Monthly Archives: November 2012

Just another one of those days where I can’t think of anything interesting to say

I bought this book of writing exercises. Whenever I get to the point where I can’t think of anything to write about, like past the point where I start writing stuff about not having anything to write about, you know, after I’ve already written multiple pieces about not being able to think of something, anything, I’ll whip out this book and do a writing exercise. So I already did one, because I was struggling for something, anything to write about. And I felt, OK, I did it, I got the juices flowing, let’s get to work here. And nothing. I’m at the end of this paragraph and nothing. Jesus.

I really wish I knew how to turn it on, because sometimes it’s just on. I don’t even know how it happens. I’ll just sit down and it’s as if somebody else is writing through me. But then there are days like this where I’ve literally just been staring at the screen, hoping for something to talk about, anything, come on, please. In the book of writing exercises that I bought, the whole idea is to just keep going, even when you don’t have anything, and through constant movement of the fingers or whatever it’ll eventually click. Something has to click.

My jaw has been clicking lately. It was like all of the sudden I couldn’t close my jaw anymore without really forcing it shut, and there would always be a lot of jaw clicking. So I went to the dentist and he assured me that I was grinding my teeth in my sleep. And I assured him that it’s not while I’m sleeping, but that I’m doing it while I’m awake. I just always do. I clench my jaw, tight, especially while I’m sitting at the computer, hoping that I’ll make use of my free time, really just desperate to get some of these blog posts done, because I’ve set up this routine, this daily thing, that I can’t miss one day, and so if I don’t keep up with the writing I’ll be in a bad spot. And yeah, my jaw right now is really tight.

My dentist equated all of that jaw clenching with a body builder who worked out too much. He claimed that my jaw muscles were overbuilt. He suggested Botox to paralyze the muscles. Don’t worry, he told me, it’ll only cost one thousand dollars. Gee, that’s it? “Thanks a lot doc, let me think about it for a while,” I told him. “OK, think about it,” he said, “but do you want me to schedule you in for an appointment just in case you decide to go for it?” I see what you’re doing there doc. Stroking my ego, comparing my jaw to a bodybuilder’s jaw, penciling me in for an appointment that I clearly didn’t express too much interest it.

I clench my jaw when I sit there not being able to come up with anything to write about. I also tap my legs violently. I think tap isn’t really a good word, because it’s not violent enough. It’s not stomping. Whatever, I guess tapping is OK. But it’s so fast, like the table moves. And it doesn’t really help me write. You know what it’s like, it’s this staring at the screen, trying to fish for an idea. And when nothing comes up, after a while the only thing my brain is thinking about is the lack of ideas, and it eventually turns into a physical sensation, a discomfort, and the best way to relieve it, some of it anyway, is to start tapping and clenching. And you know what else I do? I’ll shift positions in my chair over and over again until my back hurts.

If I can’t think of anything to write about, pretty soon the dentist is going to be the least of my concerns. My back’s just going to get worse, I’ll have to go see a chiropractor. He’ll be like, “Wow, you are so strong and well-built.” And I’ll be like, “Really? Go on …” And he’ll start in on the pitch, telling me how awesome I am, but to a fault, so that I’ll need to start coming in regularly for whatever it is chiropractors do.

I don’t know how chiropractors exist. Everything I’ve heard about them tells me to stay away. One time I was in the hospital waiting for somebody and I overheard the guy next to me telling the doctor about what his chiropractor told him and the doctor cut him off, “Listen. Chiropractors are not real doctors. Never go to a chiropractor!” And for some reason that really stuck in my head. Plus, I’ve never met a chiropractor. I’ve met doctors. I’m met veterinarians. I’ve met tons of professionals from a lot of different job sectors. But no chiropractors.

Anyway, I didn’t write about anything, but I got a whole blog post out of it. Somebody once told me something about quality vs. quantity, but I don’t think I was paying attention, because I don’t remember what they were trying to tell me about the two, what point they were trying to make.

Look, I don’t want to race you, it’s just … GO!

What is it, that feeling you get when you’re stopped at a red light, and another car pulls up next to you, and you’re both waiting for the light to turn green, and when it turns green that feeling escapes, overcomes your better judgment, and you peel out and try to stay ahead of that other car? Sure, not everybody does that. It’s really not safe. I don’t do it. Well, I don’t try to do it. Every once in a while that feeling comes out of nowhere, it’s overwhelming, and it’s really stupid. What compels us to naturally want to compete with each other, with complete strangers, over something so stupid?

