Outer Space My Brain; Think Clearly.

Apprehension: it has been weeks, months, years since I've felt it. The cool, calm, collected facade I wish to portray in public is crumbling quickly. 'What do I say?', 'What do I do?', and even... 'What do I wear?' The over-analyzation is pure insanity, but essential. I desire, I yearn.

We’re out. I pray that the winds of the evening swallow my anxiety. I’m nervous. I’m thirsty. I drink a little more, to hydrate of course. The alcohol takes its toll. I lose what little control I have, or thought I had, over my seemingly rampant emotions. My mood starts swinging back and forth, like a pendulum on crack. Energetic, hopeful, ecstatic. Apathetic, morose, realistic.

I try to engage you, but I must not seem too eager. I attempt to ignore you, but I must not push you too far away. The balance is maddening. The debate in my head is exhausting.

 I grow weary. I confess that all hope seems lost. I’m tempted to retreat, to run away, to give up. Why continue to torture myself; the logic should be undeniable. I try to deny it. But, better to keep the walls up; better to protect what’s mine.

The pendulum stops. Apathetic, morose, realistic. My emotions are chosen by the gravity of truth. Fate has tempted me, it has tricked me. The opportunity for affection was tantalizing, delicious. Now I am left with the bitter aftertaste.

The bitterness shows on my face, apparently. You approach me. And you console me, though I insist nothing is wrong. I’m ready to leave. I’m ready to admit defeat. Yet, you won’t let me.

You’re close. You’re too close. Our hands drift dangerously close. The music is deafening. I can’t differentiate between the bass of the speakers and my own heartbeat. You whisper in my ear. I whisper back. You linger. I linger. We’re lingering, and I’m entranced. My eyes focus on yours. The eye contact is crucial. I’ve see you for weeks, yet now I see you. Our surroundings are melting out of sight.

The distance between us lessens. I fear fate’s trickery. It is too tempting; I give in. I submit to my overwhelming passion, my desire. It is quick, it is electric. Shocked, we both pull back. It is done. It is not over. We embrace. I am yours, I am alive.

buh bye bi meowwwwww

FISHY! WHY! ARE! YOU! SLEEEEEEEEEEEEPINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

what do i miss most about good old gettysburg? the peacefulness. i'm not talking the creeping silence walking across the battlefied, as if the zombie rebels are about to help the south rise again. i'm talking backroads, take three wrong turns and end up at the right place peacefulness. the kind that i can usually tell if there's some life form within 500 ft that doesn't belong.

sure, cities offer me more complex social scenes to dominate. but when i'm climbing in my window at 6 in the morning, i still here car horns, music, and drunkards in the street. just this past week, my senora decided that it was a necessary life change to fall asleep in the living room with the tele BLARING. granted, her telenovelas are probably more important to her than gaga is to me. but still. i long for the days of falling asleep on top of my pillow instead of under it.

i missssss sitting down by my creek during the day just to chill. i miss reading on the patio with libby. i miss laying in the hammock with libby at my feet. i miss walking in the field with libby. its freezing at home right now, and this is usually the time that libby and i move from our outside naps to curling up by the fire inside to nap. sometimes i let her on the couch to nap with me. dogz r00l.

she's getting old though... makes me really sad. i get that feeling of your stomach in your throat when i watch her struggle to stand up after laying down for awhile. i notice she doesn't run as quickly after her tennis ball, nor does she have the endurance she used to. i have nightmares that she's going to pass away before i can get home to her. probably some of the most terrifying nightmares i've ever had.

she's the prettiest! i miss that rug too.

i'm getting older too. i spent the entire summer resting for spain. i feel as though my efforts here have been commendable at best. perhaps its just because i dont work out like i used to. i attempt to run at least once a week. my recovery time is severely off point. just playing a 45 minute soccer game nearly KILLED me. my joints crack all the time. i can't even walk around a museum without scoping out the next spot to sit down.

what's nice about getting old and withered is i pay more attention to others whom are also old(er) and withered(er..?) meh. lemme hit ya with some ejemplos! i enjoyed talking to a portuguese couple on the bus behind me today who gave me some cool facts about lisbon. i was in no rush to end the conversation i had with our 50 year old waiter today as we compared portuguese and spanish cuisine. i also didn't mind talking to some old guy huddled under doorway during a recent monsoon even though he was only interested in telling me how awful the current spanish administration is. although, i can't quite tell if this new desire to slow down is a result of my aging, or i'm adjusting to the slower pace of European life. our tour guide told us at the end of our tour to slow down, not worry about problems, and forget about diets and obligations. i know people say that all the time, but maybe it was hearing her say it in portuguese, english, and spanish that made it stick out to me. fweird.

goal for tomorrow: find a portuguese phrase book.

i'm not big into trippy shit, but i always appreciate the color scheme. SINUS my people own refractory lighting?

