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I started December off with the lofty goal of writing the Best of ‘09 Blog Challenge. It was an utter failure. I barely got through half the month of challenges before I gave up, posted two half fleshed out retrospections of the decade, and again had radio silence. Why? Why couldn’t [...]
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The L Train is for “Love”; The F Train is for….
Each morning, I get on the L Train at 14th street and 1st Ave. It’s a short but nice walk for me through Tompkins Square Park and up Avenue A and across to 1st near Stuyvesant Town. I put in my (now deceased) pair of Skullcandy headphones that I received from Skullcandy back in the day, and I just cruise along to whatever band has captured my attention. Depending on the time that I get there, I am either greeted with my fellow early morning New Yorkers or I’m part of the huddled masses that are making their morning commute. It’s not my ideal form of transportation (and I take taxis often), but it works and isn’t that bad.
What makes it even better are the people that I’m huddled with. I don’t know if it’s simply the amount of people on the train or the fact that I live in an attractive neighborhood but not a day goes by without me becoming infatuated with a fellow passenger on the train. I’ve written notes so that I can remember the details for often-unpublished forays into the Craigslist “Missed Connections” section. It’s the full-fledged fantasy voyage for someone like me – a outgoing people watcher who pines for the chance encounter with love.
The funny thing, I realize that the train ride is superficial and just a fantasy. Sure, I can see a beautiful girl and look at her flawless skin, cute fashion sense, and intelligent yet not pretentious book choice and think “wow, I would like her” but in reality, I don’t know anything about her. In accordance to “Sketch Theory” (Post on that coming soon), I create a full personality filling the gaps with the things I want in a person. She’s no longer the person sitting on the L across from me – she’s a fantasy. She’s something that, in all likelihood, could never exist. Perhaps should never exist. As I embark headstrong into the 30th year of my life, I am starting to realize that all the fantasies and desires of my twenties are not the ideal to be chasing. With all the complexities of human relationships, the seeking of perfection is as much of an albatross to successful relationships as the literal one the mariner carried around his neck.
In New York, the fantasy surrounds you daily. Even right now, I am sitting in a coffee shop in the East Village surrounded by beauty of all shapes and sizes. I see the laugh of the coffee shop barista and smile – imagining that in different, potentially intimate scenarios. As I exited my taxi the other day, a tall, striking brunette with a British accent that I had never seen before asked if I was her neighbor. That short interaction made me pine for a longer conversation – a fantasy one. Fantasy bombards people daily – it’s the allure of the city. My friends that suffer from Peter Pan syndrome and never grow up are seduced by such things. Perhaps I may too – only a few months into this rediscovery of New York and I can’t help but fall in love daily. I just need to remind myself that it’s all fantasy…..
**FTC Disclaimer: I did receive a free pair of Skullcandy Headphones back before you started targeting bloggers. I once had someone pay my fare to get on the L Train – not sure if it was a MTA employee, but I’m just trying to cover my tracks. I live in New York and pay city taxes, so I guess I have a financial relationship with the city although I’m pretty sure that it’s the city that should post a disclosure since I am pretty awesome and make the city better by living here. Craigslist lets me post missed connections for free. It’s a nice perk but I’m starting to think that Craig gets around because everyone else seems to be able to do it. I generally like Blondes over Brunettes, but recently a Brunette bought me dinner so I’m going to say that may influence my recent crush on this brunette neighbor that may or may not have been my real neighbor. Also not sure if the brunette that bought me dinner is part of the brunette’s union or if such a thing really exists. I’m pretty sure that discloses everything, but if I missed anything – just let me know. Kthnxbai**
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George G Smith Jr’s Future is…
The movie Amelie is one of my favorite movies. In the beginning of the movie, the narrator goes on to explain the characters with a series of quirks – the little things that make each character different. Here’s a clip:
One of my many quirks is the fact that I google the ending to everything – movies, books, television shows – I can not stand to wait to figure out what will happen next. That, along with my favorite french saying “Je sais l’avenir par coeur” (via Paul Valery) illustrates what I want out of life: I want to know how it ends in intimate detail. I want to know the future by heart.
Since you can not “know” the future, I tried to impose my Will on it. I have a very strong Will. I feel that I can accomplish anything and, ultimately, when I set my mind to things – they happen. With that Will, I tried to create a scenario where I knew the future – in particular my love life. The Will is strong and I almost made it happen. When it didn’t, I found myself befuddled. How could I not get what I wanted? How could I not make something I felt such powerful passion for reality?