I ride my bike to work everyday. This feeling is much worse on a bike because, unlike in a car, you really don’t have any reason to keep yourself in check. It’s not like you’re going to kill anybody by riding as fast as you can. I know you still could, but it’s way less likely. I’ll be riding over the bridge and I might be coming up on somebody. On a bike it’s not like you’re just going to fly past another rider. If you’re going only slightly faster, you’ll just kind of gradually creep up on and then overtake them.

But the thing is, as soon as the biker up front notices that I’m right behind, he or she will always start pedaling harder. And it’s like, what is this, a race? So I start pedaling harder also. And now it really is a race. Both of us giving as much as we’ve got. But the bridge is only so long, and so even if you win, what do you do when you and your competition both come cruising to the end? You’re eye to eye now, do you say something? If you lose, do you say congratulations to the victor?

It’s all very silly. But when you’re in the moment, it doesn’t matter if you know that it’s silly. All that’s important is getting there first. One time I went running, and I was crossing the same bridge. It’s like a mile across. And I was just kind of zoning out, timing my strides with my breath, when all of the sudden this other runner comes out of nowhere and runs ahead of me. So now I’m thinking, OK, I can either let it go, go back to concentrating on the rhythms of my lungs, and just maintain the pace that I was maintaining all along.

Or, I could up my speed and take back my lead. The only problem with that is, once I make that much of an effort to get back in front, I’m the one officially making it a race. Before, it was just two people running their own separate runs at their own individual paces. But this, no, I’m doing my own pace, seeing his pace, and then deciding to match it. One, I had better be sure that I can keep this new elevated pace for the duration of the bridge. Nothing would be worse than sprinting ahead only to have to slow down thirty seconds later, out of breath, clearly trying too hard to be a big shot, with that other guy effortlessly taking back his number one spot. And two, I also have to realize that, after I move up front, if this guy makes another run to overtake me, I absolutely have to up my speed again, a second time, and keep upping it, until one of us gets to the other side first. So I made that choice and ran ahead. And I didn’t look back. And by the time I got to the other side, out of breath, giving it much more than I thought I had, I turned around, imagining this guy on my heels the entire length of the bridge. But he wasn’t anywhere near me. He must have just maintained his own speed, like it wasn’t a race at all, like it was just me acting crazy and engaging in a competition with nobody.

But that’s not always the case. One time I was in the reverse situation, where I came running up to the bridge and I was in my head, again, concentrating on my pace, and I wasn’t looking around at anybody else, but I started to come up on another runner, and as soon as I passed him, he made it obvious that he wouldn’t take that lying down. So he started sprinting, and I had no time to think, to talk myself out of engaging in another race with another stranger. All I knew what that I would not let this guy get back up front.

This was the uphill part of the bridge, and we wound up, the both of us, sprinting as fast as we could. It was like the four hundred meter dash, but for idiots. When you’re in a footrace, it’s not really running anymore. It’s something else. There’s a primal feeling in the pit of your stomach, a discomfort, a palpable fear that you’re going to lose. It must be some sort of built-in survival instinct. And I had to really dig down for energy, to go a little faster, to stay up front. And I did it. But then I was so far ahead that I kind of just got back in my head again. And I ran all the way until the bridge started going downhill. Everybody knows downhill is a joke, so I was just kind of taking it easy. I had assumed that the race was over once the uphill climb ended. And this guy wasn’t on my heels anymore so it wasn’t a big deal. But then like halfway down, all of the sudden he comes up from behind, flying, sprinting, to the point where even if I tried to match it, he was already way too far ahead, he caught me by surprise, and he got to the end first.

And I was just thinking, who really won? Was it a race to the top or a race to the bottom? Because I totally stopped racing once I got to the top. But only because I thought that I had already won. It’s so stupid. Because we were totally in a race and now he was ahead and it bothered me. Because we were just two random people deciding to engage in a stupid competition. Why does everything have to be a competition? Every once in a while I’ll be riding my bike to work and I’ll get in the same exact type of race. But it’s always lose-lose, because if I lose, well, then I feel weak, like a loser. But if I win, it’s obviously because I was trying way too hard, and I’m on my way to work, so I’m not dressed up in exercise clothes, so when I do finally get there, I’m all sweaty and gross and I have to deal with the discomfort of damp underwear for the entirety of the day.

Rocking the vote

I just rocked the vote. It’s always such a surreal experience. You put so much weight on one little action, and it only happens once in a while, so that when you finally do it, it just comes and goes so fast, leaving you feeling almost a little hollow afterward. That’s kind of dramatic. But wouldn’t you agree that there’s a ton of build up for a two minute procedure that, when you step back from it, never really feels as grand as you thought it would be?

