Small Coughs of Dust

In a further fit of self-improvement, I've also been attempting to clean the apartment, our humble abode. Somewhere down the line, I let life pile up in various areas of the place, and all that life is covered with dust. I'll be honest, life becomes bleak when you let it pile up with gray dirt. And that bleakness makes way for further lack of ambition. I know our couch is clear, our bed is clear, and the kitchen is as good as it gets, but to some extent, the apartment isn't livable as it stands. The walk-in closet in the living room was not very walk-in. My desk was not usable as a desk. Our coffee table has no room for a cup of coffee and barely functions as a table. It goes on, but honestly I find it amusing that as you let stuff pile up higher and higher, furniture ceases to function as it's intended and instead becomes a shelf. I feel up to my ears in shelves, and until recently, I wasn't doing much about it.

If you watch a show like Hoarders, the common answer to the question of how things got so bad is a befuddled "I don't know." If you ask when, you get the same answer. I am feeling a bit of that "I don't know" right now. However, that's a knee-jerk response. If I had to think about it, I could name a few occasions of where giving a fuck stopped being an option. A home reflects its residents, and our apartment was beginning to represent people who weren't trying, maybe one person more so than the other. I'll be honest, with how down I had become about my body and various other aspects of my situation, I couldn't help but stare at my pile of unopened mail and think, "Why?" No one said anything. I'm just responding to that tiny screaming voice inside me attempting to compel me to open the mail and do something with it. The doing is another halting block, though. As long as I don't open the mail, I won't have to read it. If I don't read it, I won't have to throw it away or shred it or respond to it or call someone. There's never just one decision to be made, and I guess I haven't been in a decision-making mood until lately.

On May 7th, by some unknown force, I decided to take care of that walk-in closet in the living room. Scratch that. I know the force. The Monday prior, we had to empty the closet so Verizon could some and install their FiOS technology through the crawlspace down there. For the bulk of the week, then, Francesco and I lived in Box Town, population: 2. Five of those boxes, set in the dining room, were mine, and they were all relatively heavy with stuff. I moved into the apartment with all this stuff, mind you. The biggest box, easily twice as big as any of the others, was really staring me in the face. It stared me in the face when I wasn't even at home. I couldn't help wondering, "What the hell do I have in there?" The answer, my friends, is junk. All the boxes were full of junk. Junk, as I'm using it here, can stand for useful items, useless items, nostalgia, photos, birthday cards, notebooks, poems, artwork, art supplies, and other past-life viscera that I clearly have not looked at or needed for over two years.

Emptying this box was certainly a journey and one I was having on my own. Francesco was otherwise occupied with The Real Housewives of New Jersey, and plus, I could not expect him to tell me what to do with my own stuff, not at this point at least. Thus, I don't mean to imply I needed or wanted his help, but rather that you can't help but feel very solitary doing this kind of thing. You're perusing your own life as it is kept in a box, and no one can really treat the items with the same regard or disdain as you. I won't say that I laughed or cried, but I definitely felt something. Though in the end, I realized those somethings I felt only lasted as long as the item was within view. For two and a half years, I clearly wasn't missing anything in this box. I wasn't feeling any longing for the photos, any purpose for the art supplies, any need at all for any of it. In fact, my ignorance towards the contents of the box should stand as a testament to how little all of it really meant to me. And there were four more boxes!

I don't need to go over every item, but I'll let you know that I threw out and recycled so much stuff and all with relative ease. The "hardest" things to throw out (if you'd call it that) were the photos, of course, because those are visual depictions of memories, ones whose images I could not muster to save my own life. Letting go of an image in time can be scary, I'll be honest, but at the same time, I have not forgotten that the situations behind these photos have ever occurred. One day, I will forget, but maybe even that means something about their relevance in my life now. Ten years ago, I ate in a restaurant with a purple-haired guy named Nick, and I had stolen a sign off the Boston Red Line before dinner. Where does that fit in my current life? I don't even know Nick's last name or what he's doing nowadays. Five paper bags of paper and notebooks, one garbage bag full of useless wires and chargers, and one garbage bag full of plastic trinkets later, and I was down to just the one biggest box. It's not even full. The biggest question now is why did I move with all that crap? I did a big clean of my bedroom before I moved out, and yet these things were absolute musts going forward.

