Lots of people will wake up after a heavy night of drinking, and say, “I’m never drinking again.”
I’m the same way with expectations.
I tell myself all the time to stop having expectations, and I invariably build them up in situations like, say, an ex agreeing to come over for dinner. (Dinner, incidentally, was awesome; I made black pepper crusted tuna steaks, rice and quinoa, and artichoke Asiago bruschetta on toast.) I’m poking the bear in a sense, since the easy way out would be to just cut her out of my life and move on, but things are different. I enjoy her company and I do care about her. I’m also moving out of the state in a few months after I graduate, so it doesn’t make much sense to start dating her again in any sense and I’m not terribly motivated to meet new people and lay out that groundwork. I basically have a cute blonde friend to hang out with and occasionally fuck, which should be enough, but a selfish side of me wants more.
Life’s weird! My only concrete plan in the next few months is a trip to Israel, which I am super pumped about. There I go with the expectations again.
I get disheartened about the validity, for lack of a better word, of “token” or minor relationships in my life.
My rotations provide me with 6 week vacations, essentially, in the lives of others. Except I have to work 40 hours a week during my vacation. But at least I’m not being paid! That’s like a vacation! You can get to know a person fairly well over the course of 6 weeks if you try and especially so if you work elbow to elbow with them. But I can’t help sensing the bullshit about just so many Goddamn people. They’re not bad people intrinsically, but you don’t feel important in the grand scheme of things. I think it’s why I don’t like small talk so much and why I don’t try to maintain contact with minor acquaintances in my life. I crave meaningful interactions with people, and I expect a level of mutual respect. Not many people in this world are willing to offer this, and those that are should be treasured.
People are complicated creatures. The more time I spend on this earth, the more I learn about social interaction and the more I realize how nuanced it is. People are ridden with jealousy, pettiness, insecurity and a whole host of neuroses. And all I can do is observe and try to pick out these flaws like so many wiggling centipedes, and then do my best to adapt to the rolling waves and try to keep my ship upright (insect similes to nautical metaphors, BOOM).
I’m addicted to my phone. I think most of us are and don’t even think about it. If I leave the house, my phone is on me. It’s part of the trifecta that also includes my wallet and keys (without which I wouldn’t get far anyway).
A few days ago, I went out to get brunch at Dunkin’ Donuts (because I’m a classy motherfucker) and decided to leave my phone at home to charge since it had discharged quite a bit from my bed surfing and I would need it for coffee shop surfing later. I don’t have a problem.
It was at Dunkin’ Donuts that it struck me that, “Oh shit, I don’t have my phone.” I actually stuck my hand in my pocket looking for it, being fully cognizant of the fact that I didn’t bring it. It’s actually become a reflex at this point. I had a mini panic attack for a second realizing that, “Yes, you don’t have a phone. You have to eat your sandwich and drink your coffee without looking at what high school nobodies are doing on Facebook or what hilarious Winter Olympic jokes somebody with a dick for an avatar is tweeting.”
After I realized that I was still breathing, it was actually refreshing not having my phone. As I looked around, I saw a cutie with a booty sitting with her friend. An elderly couple were talking about CAT scans and road salt. I saw a dog sitting in a car in the parking lot. But mostly, I got to just sit there with my thoughts. I don’t think people in our generation really leave themselves alone to their thoughts very much anymore. We’re surrounded by so much superfluous and readily accessible bullshit around us that there’s little motivation to. The only times I really have to my own thoughts anymore are in bed (when I’m not on my damn phone), in the car (when I’m not doing my best death growl impression), in the shower (see: in the car), and when I get the inclination to write. I think that phones are harmful to the soul. It’s good to just sit once in a while and contend with your own thoughts, rather than dive towards the nearest distraction you can get your hands on.
Try going out to a public place without your phone and just sit there for 20 minutes. And don’t bring a friend. Friends are just distractions with a pulse; this is an experiment to actually reach inside yourself. Let your mind wander where it wants to. Think about life. Think about people. Maybe you haven’t talked to them in a while. Would you be happy to see them? Have an internal dialogue with them. What would you say? How would they reply? Think about deep meaningful shit to tweet about later when you get home and finally get to cradle your precious phone again. Experience actual consciousness. Realize that you’re a human being on this big rock floating in space in the middle of the galaxy and realize that you’re alive. You are alive.
I think I had a dream I was dating Anna Kendrick the other night. At the very least, I was dating a girl who looked very similar to Anna Kendrick. Seeing as I would totally date Anna Kendrick in real life, I took this as a sign that we’ll totally be married one day.
It was an interesting morning for me. Deep in the bowels of my Gmail archives (thanks to its storage, I’ve never deleted a single email) are emails from 2012 containing pictures my ex sent. One was from a photo shoot. Others were of us together. I hadn’t looked at these for well over a year now and told myself for awhile that I wouldn’t because I wasn’t sure I could take it. But I’m glad I did. I only felt good things and I only remembered the happiness. Love morphs in interesting ways and I’m just relieved that it can still bring happiness even after almost interminable sadness.
2 eggs sunny side up, bacon, potato latkes, and tortilla chips with habanero salsa.
Food photography is something that really interests me. I usually tweet mean things about girls who take pictures of their cupcake at Starbucks. However, I’ll take pictures of food I cook because Goddamn it, I’m proud when I make something that looks and tastes awesome. A lot goes into making a picture of food look appealing. Besides the actual subject and how it’s positioned, lighting, background and perspective are all important variables, as well.
Professional food photography is really neat too. The images are stunning, but as we all know, they’re beautiful lies.
Look at it! My stomach’s growling already! Have you ever had a burger that looked anywhere close to this?!
Restaurant menus will show burgers with steam rising, and lettuce and tomatoes dripping with beads of water to give you the impression that everything was just washed and is as fresh as can be. It almost looks too beautiful to eat! Then reality hits you when a disinterested and snarky waiter hands you a burger with a dry patty, wilted lettuce and a sad, pink, anemic looking slice of tomato.
The lies food photographers sell us are much the same lies that fashion photographers sell us. Reality is underwhelming in a world where Photoshop and subterfuge rule.
Guys? I think I’m in love. Continue reading