Conforming Against Conformity

I don't understand why people believe there is some inherent need to only associate with one side of society. Specifically for this blog, mainstream or anti-mainstream. Why are individuals placed on one side or the other. I find it especially offensive that people who claim to be ardent opponents of conformity are the ones so quick to generalize. Yes, the anti-mainstream movement, or however you want to refer to it, begins with an individual's desire to "revolt" against the mainstream. But lately, possibly as a result of my poor observations skills, I've noticed an influx in the amount of hipsters (whom don't refer to themselves as hipster... because that's even more hipster to do) on a perverted moral tirade against "the others". Though I've personally always found solace in aspects of mainstream and underground, apparently I've been sucked into the conformity of mainstream as of late. But rather than bash said conformity, I'd rather take the opportunity to share some thoughts on this anti-conformist, anti-establishment, anti-mainstream mumbo jumbo. 

What I've always found ironic is this "noble revolt" of mainstream is an attempt to distinguish oneself as an true individual always ends up as a conformity of its own, albeit minority. A significant portion of these so-called "individuals" kill themselves trying to find aspects of life and culture that currently are not embraced by the mainstream in efforts to disassociate themselves with the more popular trends and fads. These "outsider" interests and pleasures serve as characterizations of this group, whom share a mutual disdain for all contemporary, popular aspects of culture. In its purest theoretically form, this revolt could be respectable. There is nothing quite as liberating as the discovery of the "new", which serve as unique personal treasure that are yours and yours alone. But what I find puzzling is although this personal struggle stems from a desire to separate from the allegiance to mainstream, they in turn become zombies of their own conformity. Take hippies for example. Free love, no war, chill music, and drugs. Is this a generalization? Sure. Is it an accurate generalization? You bet your tie-dyein', bong hittin', denim wearin' ass it is. The effort to listen to "different" music, wear "different" clothes, live a life "different from those cursed soulless conformists has in effect created a social group of its own. 

But what irks me the most is the baseless sense of of vanity and high sense of self that usually develops with this anti-everything mindset. Because you hate what the radio usually plays, and hate what shows are on television, and hate what's in magazines, and hate the emptiness of conformists does not give you some moral and intellectual superiority over those that do. It just makes you a hater.

As I was pondering this topic, I couldn't help but think of that quote that Yoda shares in an exchange with  Anakin Skywalker in StarWars about fear: "fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering". 

Sidenote: I'm sure this quote was derived from one or a collection of brilliant quotes by nonfictional characters, but I'd prefer to juxtapose commercial success with refuting anti-mainstream's bloated sense of self. 

The fear is experienced by this group, as it is with each person. It stems from the transition from sheltered life to falling flat on your ass when you realize how much the world actually has to offer. Obviously, we experience this at different stages in our life. Furthermore, I can promise that each person DOES in fact experience this. Many are just content with the comfort zone they've already developed. For those that aren't entirely sure they want to continue living in their bubbles that they've created, they consequentially attempt to expand their exposure to this newly discovered world. However, these first steps to better understand the organized chaos that consumes us are suffocating. And as respectable as this path is, I would imagine this is what prompts the misguided sense of moral achievement. That is to say the choice not to embrace the prestablished pleasures (and perhaps confines) of mainstream pop culture makes you better than those that choose to maintain what they already know and enjoy. But, you quickly realize that this path of unknowing is vastly overwhelming. It is then, during your own personal struggle, that you start to resent those that, in your opinion, took the "easier" route. Why should you have to wade through the entire ocean of culture while the mainstreamers are content building sandcastles? Sandcastles rule, btw. This resentment stews into long term hate. Sure, you discern that you in fact don't hate, you only wish to dismiss those bloody conformists, the unenlightened. You are simply who you are and you will not deny that.  But 'who you are' is merely the form that follows the function of 'what you are' (like that V for Vendetta reference?). And what you are, or rather what you claim to be, is undefinable. 

But you see you are definable. We are all definable. Who and what you are may be unfamiliar to some, or it may be unfamiliar to most. But that doesn't mean you've transcended the shackles of society; you are not some existential demigod that deserves more admiration and adoration than others. You are just another person that wishes not to be part of my, or anyone else's, generalizations. And I certainly do not mean to marginalize your being by generalizing; I'll be the first to admit the source of my generalizations is pure laziness. You should find solace that I'm admitting I respect you. So much so, that my exposure to you in turn helps me to expand my own interests, beliefs, and understandings. Don't resent me for "copying", for I am simply trying to learn. 

Admittedly, at times I like to convince myself that I am undefinable as well. But in reality, I am. I still struggle to get a handle on my diverse set of interests. At times I feel like some sort of chameleon that does just to conform to its surroundings. But I realized I'm not compromising myself by being open to new things, mainstream or underground.

I am NOT sorry that I worship Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj, nor will I apologize for enjoying Aventura, Muse, Santigold, or Janelle Monae. I will not throw away my Lacoste polos to make room in my closet for purchases from UrbanOutfitters; I happen to like both. I do enjoy hip hop dance, but I secretly wish I knew how to ballroom dance. I'll even admit I occasionally have a PerezHilton.com tab in between my NewYorkTimes and FoxNews tab on my computer. And I'd be happy to take a break from watching Glee and the Harry Potter movies to watch a B-rated Euro film (with an erotica theme, obviously) or C-Span (only when the Senate is on... the House bores me).