Skip forward to yesterday's project of cleaning off my desk. There were significantly less challenges here except for the dust, the goddamn dust. It was really like all I ever did with that desk was put things on it and never take them off. At the very least, I wanted to get some Pledge down on the wood. As awesomely efficient as a Swiffer duster is at cleaning up dust, it can't prevent all of it from entering the air again or more importantly, from entering my nose. Rather than being surrounded in nostalgia, I was mostly engulfed in a cloud of permanent dust swirling around my head. There was dust in the boxes, don't get me wrong, but they could not match the bunny-attracting power of my desk. Nevertheless, I got rid of a slew of junk including CDs containing drivers for hardware I don't own anymore and cardboard boxes for games which didn't need to be kept separate from the games I had in sleeves. Again, I moved with those boxes, and I do recall getting rid of a slew of game boxes before I moved, but I'm talking about the big kind. You know, the ones that were easily ten times the size of the CD case inside and had some labyrinthine cardboard structure inside to keep the case in the same center of gravity. So yesterday, I got rid of a lot of the smaller kind where I could. Some of them were simple sleeves for equivalently sized DVD boxes.

The feeling of isolation yesterday was mostly exacerbated by the fact that poker night was happening in the dining room, but I was okay. As I said, there was a lot less nostalgia going on at my desk. Next up is the coffee table which is full of the previously mentioned unopened mail. The only nostalgia there will be me crying over the ability to see the grain of the wood on the table.

Big Bowl of Joy

On Saturday, Francesco and I had the pleasure of trying something new for the first time (hence it being new, ahem). First, I’d like to state that we are total foodies. If something sounds delicious and it is moderately accessible, we will pursue it above all odds. If it’s supposed to be the best, that makes it all the better. For the most part, this desire for deliciousness led us down a remarkable path. Whereas I derive joy simply from eating something delicious and comforting, I gain the second bonus of Francesco’s joyful weeping. He doesn’t bawl at the table, but you see him get sniffly and moist around the ocular cavities. It’s a sight to behold certainly, and this trip provided no exception.

Saturday’s trip brought us to Ippudo NY on 65 4th Ave in Manhattan. This restaurant is a house of ramen. Of course, this requires a bit of disambiguation. Posting on FaceBook that we were eating ramen that night provoked responses of nostalgia for college days where Nissin and Maruchan were the norm in ramen. Admittedly, I enjoy those as much as the next guy, but real ramen served the real Japanese way offers a wealth of depth unseen in freeze-dried noodles and accompanying salty flavor packets. Of course, I have little to vouch for how the Japanese do it, and despite claims of being the Ramen King, for all I know the founder of Ippudo is considered a slop monger in his native country. (He could even be French!) Still, Ippudo manages to bring enough of a sense of authenticity that an American can appreciate without traveling too far.
However, I shan’t let this post go too far into restaurant review without being anecdotal. Initially the idea came from my friend, Jeff, who I’d consider worldly. He studied languages in college (though he didn’t pursue it as a career), and he’s always traveling. So when he recommends a place regarding a culture I honestly know little about, I take his word for it. It’s not that I know nothing about the Japanese, but I won’t pretend for a second that I really know their culture. Maybe Jeff doesn’t either, but that’s neither here nor there now. So Ippudo is the place he recommended, and on Tuesday, he told me we had reservations for 6:30 PM on Saturday.