I was talking to Sarah today and, as per usual, her somewhat detached observational nature made me start to put into words the things that I have been feeling. I have been reveling in the uncomfortable nature of not “knowing” the future.
That uncomfortableness made me realize a lot of things about how sometimes you can’t just get things because you want them – especially when love is involved. For an average looking guy, I have not faced rejection that often. I have successfully pursued many girls that were far out of my league. And I did this with the confidence that, if I tried hard enough, nothing could stop me. My mindset always was, as I’ve written before: I do know the future by heart, because the future resides within me. My Will creates the future as I want it….
With love, however – it’s different. Love shouldn’t be the powerful Will of another causing submission. It should be the interwoven passion of two people. Back when Sarah and I dated, she did one of the most romantic things that a woman has ever done for me. I arrived at her house after work to a note that said, “Go to the place where we had our first date….” I went, where I was greeted by more clues that lead me on a scavenger hunt throughout the months of our relationship. When I finally gathered all the clues, I was directed to her place where she was there – cooking for me. We had a nice dinner and I have never felt more loved in my life. She illustrated her passion in me by going above and beyond. Our passions were aligned and that lead to our relatively successful relationship.
Looking back over things, I realize that if you spend too much time trying to create the future – you never will receive the affection in return. Over the course of years, I never did get anything in return. There were gifts of all sizes sent to whatever location she was in – even ones that never arrive because of Italian customs. There were password protected Posterous accounts that had pictures of every time I thought of her – a site with over 300 posts in 4 months that she never even bothered to check once. There was so much passion and Will to make something happen that, l forgot to even see if there was passion being returned. There wasn’t and there is really no one to blame other than myself.
So, with this introspection, I realize that I can no longer google my future to determine what will happen. There’s no “George G Smith Jr’s future is….” blog post out there that will determine it. No image search that will identify future lovers. Ultimately, it’s each and every moment – filled with the horrifically beautiful “unknown.” I think I’m finally ready to let go of the need to “know” the future and just sit back and enjoy the present…
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“You say my kisses are not like his, but this time I’m not gonna tell you why that is…”
The thing that I love about music the most is the fact that almost every person takes a personal stake into the artistic creation of someone else. The song, “Come Pick Me Up” by Ryan Adams is a song that I feel like I wrote. The emotions, my interpretations of some of the lines, the sweet melancholy – it just comes together and represents a specific part of my life – one that I’ve documented off and on via blogs like this, but I’ll refrain from sullying this blog with those details.
I couldn’t help but suddenly feel the intense desire to search the song that is describing my current feelings. There have been a lot of songs that I have been listening to lately that are close. For example, the line, “If I could do just one near perfect thing I’d be happy /They’d write it on my grave, or when they scattered my ashes / On second thoughts I’d rather hang about and be there with my best friend / If she wants me” hit close to home, but the song overall doesn’t capture things completely.
When Bob Dylan was writing Blonde on Blonde in the Chelsea Hotel, I wonder if it was raining out. The cliche cinematic version in my head has him at his typewriter, smoking cigarettes and pushing them into an all too full ashtray. He is maniacal at the keyboard, the pounding keystrokes balancing the lightning speed of thought and the machines physical constrictions. This is the scene I have in my head when I imagine Dylan sitting there writing these songs from my favorite album. This is the album I listen to when I’m feeling blue. So why is it shocking that it’s two Dylan songs that capture what I am feeling:
Sitting in my apartment, looking down on Loisaida Avenue, the window slightly ajar, and the cool air filling my all-too warm room, the only light in the room is this monitor and the flicker of a candle that I lit a few hours ago – and that will go out by the time I finish writing this post. In a bit of reverse engineering, I’m trying to capture the muse using the setting Dylan had while listening to the finished product. I’m trying to echo that moment from almost a half century ago so that I, too, can create something from feeling the way that I feel he felt.
It’s not working, but at the very least – I have the music.
Posterous
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Mrs. Mitchell counters that as an administrative nurse, she had a professional obligation to protect patients from what she saw as a pattern of improper prescribing and surgical procedures — including a failed skin graft that Dr. Arafiles performed in the emergency room, without surgical privileges. He also sutured a rubber tip to a patient’s crushed finger for protection, an unconventional remedy that was later flagged as inappropriate by the Texas Department of State Health Services.
via nytimes.comThis is crazy. I obviously don’t know all the facts in this case, but this seems like the type of thing that can only happen in a small town.
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