cream, guacamole?” He asked, in some sort of European accent––French, or possibly Italian. How immensely interesting, although it probably wouldn’t have struck me as such if I hadn’t met Lola one night before. And of course I wanted cheese, sour cream and guacamole. As soon as he gave my order to the very-Mexican woman in the kitchen, he lifted up the removable piece in the counter and came back out to read his book on Italy. I asked him if he was going to go to Italy. “Yes, yes, I always go to Italy.” He said he grew up in France but his mother was Italian so they spent every summer in Italy. This prompted me to make him aware that I went to Italy last summer. He asked me whereabouts in Italy. “Florence, Rome, Sorrento, around Tuscany; Assisi,” I replied. He looked happy, he told me that he always goes to Venice and how beautiful the ocean is, etc. I told him I was in Sorrento the night that Italy won the World Cup. He found this very, very cool and went on to say how Italy hadn’t really been playing soccer at all. “There was no finesse, it was violence.” This is probably true. I really couldn’t give less of a shit about soccer, but my new French-borne taco stand worker friend seemed to love it (and a lot of my actual friends do too, actually) so I continued the conversation by telling him that I went to the soccer game at Qwest Field last year. He knew exactly which one I was talking about. “It was okay, not too exciting,” I said. “Yeah, they’re fine. It was an exhibition game,” he offered. “If you want to see real soccer, go to Brazil or Africa.” We talked for a little bit longer about the merits of young African players (“Everyone over there is young, if you get too old, you die,” he insight-ed. I have to say, I agree.) before my tacos were ready and I waved good-bye and headed out. Granted, this conversation was not nearly as profound––or random––as the one I had the previous night with a certain chemistry teacher-cum-bus driver, but I still found it strange and intriguing. Just the fact that this French man who visited Italy every summer and played lots of soccer in his youth––and still visits to this day and would play soccer, if he hadn’t “hurt my knees when I was twenty”––now works at a hole-in-wall taco stand in Seattle astounds me for some reason.
I think this is why: (1) I am in a very destiny-y mood because of that aforementioned late-night encounter. (2) I do find all of that stuff really interesting and I want to know what made him change his life so drastically. Why the hell is he now living in Seattle and selling tacos? Doesn’t that sort of have to be destiny? (3) The whole phenomenon of just plain old starting conversations with strangers––and having them be meaningful, deep conversations, no less––never ceases to amaze me. (4) This phenomenon seems to happen a lot; too, in just one weekend I had two such conversations with people I will never––most likely––see again. (5) How everything works together = motherfucking mind-blowing.
All of this, of course, ties back into my topic du jour, destiny. I mean, why did I decide to go to that taco stand? I wanted some chicken tacos. Okay. Why did I start talking to the guy reading the book on Italy? I dunno, I felt like it. Fine. But really, is it all total coincidence? I went to Italy last year; I had something to talk to him about. Something actual to talk to this guy about. What are the fucking chances of that? What if I had ordered beef tacos? Would I still have had the same soccer conversation? Would my entire day be the same as it was with the chicken tacos? Would my entire life change if I ordered beef tacos? Would I have gotten in a car wreck on the way home, because I ordered beef tacos. I mean, I ordered chicken and I got home perfectly safely, but would beef have changed that? Whew.
Life really is amazing. Honestly, it is. Forgetting about this whole destiny thing for a moment, life itself is an incredible thing, no matter how it’s controlled. Is it all a web of completely unrelated things that, because they are all happening at once, occasionally turn out to be connected? Or is everything actually connected? So connected, in fact, that most things appear to be totally disconnected? It’s pretty much impossible to say for sure, but it’s overwhelming to think about.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)