Steadfast to this time, Francesco and I proceeded to New York taking a relatively early bus if only because I fucking hate rushing to my destination once I arrive there, an all-too-common occurrence especially when there’s a concert to attend. We arrived, took the subway, and were within blocks of our destination. Given our early arrival, we casually walked around the nearby streets if only to expedite the passage of time which had been slowing to nearly a crawl under the burden of our mounting excitement. We passed through an entire Ukranian festival; it was a block long. At around 6:15 PM, Jeff texts me to inform me he’s on his way but will be a little late. At 6:25 PM, Francesco and I go in to claim the reservation and just wait for Jeff.
Enter Front Cunt. I don’t mean to be entirely crass, but I do think she means to be a cunt. Our foray into this exciting world of world-class, top-rated ramen is a roughly 5’9” Japanese waif of a hostess with frizzy unconvincingly colored curly hair and a “Shut it down!” attitude that could bring our troops home from Iraq. However, this shiba inu poodle mix actively chooses not to use her powers as a bitch to end wars but rather to deny any semblance of class or basic customer service at the very front of a restaurant. I’ll note to you this restaurant is pretty trendy. Of the people waiting, they all were similarly-aged as myself and in small groups. This wasn’t Applebee’s in a mad rush to seat baby boomers with eight children none of whom are capable of listening to their parents or sitting without disturbing the other patrons. No, this place was pretty chill considering the wait time for people walking in is a coolly delivered “one hour thirty minutes to one hour forty-five.” By all this I mean to say, Front Cunt had little reason to be stressed out. She was running the show.
Upon mention of our reservation to her, she immediately stated, “We don’t take reservations over the phone.” I had no idea how Jeff made the reservation, but if he tells me on Tuesday that we’re game for Saturday, I believe him. Front Cunt offered no option to try and work with us aside from a short interrogation about the name and time again to both of which she quickly denied the possibility that the reservation existed. She could’ve read Seventeen Magazine for all it mattered; the answer would’ve been a tersely communicated NO. Jeff arrived within ten minutes of our dismay (and texts and phone calls) and went in to attempt to resolve. It seems he had made the plans through his friend, Lightning (picture provided for depth of possible references), who is a manager there. He asked about Lightning, and she quickly said, “He’s not here.” She didn’t even mean to imply that he wasn’t there at the moment. She wanted to convey that Lightning never existed in the first place.

It seems Lightning was running late for one reason or another. Details skipped, and he managed to get us in at 7:30 PM without consequence. Later, it was reveals that Francesco delivered Front Cunt a victorious raspberry as he passed behind her on the way to our giant tree trunk table. Thankfully, the service and Lightning himself were completely cordial. We had arrived prepared with the menu in memory’s tow, and I quickly ordered the Akamaru Modern (photo left), lovingly described thusly:

'The original tonkotsu' soup noodle with Ippudo's special sauce, miso paste and fragrant garlic oil; pork chashu, 1/2 seasoned boiled egg, beansprouts, kikurage & scallion

Except for the 1/2 egg, this seemed to be the perfect fit for me. In fact, the word, “garlic,” was enough to attract my attention, but still, it was a welcoming description even if I didn’t know what the special sauce was. At the very least, I knew it couldn’t and shouldn’t be fast-food’s uninviting combination of ketchup and ranch dressing. Jeff had the same, and Francesco ordered the original along with extra pork. I failed to mention pork is nearly his favorite substance on this earth next to diamonds, so a broth made from pork is just that much more intriguing to his porcine palate.

The food arrived in minutes, and quickly I picked up chopsticks and pretended I knew what I was doing. I’m not sure what it is about those ubiquitous sticks, but they mock me. In fact, I told Jeff before I began that one chopstick would most likely end up in the eye of one of the girls sitting across from us. However, after a good mixing of the sauce with the broth, I managed to make my way through the bowl heartily. Note also that the photo only shows the top of the bowl. The bottom is a good 8” below that and it is full of brothy, noodly goodness. I won’t pretend to be a food critic, but there was just this amazing depth of flavor in the broth like none I’ve had before. There was a great salt flavor rather than a great saltiness like something seasoned with a heavy hand. Rather, the salt was inviting, and so was the rest of it. I am not sure what each individual flavor I tasted could have been, but believe me that there were a lot of them packed into this amazing bowl of comfort. The noodles were super long and al dente, but they weren’t overly filling. The pork was like a soft bacon-flavored pork chop for lack of a sophisticated vocabulary to describe it. One way or another, the entirety worked for me, and the more I dug and twisted and spooned and slurped, the happier I was. I seriously did not want it to end, but it ended on a high note. I was full, but I was not sick from it. The portion was as appropriate as ever despite the daunting size of the serving.