I imagined myself heroically. First of all, I got up much earlier than normal. I guess it really depends on what your definition of early is, but for a guy who normally wakes up closer to ten everyday, I thought seven-thirty was pretty impressive. Yeah, I had set the alarm to seven, and another one for seven-fifteen, but whatever, seven-thirty was, wow, I’m still pinching myself to make sure this isn’t one of those snooze-button induced dreams where you think you’re getting up, going into the shower, making breakfast, going to vote, and then all of the sudden you roll over and it’s nine and you’re still in bed. Does that happen to anybody else? I’m just going to go ahead and assume that, of course it does.

So I get to the polling place and there are lines of people waiting to direct everybody else. I’m pretty sure the poll workers outnumbered the voters by a margin of two to one. And it goes without saying, because everybody always talks about this, but all of the volunteers are senior citizens, and you can just tell how pumped they are to be running the show.

“This is it,” I could imagine themselves getting all motivated for the big day, “Once every four years, we’re back in charge! No computers! No cell phones! Just mountains of paperwork and lots of people to be corralled into long lines! Let’s go out there and show these whippersnappers how to get some work done!”

The system is, whatever, it seems stupid to complain about a process that wasn’t really that bad or that long, one that only happens once in a while anyway. But still, just like the last time I voted, I walked through the door and there were more than a few different lines of people. They asked me for my address and the first letter of my last name. And then they told me to wait in line B. There was only one person in line B, which was great for me. But I looked around, and line D had people snaking outside of the polling place. It didn’t make any sense. But I wasn’t complaining, because I got out very quick.

This was the first time that I voted that there weren’t any giant voting machines. It used to be so cool, you’d switch in all of the levers for the candidates you wanted to vote for, and then you had to pull a giant mechanical arm, so the machine could tally all of your votes. You could feel the whole thing rocking from the inside, this big metal booth, bigger than a soda machine.

This time it was just a scantron. You filled out the bubbles, and then slid it into a little voting scanner machine. I missed that visceral sensation of having voted, having made voting this physical exercise. With the old machines, you really needed to pull, making it feel like you had actually accomplished something. After I slid in my paper, I actually said, “That’s it? I’m done?” and had to be pointed towards the exit, “Yeah, that’s it. Now move it, line D is getting restless.”

A couple of things. Not that it’s anybody’s business, but not like it’s a state secret either, I voted down party lines, not because I’m a loyal partisan, but just because I didn’t really feel like it would be worth it to vote for any third party candidates. Best case scenario, I’d be helping the opposition. Another minor point, there were two judge elections where the Democrats were running unopposed. I filled in the bubble for the first one, but then I immediately wished that I hadn’t. If this guy is going to win anyway, why give him my vote? It’s just a huge joke, really. Why even have an election for that position? I could imagine this guy running for reelection years from now claiming, “The people love me. Look how many votes I got!” when it was really just a matter of default luck.

But voting is a good thing. I always like to vote. I always like feeling like I’m marginally a part of the political process, of America. I wish it were more based on the popular vote, because I hate to think that my presidential vote “doesn’t count.” Because yeah, it was much more satisfying to vote for Senator, to vote for those incompetent clowns that run the show in Albany.

Random: For the 2004 election I was still a college student. I had this one class called American Pluralism, all about America and stuff. Anyway, right before the election, the professor held an informal vote, everybody wrote down who they were voting for and passed it to the prof, who tallied it up, wasting a solid ten minutes of class time. He announced the results, “OK, so we have X for Bush, X for Kerry, and … one vote for MacGyver.” And he said it totally straight-faced, as if he had no idea that he had just been punked. The whole class burst out into laughter and, I have to tell you, it was such a satisfying laugh, like I felt like my insides were being massaged and worked out.

Before I wrap it up here, I do have one suggestion. There should be a voting machine, but it’s like a wall, and there will be spots in the wall painted red or blue or whatever color your party is. And you have to punch through the wall (it’s going to be plywood, nothing too strong,) to retrieve your ballot for that party. And that way, you could really feel like you voted, even more than the old voting machines, like your hand will be really sore for the rest of the day and maybe even a little cut up. “A small price to pay,” you could tell everyone. And that could just be maybe an optional method, you know, only if you wanted to. So, just for the future, that’s something that the board of elections should consider.

Rob’s day off

I had off today. When I woke up, I made a plan. I’d spend the whole day writing. I’d march right downstairs and sit at the computer and type out a ton of work, volumes of material. But now all of the sudden it’s almost 10:00 pm. I don’t know what happened. What about my plan? I thought it was a pretty decent one, as far as plans go. So now here I am, obviously a little more hurried than I had prepared for, and I want to get something down.

