Where'd WHO Go?

I am sorry for my lack of updates, everyone.

I’ve been dealing with some issues here that have taken a lot of my writing energy elsewhere. I will get something new on here soon, I promise.

Jewels of Insomnia.

I just saw probably the best movie I have seen about relationships in a long, long time.

I was having some trouble sleeping and wound up surfing the movie channels. I happened upon this film ‘Before Sunset’ which is a continuation of… you guessed it… ‘Before Sunrise.’ Seeing as how I never saw ‘Before Sunrise,’ the movie didn’t make too much sense at first.

The story takes place 9 years after the first one, and the entire movie is dialogue. The pair re-unites by chance, and you follow them in their one conversation, from start to finish, as they make their way through Paris. The conversation is the movie, and it’s some of the best relationship stuff I’ve ever heard. I could relate to just about everything talked about; it was almost painful to a degree. Highly recommended for anyone who likes this stuff.

Go see it.

Now.

Memo to Myself.

Expectations suck ass.

Hey, Nam, can you remind me one day that I shouldn’t expect someone to care about my issues simply because I genuinely care about theirs, because I’ll only wind up hurt and disappointed. I know I know better than that, but I need you to remind me once in a while that other people still have their problems to deal with too.

Oh, and while you’re at it… It would help, too, if you could remind me to be a little more open with my loved ones on things. You’re failing me here, gotta keep up on that. Okay?

Thanks,
Yourself.

Celebrate Sheer Brilliance...

Stupid people really amaze me.

I was talking with a co-worker today about speeding and cars, and my mind wandered back to something that happened when I bought a new Mitsubishi Eclipse GTS on Dec 17. I went to the dealer after work the night before to… well… drool, okay? Anyhow, I met with my good friend, Mr. Salesman, and we had a jovial conversation about how well this car performs in various weather situations. Somewhere during this conversation, Mr. Salesman comes to the realization that the guy who showed up 45 minutes before me never brought back the test drive car.

So here’s a weird moment, right? You don’t know whether to laugh or say that sucks… so I did both at once. Mr. Salesman, obviously feeling like the prestigious winner of the ‘Salesman Reject of the Year’ award, toddles off to do something while I continue to drool over my soon-to-be new toy. I heard much shouting and crying and gnashing of teeth before Mr. Salesman reappeared on the showroom floor – only he had a very large smile on his face.

Seems our would be Grand Theft Auto player here forgot about some very important details, like the dealership photocopying his ID and insurance information, or the other tiny fact his own vehicle was still AT the dealership. Brilliance on this level is truly an art form. As the police scoured this not-so-smart man’s Jeep for information, I leisurely waved goodnight to my car and went back home.

When I came in late the next morning to seal the deal, I noticed the Jeep barricaded in by 3 high-performance, showroom new Eclipse vehicles. I spoke briefly with Mr. Salesman while they pulled my shiny new toy out of detail, and he informed me that they busted the guy about 60 miles outside of Las Vegas, Nevada early that morning.

"That’s one hell of a distance to travel in only 14 hours" he tells me.

"I didn’t know my new car could go that fast, especially with an idiot behind the wheel." I reply.

I suddenly felt confident about my new purchase.

The Great Ping-Pong War.

In "Confessions of an Erstwhile Child," an anonymous author expresses deep concern for a common 20th century paradigm: the accepted view of children as possessions, the forms of treatment endured by children in bellicose homes, and the lack of legitimate options available to obtain release from these lifestyles. The author describes his youth as being an only child observing his parents’ contemptuous relationship; furthermore, he explains his involuntary roles during parental quarrels, his focus on school and study to escape emotional pain, and the consequences that escape has had in his relationships as an adult. Elaborating on the pattern that distressed marriages take, he points out that children whom are consistently exposed to contemptuous relationships will either reject marriage entirely, or duplicate that form of relationship in their adult life.

Exploring historical and modern ideas, he formulates and discusses several remedies to remove children from the paradigm; for instance: monasteries taking in children as done in medieval times, taxation of parents harboring older children as practiced in colonial New England, petitioning for new parents, and adoption with legal procedures catered towards older children. As an erstwhile child, the author walks us through the paradigm, presents his concerns, and gives the reader his viable opportunities to consider.

After reading his article, I can only entertain one conclusion: much of the author’s childhood experience with his family parallels my own. My childhood, however, has an added aspect with which many people in modern western culture are unfortunately familiar: the proverbial exchange of children between divorced parents in order to fulfill a court-ordered visitation. In other words, a child becomes the weapon of choice for parents to enact their rage on, and solidify their animosity with each other in what I lovingly call The Great Ping-Pong War.