I guess what I'm attempting to say is that I simply am aware that I have a boundless capacity to live, as we all do, and a comparable hunger to fill that capacity. After all, I think we could agree that what matters most in the end is the live we lived. Or is that too much of a conformist notion as well?

Sure, I’ll press 1 for English.

“If you can speak three languages you're trilingual.  If you can speak two languages you're bilingual.  If you can speak only one language you're an American.”

Rarely am I the first to complain about the United States. Not that I will ignore its shortcomings while garbed in USA wear, fist clenched in the air, screaming ‘AMURICAAAAA FAWK YEA!’ (though the latter has been known to happen), but I am more than content calling it my home. Granted, I have not seen every place on earth, therefore comparisons would be incomplete at best. My world conquest is a work in progress, yet still I am confident I would gladly retain my national residency in the United States.

However, you know what really grinds my gears? The “I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO PRESS 1 FOR ENGLISH IN AMERICA!” mentality that seems to have spawned exponentially over the past few months. This is the most absurd notion that I have had and continue to have the displeasure of encountering. Literally, I am as physically uncomfortable listening to this statement as when unintelligent (and clearly delusional) bystanders proclaim their distaste for Lady Gaga.

I cannot fathom how this argument is supported. Really, I can’t. I try to be fair and reasonable, like the charming person that I am, and give ample opportunity for thoughtful debate. Admittedly, during said debate I’m distracting envisioning horrific methods of pain I’d rather be inducing than even pretending to entertain this narrow mindset. Let’s examine.

“This is America. Learn English or Get the Hell Out”. Are you joking? You think your feeble attempts to master the English language give you a rite of passage as a United States citizen? Ironic that most of the supporters of this argument are only fluent in the slang of the English language, while they still butcher ‘they’re’, ‘there’, and ‘their’. Perhaps we should give into this demand, incorporate a standardized testing in advanced English, and require each person whom fails purchase a one-way flight ticket to “get the hell out”.

“English is the most popular language in the United States”. Well, at least your math skills are somewhat better than your ability to read and write… for now. If you think this argument holds water, how about we wait a few years and watch the demographical shift as the number of Spanish-speaking Americans outnumber the English-speaking. Then what? Your logic would justify not only pressing a button for English, but subsequently demoting English to the number 2 button.

I’m embarrassed to Google any additional arguments, so I’ll stop there. To be fair, by no means am I sitting in my cave aggressively whipping out this entry to vent, but it does help. Plus I’m a pretty positive guy, so we’ll switch the tone a little bit, and keep on truckin. Still buckled in?

This topic has been brewing in my head for some time. Furthermore, since l started living in a country that spoke a different language, I have come to truly appreciate the ability to communicate. I remember writing my college-entrance essay on a memory as a camp counselor for our middle school camp program. One of my campers was Mexican-American, and by his isolation, I could tell wasn’t as comfortable with English. The other campers surely didn’t mind teasing him, but were shocked when the camper and I could communicate in Spanish. Suddenly they were on the outside unable to communicate and felt uncomfortable.

Though I’ve been “studying” Spanish since 8^th grade, I will readily admit I feel as though I have just recently accomplished the tip of iceberg in comprehension. I have yet to despair, however. In fact, the move to Spain has re-sparked my desire to continuing learning.

I spent the past weekend in Brussels. Aside from the delightful collection of beer, chocolate, and waffles, Brussels is also fascinating in terms of linguistic demographics; the population is a mesh of German and French. We didn’t even realize until arrival that no one in our group was fluent in either language. Thankfully, Wittle Wiz had a high school understanding of French that helped us survive. But rather than the two languages fighting tooth and nail for the “number 1 button”, they seemed to have embraced each other. Not to mention everyone there also knows English and/or Spanish.

And while I attempt to assimilate my life into a different language, I can’t express how comforting it is to have English options. Whether dealing with finances, phone contracts, etc, there is an immense relief knowing I haven’t royally screwed up my life with one signature or transaction.

If it does indeed help you to sleep at night knowing you have a slightly better understanding of the English language than an immigrant whom is new to the English language, allow me to rip your sheets off and dump a bucket of ice water on your face. The United States is indeed still melting pot of cultures. Language is culture. You should want to learn other languages. You can choose your motivation. Will it be for a practical reason, like a positive addition to your resume? Or the idealist desire to connect and understand people of other backgrounds. Of course, when your daily life depends on these connections and understanding, as globalization has made possible and prominent, this in essence is perhaps the most practical reason.

A lasting memory from the trip was the plane ride from Brussels to Madrid. The people occupying the seats next to me were whispering in Chinese to each other, the family in front of me was happily discussing their upcoming trip to Madrid in French, a mother was comforting her newborn in Spanish, while two younger siblings were chatting in German behind me. It was priceless listening to the flight attendants make each announcement over the loudspeaker in four different languages. You can imagine the take-off preparations took longer than usual. But hey, life abroad is already passing by too quickly. Why rush?