So what did I do with a whole day off by myself? Yeah, I probably should’ve mentioned that it’s not a regular day off, it’s a Monday. I mean, it’s a legitimate day off, but working at a restaurant, I often find myself with days off completely to myself, because everybody else is working. Especially on days like today, where I decided to skip showering and grooming, I always wonder if my neighbors think to themselves stuff like, “What’s this guy’s deal? Does he have a job? Why is his wife always gone but he’s always out walking his dog in his pajamas?” I want to wear a custom t-shirt that say, “In case you’re judging me, I’ll have you know that I work irregular hours at a restaurant, sometimes during the day, sometimes at night.” But to put all of that on a t-shirt? The font would have to be really small for it all to fit. And so if the neighbor that I’m imagining is judging me in his or her head, it’s probably from behind a window, not really close enough to read that whole message screen printed on a shirt.

But yeah, I went out to walk the dog in the morning. So that’s not really explaining where the day went. I drank a ton of coffee. Usually, and knowing that I know this kills me, but if I don’t start writing as soon as I feel the caffeine kick in, the coffee is just going to get wasted. All of that chemical fuel will just get spent wasting time on the Internet, or pacing around in a circle in the living room, something totally unproductive.

So I blew enough time to where all of the sudden I had to make lunch. The morning evaporated. I don’t know what I did really. I read some stuff online. I think I might have played a game of Internet Settlers of Catan. But then it was lunchtime. After lunch, which didn’t take long at all, I got this crazy idea in my head that now would be the perfect time to finally watch Prometheus which, for various reasons, none of them worth mentioning, I never got to see. But this was like one in the afternoon. This idea to watch a whole movie came out of nowhere, like I hadn’t even thought about this movie in forever. And not one part of my brain stepped in to interject an opposing thought. Nothing in me said, “Hey Rob, you know that movie is like three hours, right?” or, “Hey Rob, don’t you think you should maybe do some writing and then watch the movie?” There was no resistance. I thought about the movie, turned on my XBOX, rented the movie, and sat down to watch it, all within sixty seconds. It’s like my day was hijacked by Ridley Scott tag-teaming with my basest instincts of immediate gratification. And seriously, if you’ve seen the movie, well, I’m sure we all at least would have appreciated our money back, seeing as how it’s impossible to refund three hours of a person’s life.

And I had wanted to see this movie so badly that I couldn’t really consciously appreciate actually watching it until like two hours after it had finished. Of course, the movie ate up what should have been the most productive chunk of my day, and the next thing I know, my wife was home from school. “How was your day?” “Good, I finally watched Prometheus.” “Oh wow, didn’t you want to see that like six months ago? How was it?”

And I couldn’t answer. That was my first clue that something was wrong. I even opened my mouth to say something generic, “good, fine,” whatever, but my mouth was frozen. So I started thinking, did I like the movie? And I couldn’t answer that either, because I really didn’t know what was going on. So I went online to search for some basic answers to what I thought must have been elements that I had simply overlooked in the plot. But it turns out that everyone else who saw that movie shared similar frustrations. And in checking out everyone else’s critiques, it dawned on me that I was reluctant to agree with them only because I had been looking forward to watching it for so long.

So after I realized that the movie was terrible, I just kind of felt really deflated, bumming around the house. I was going to go running or something, but I didn’t. I still haven’t showered. I promised my wife I would cook something, because in the morning, before she left, I was all like, “Are you kidding me? I’m going to be so productive today! I have the entire day to myself! I’m going to write, I’m going to cook, I’m going to do the laundry!”

Fuck. Seriously, as I’m typing this out, I’m just now remembering that one of the first things I did in the morning was to throw in a load of laundry. But that’s all I did. I didn’t change it to the dryer. I didn’t get to any of the other loads. And I’m pretty sure that first load was our sheets, so they’re going to smell awful, just cold and damp all day long, and there’s no time right now to rewash them and wait for them to then go through the dryer. Damn.

Oh well, but I did cook. I went to the grocery store to make tacos. I was going to make pork tacos, but in the meat section I saw this package of chicken hearts. And I just heard them calling out to me, “You pansy. You wouldn’t know what to do with us. Keep walking, amateur.” And I was like, oh yeah?

So I bought them. They were like fifty cents. I think I rose to the challenge. I seared them real quick and then braised them in some stock. And I chopped them up and made tacos and told my wife it was just dark meat. I eventually told her, after we were done, but by then she had already finished, “And besides,” I pointed out, “you loved them. You ate every bite and loved it.” And she couldn’t disagree. Still she told me not to do stuff like that anymore without asking, but I don’t understand the problem. She’s living with a culinary mystery box.