The Ping-Pong War, and its subsequent damage to my childhood memories, started for me when I was three years into life courtesy a court-ordered visitation bimonthly with my father, usually weekends. I feel that it is particularly unfair that one of my very first memories should be that of my mother trying to coax me into my father’s car in a supermarket parking lot, all the while screaming obscenities at him so he would ensure I am home in a timely fashion. I also remember in my seventh year on God’s green earth my mother firmly grasping a small bag of cookies from me, cookies I had purchased with my own allowance, and throwing them off our 2nd story apartment balcony at my father for a reason so asinine I fail to remember. I ferry these poignant memories of my early childhood with me from year to year, and they are numerous enough to fill one of those cliché self-help books should I ever be so inclined to write one.

The war took an interesting turn at age nine when my mother remarried and moved us all to another city, thus introducing new forms of ammunition for my parents’ weapon of choice: airfare and distance. If I hadn’t felt like a ping pong ball before, I certainly did now, gallivanting from city to city in a mad quest to keep both parents sedated from their perpetual and mutual animosity. The futility of that quest was apparent when I realized my parents would always argue on whose turn it was to assume the financial responsibility to ship me 260 miles. Six weeks with Dad in the summer season and two holidays, usually Christmas and Thanksgiving, the latter two exchanged on a yearly basis ‘to be fair’ to the other parent.

Fair? Not once was I consulted on my feelings of travel or where it was I actually wanted to be for those important holidays. Instead, I was the confused ping pong ball with a warhead attached; I was subject to the consistent infighting between the two people using me to hurt each other emotionally and financially, yet as their child, I was obligated to love them both. It is hard to respect your parents’ wishes and commands in this situation, and it is even harder to love them both without bias. In retrospect, I hardly see the Ping-Pong War as fair to the parents, and especially taxing and unfair to the child.

The war continues on to this very day, although it has taken a new tone as my age, intelligence, and counter-attacks come into play. The combat ensues through innuendoes, opinions, inference, and recollection of memorable events, which line the daily conversations I have with them in the same way tastefully softened indirect lighting would illuminate a room. No longer is it a war of financial attrition, but of intellectual bias, as they attempt to coerce me into agreement with their respective position against the other. Little do they know, however, that I have acquired my own weapon to deal with their belligerence: indifference, shrouded in a clever pacifist façade.

The author of "Confessions of an Erstwhile Child" presents his childhood and the difficulties he faced then and now quite well to me, even going so far as to state "I am a very cold-hearted man" in his article. I am certain I would view the world and relationships differently had I not had these experiences of my own, and perhaps I would not be cold-hearted in my opinions and dealings with life either. However, if given the opportunity to exchange this experience for something else, I would readily decline.

I believe adversity ultimately defines who we are through our actions and reactions to it, and through this experience I have gained immeasurable strength and wisdom. I have been taught how to treat and respect my own offspring, and have been given strength through childhood memories to cope when my ideals of treatment toward my offspring fail me. I refuse to put any child in my care and custody through their own personal hell: their own Great Ping-Pong War.

Where Does The Time Go?

St. Louis is a big city… at least it is to me, anyhow. So with that in mind, can someone explain to me, please, how a city so full of people can be so empty?

It occurred to me tonight on the drive home from work. All of these ordinary people heading home from just another ordinary day, completely oblivious to the fact that 10 hours of their life is now over, and they’ve nothing to show for it. It’s all part of the machine routine, and I am now a bone fide card-carrying member. Sure, there’s a check at the end of every other week, and it’s needed to fuel the credit infested lives of each individual who receives it; but is that truly a testament to having anything to show for your time? The mind boggles.

Some are heading home to ramen noodles and a late night of TV; others heading to the store first for a quick grocery run, before pulling in the driveway and kissing their other half hello. Some others still, rushing to the day-care to rescue their kids from the clutches of the evil caretakers. Single moms, young men, middle-aged wives, and cheating husbands; all walks of life trapped in this cycle of corporate commodity.

A curious hodgepodge of burnt-out middle managers and busy-bees all scurry for the door and get in their autos, simply because the clock reads 5:00pm. They crowd the streets at the same time everyday, turning into a large mass of rubber, glass, steel, and exhaust; individuals distinguished only by the color they drive and the face behind the mirror. They honk their horns and pass each other by, ensuring only in their minds, they will arrive somewhere faster than before. It is a ballet of individuals where no individuals seem to exist, all with just one thought on their minds: home.

My home is empty. I’d rather not go there.

That One Morning...

My eyelids parted slowly, allowing what little light there was in the room to flood into my mind. One by one, I felt the sections of my body wake from their slumber, begrudgingly moving at the whim of my mind until I sat upright on the bed. The air was cold, with each breath chilling my nose and disturbing the air around me. My palms found my head and pressed firmly against the eyes within, wiping away the last of the grogginess from my mind. My eyes darted around the room, taking stock of where I had left things the night before, as I mentally began preparing for the day ahead.

Something about this morning was different, though; I was awake far earlier than normal, and there was seemingly more light coming into the room than usual. I stood up, working closely with the bed to find my balance and began walking toward the window. My foot met with some undetermined object on the floor, and I decided I would find out what it was later, after I made it to the window to investigate the anomaly outside. I raised my hand to the blinds and parted them, exposing the answer to the morning’s oddity.