It seems while I indulged and talked to Jeff on my left, Francesco was in his own foodie dreamland swimming in his piggy tears. (He noted to me that had Jeff not been there, he might have actually mustered up a good cry. Curses!) And so he ate “the best thing [he’s] ever eaten in the States.” He’s eaten a lot of wonderful things here, so it’s a bold claim, but I know he meant it. He even sank his chopsticks into a second serving of noodles, termed “kae-dama,” which was his goal from the get-go.

The food was good. The company was good. The conversation was good. It was a good night, which after parting ways with Jeff, ended with a nice walk back to Times Square in Saturday’s fortunate weather. If you’d like to go to Ippudo, I definitely recommend it. Before you suffer the stone demeanor of Front Cunt, though, I suggest you show up early, put your name down, and go look around for a while. Otherwise, you might just be hungry enough to mistake her hair for a fuzzy mop of ramen.

The Big Nothing of Atheism

I provide for you a definition:

atheism:

–noun

1. the doctrine or belief that there is no god.

2. disbelief in the existence of a supreme being or beings.

I think I subscribe more to the second definition than the first one.  But then there’s this:

agnosticism:

A denial of knowledge about whether there is or is not a God. An agnostic insists that it is impossible to prove that there is no God and impossible to prove that there is one.

That suits me better in some ways. Frankly, I’m not entirely sure why the term, “atheism,” implies an active disbelief in God or gods, but I suppose that’s the more commonly accepted understanding of it. But if you take the word apart based on its Greek roots, it means, “without god,” which is accurate. I live a life without God, gods, what have you, and I make few qualms about it.

Vehement atheism bothers me to some degree. I met some asshat atheists in my day. I’m talking about people that don’t believe in God (and yes, it’s GOD they are attacking) that they feel the need to impress such an idea upon every Christian (and yes, they are Christians) they can. I’m not going to pretend that Christians or members of any other religion don’t proselytize in many ways, but at the same time, if you don’t believe in any religious doctrine, why do you give a shit what people do believe in? Doesn’t vilifying a god imply that you believe it exists enough that you feel the need to attack it? I don’t get the concern. I don’t understand why someone inoffensively expressing his own religious ideas on the internet, either from a Bible quote or a simple thanking of God or Jesus for the day, must be met with such derision. I do not speak without reason, though. This article prompted this need to blog. Jump down to QuasimodoM’s comment, and you’ll read the spark. Go further, and you’ll read the fire…the idiotic fire. Initially, I missed QuasimodoM’s line of “Everyone is selfish and lives in sin,” but even with that line, I think the backlash was out of line.

Is there some rule stating that hefty video game play slowly nullifies the existence of God and reason? Of course, I’m assuming that any of the people who left these comments are over the age of 15 and don’t listen to Marilyn Manson as their pied piper of choice. It doesn’t matter, though. It is an adult article about an adult law which affects minors, black eyeliner and all. So when someone says he doesn’t support the law (good) because it is reliant on the family to choose (good) since everyone is selfish and lives in sin (bad), perhaps we can respond with a simple “Why?” or “I disagree entirely.” Comments stating, “This law proves there is no god,” followed by others stating, “There is only one God. The universe proves that there is God. The universe did not come from a ‘big bang,’” and summed up with “Just stop the religion talk. Take that somewhere else. We are here for games not religion.” all kinda lead down the dark path of irrelevance and quagmire, somewhere I don’t enjoy being when there is a greater topic at hand.