So yeah, that’s it, Rob’s day off. Also, my wife bought three giant bags of Halloween candy, but we didn’t have any trick-or-treaters. Not even one. So today I ate all of it. It was the best. Just opening up the bag brought back vivid memories of Halloween as a little kid. But I don’t remember the stomachache being this bad. Maybe I just ate way too much today, heart shaped candies, taco shaped hearts, it’s all too much. Way too much day off with way too little to show for it. Except for this, that is. At least I got to write this. And at least you got to read it.

Thank you, thank you, please, sit down

Nobody get up. Please. Well, since you’re already up. Thank you. I’m honored, really. Please, everybody, take a seat. Stop throwing those roses. Come on, I’m going to blush! Save the flowers. Wow, those are a lot of flowers. Everybody brought flowers? And you’re all throwing them? Did you guys all coordinate how you’d throw them, not all at once? This is like a continuous cascade. Like, if I were in your spot, and I had brought a bunch of roses, I’d start throwing them immediately. But this is amazing, like a nonstop wave of flowers, it’s beautiful.

But, all right, enough already! Please, sit down everybody. How are you all still clapping? I haven’t even noticed a break in the applause, not even with all of the roses being thrown. I would have imagined it impossible to simultaneously sustain such a prolonged round of applause while at the same time reaching for the flowers and throwing them on stage. We only have two hands, right? But this is incredible, it’s like, I haven’t noticed any change in the intensity of the clapping at all.

Seriously, where are all of these flowers coming from? I’m humbled. Really, I never dreamed, but it’s just … logistically, where did you get all of these flowers? I’m like ankle deep right now. There are only maybe two or three florists even somewhat close, did everybody call in advance or something? Hello. Yes, we’d like to order dozens upon dozens of roses. No, even more. Well call up your florist buddies from out of state and have everything trucked in.

And there aren’t even any thorns. I’ve never waded knee deep in long-stemmed roses before, but I would’ve imagined at least one thorn. You’re telling me that whatever florists prepared these flowers, they’ve managed to cut off every single thorn? And the precision in which they’re all trimmed. It’s a testament, really, to the profession. To the flowers. To you, to all of you, thank for coming out, thank you for your standing ovation, thank you for stopping the clapping, for a minute, just one second, sit down, please, can anybody even hear me over all of this applause? Or does it just look like I’m basking in the extended cheering, the whistling, and still, the roses, I’m just at a loss for words. I’m actually getting slightly uncomfortable, because I’m looking out at all of you, but I can’t even make out any individual audience members actually throwing roses. Because, from my perspective they’re all just flying right at me, and that, combined with the spotlights, which are actually a lot hotter than I would have thought, but I’m just getting glimpses of you, here and there, and I have to say all of this noise is pretty deafening.

Look, I’m happy you’re all happy for me. Trust me, I’m happy too! I’m really, really happy to be here. I’m really thrilled, honored. I’d just, this is all, well, I’m overwhelmed. I think I’m starting to have a panic attack. I’ve never found myself bombarded by such a constant wave of unusual stimuli. The applause, it doesn’t even sound like applause anymore. It’s just white noise, and it’s hurting me ears, please. Is this microphone even on? And the flowers. They’re up to my waist now. Is this ever going to stop?

What about you two? I didn’t even realize you were still standing right next to me. I had assumed you’d both leave after calling me up here. But, you’re standing right next to me? Clapping, still? Smiling? Isn’t this a little weird? Why aren’t you responding to me? Maybe the audience can’t hear me, but you’re standing right next to me. Hello? I’m pushing you. This is crazy. I have to be losing my mind. I’m probably having a stroke or something.

I’ll just read my speech and walk away. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for this award. I’m extraordinarily grateful for … ow! That one definitely had a thorn. And it went in my eye. I can’t do this. I can’t. I just, maybe I’ll just lie down here, maybe, I know it’s not a bed or rose petals, but it’s a bed of roses. The stems aren’t that much more uncomfortable. Yeah that’s nice. I think that one thorn was just an anomaly. But I’ll, I’ll just curl up right here, they have to stop clapping eventually. I mean, I’ll just wait them all out. I’ll just tear up my speech and stuff the pieces of paper into both ears, just let the roses pile up over me, blocking out the lights. I’m honored, I’m humbled, thank you again, but this is all just too much, much more than I expected, much more than anybody could have possibly prepared themselves for.