Snow.

It was perfection; a sheet of undisturbed white that blanketed every object within my line of sight. There were no animal tracks or footprints, and the scene was devoid of odd objects protruding from the natural coating. A city snowplow hadn’t even been up the street. The sun peeked above the tree line, and tiny specks of bright light reflected off the snow, piercing my eyes like the glint from a diamond under the jewler's lamp. I watched in awe as nothing about the scene changed, all was still and quiet and the wind was nowhere to be found. I was in a photograph, and I stood there for what felt like an hour, lost in the moment and the scene of perfection.

Motion caught my eye and my focus shifted to a garage door opening. A misty exhaust rose diligently into the cold morning air, as if it were its duty to defile the scene before me. Two bright, unnatural white lights flickered on, and a midsize sedan rolled out of the garage and into the street before stopping and changing its direction. The man inside this contraption commanded it to roll forward, and it obeyed, leaving in its wake the mark of society’s imperfection on the morning’s gift of serenity.

I sighed.

Nothing ever remains perfect, does it.

Then, I felt my lips curl into a smile as a realization entered my mind. It would, one day, snow again; after all, it was the season.

--------------------

I spoke with an old friend tonight whom I found out is an ENFP; and finally, for once, I get it. My horoscope today said something to the effect of 'I should keep my mouth shut' only it did it a little more eloquently. In fact, that's the word it used. "Sometimes silence is the most eloquent response of all."

Its amazing, sometimes, where you find your sources of wisdom, and how they can get you back to your center. The passage above is a complete re-write from something long ago, and for some reason, it somehow fits what I feel today. To my friend, my sincerest thanks to you for your ear. I will take your words to heart.

Daily Thoughts...

Okay… on to the first real post.

I m sitting here at work, feeling oddly inspired for some reason, so I will make it a point to write a little something.

I thoroughly enjoy metaphorical conversations. I have been blessed with absolutely incredible, high quality amounts of it over the last 3 months, and for some reason it is on my mind today.

Oceans are a curious thing, you know? It doesn’t always tell you what it is thinking. One day it could be calm, the next day, not so calm; in fact, it can change its mood hourly if the conditions are right. They are notorious for this, and are affected by a lot of variables. Weather, currents, the moon; something is always there to stir it up, and as such is always in motion.

Within all of that, it becomes something. It has its own life, its own cycles, and it is unbridled in all respects. It can kiss the ankles of lovers on the beach, or it can suck them out to sea. It can travel one direction on the surface, and another beneath the waves. It has great power and majesty, and all of us bear witness to this, even from thousands of miles away. Some say it is the origin of life, and for others, the end of it. The ocean certainly deserves our respect.

Oceans are beautiful things; they are nature’s extrovert force. I wonder, how many people on this planet can relate to that kind of natural power?

Oh what are we, now that the waters deep...?

I miss the ocean…

An Introduction...

And now...

For the real purpose of the blog. This is not going to be just a journal to display just my daily life, but it is also going to showcase some of my past work. It is likely going to showcase some of my new work, too. Come to think of it, I may just get a random moment of inspiration and head on over here to post something cool. Or negative. Or something inbetween, maybe... Who knows? I am going to try and put something new here every day. Anyhow, enjoy your stay, feel free to leave comments.

Since this all is about an INFP male, I should probably let you, the internet, in on just what that is, because a great deal of you have absolutely no clue whatsoever.

INFP is one of 16 MBTI personality types. Basically this one means that I am a touchy-feely nice guy that is 1%-3% of the total population. Basically there are 8 letters. E, I, N, S, F, T, J, P. They mean the following:

1. E/I - Extrovert/Introvert
2. N/S - iNtuitive/Sensing
3. F/T - Feeling/Thinking
4. J/P - Judging/Perception

The way this works is simple, you are one of the two in those 4 categories. Rather than really try to explain this all, because it's been done time and time again by other people, I will just linky you all to a site where you can take the test and get your letters.

Linky.

Go forth, and have fun. I will say the results are highly accurate, and many companies out there have been using MBTI scores as a part of their hiring process. Its good stuff, unlike some other things out there that claim to tell you about you.

If you want to know about me, go here. And here. And here, too.

Act I - A Shocking New Hobby!

Welcome to My Life as a wHole. The premise of this blog is to prove to myself that I do have an established writing style, I can generate some kind of audience, and allow myself to vent, rant, whine, bitch, moan, groan, and pout about any and all crap in my life. As I understand it, this is a pretty common reason to start a blog. Common. Average. Just like me.

What a coincidence.

I truly hope you find my life entertaining. I can say with all certainty that some of it wasn't entertaining for me, so hell, it might as well be for someone else. There should be a little drama, a little humor, a lot of opinion, and a good mix of feelings...

Okay, a lot of Drama. Like ER drama. Not like daily soap drama, otherwise I would have to murder myself.