I don’t think there is a god of any sort. I don’t think Schwarzenegger has proven that. I don’t think anyone else has disproven it. I’m just saying that’s how I am. I guess, I’d more correctly label myself as an agnostic since I don’t think we have all the info, and I certainly don’t subscribe to a doctrine of godlessness. I don’t wake up everyday thankful there’s nothing out there. But you know what? I am happy in my beliefs, and living “without god” does not mean I don’t have any. It certainly does not mean I believe in the devil, which is also a god. One “doctrine” I do go for, though, is that if your beliefs make you happy and don’t hurt anyone, then there can’t be anything wrong with them. So shifting back to the discussion, I think everyone is at fault and nobody chose to appropriately bring the discussion back around without simply attacking one another. So maybe QuasimodoM is right in that regard, but he started it.

Moving on, though, I could elaborate more on what I do believe in and where it’s got me. I think we don’t know how the universe was created. I love science, and I do think science more successfully demonstrates truths in all aspects of life. It doesn’t mean we do have all the answers. As much as evidence as we have towards the Big Bang Theory, I’m not convinced that we know beyond the shadow of a doubt that that’s how things happened. Also, while it does serve to explain how the universe got the way it is now and how it will be, it doesn’t say where the matter came from. I believe in evolution and all its fun (and depression, but that shall be another blog), but I don’t know if we know exactly how different species developed, every factor and how to predict the next step for any of them. I know the religious counterargument is that both the matter had to come from somewhere and that life is simply too beautiful and too complicated to just be accidental. Insert God. That never made sense to me. Why aren’t we happy with just not knowing the answer? And yes, I am happy with the idea that we don’t know the answer. If we knew everything, what would be the point of discovery? What do we have to pursue if we can fill in some generalization to answer every question? It doesn’t make sense to me. A theory is just that. It stands until someone can outright disprove it, but that does not make it absolute. So let’s leave a question mark and move on to things we can prove or demonstrate.

I also think we have one life and it’s in our current corporeal form. I think when we die, it’s over, and that’s that. Again, I’m happy with this idea. We are given a finite time to get the most out of what we were given, and that’s so amazing. It’s unfortunate if I should die tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ll be spending a fucking eternity lamenting it. Do people understand how long an eternity is? Why do people want to spend an eternity doing anything? I mean, I understand how pleasant it is supposed to be in Heaven, but I really think that when others think of Heaven, they aren’t imagining forever. They say, “forever,” but the idea of the term ends when it does. In order to truly enjoy eternity, human nature would need go out the door when we die, because no human can truly just enjoy the continual nature of eternity. It’s really long. The great motivator to do anything is even the smallest conflict be it hunger or despair. We strive for betterment because of the negatives in place. What kind of life is it in a world with absolutely no strife? Why would we bother to move at all if we’ll never grow uncomfortable or hungry? I understand that I could just be demonstrating a complete misunderstanding of the concept of Heaven to those who love the idea, but that’s just how it comes across to me. Either way, I think there’s some beauty in being given a short time in the grand scheme of the universe to make our own mark in history and to affect others.

I don’t believe in a soul. It’s awesome that we all are so amazingly different and have individual personalities, but I don’t think that’s evidence of a soul. I don’t think science can determine everything that makes a person tick either. I think we just don’t really know why we tick the way we do, but I also think that’s amazing. Honestly, I think the discovery of whatever it is that we call “the soul” may be the final discovery for mankind and may just be the end of our species. (Yes, I think humans will die someday and that there’s nothing wrong with that.)

Maybe it seems dark or depressing, but I assure you, I’m anything but. I’m extremely cynical; I admit it. However, I am truly happy that there will always be the question of “Why?” I don’t even care if someone else I never met and never will know knows the answer to one of life’s great questions. I’m almost happy I don’t know that answer either. I’m happy I don’t think there’s a supreme being running the show. I’m happy that people are the causes of their own successes and their own demise. I’m happy that there are factors to the universe which affect us all, but we don’t know all of them, and we can’t explain them all. I’m happy I have one life. Damnit, I’m gonna make this life earn the name of Gil if it kills me.

Tragic Computer

My computer has been something of a touchy subject for me as of late. Well, my current computer hasn’t. Actually, it’s pretty wonderful thus far, but that’s mainly because it’s brand spanking new. However, if you asked me yesterday (most likely you would not), I’d have felt a small mix of rage and shame about it. Travel down memory lane with me, and someday, I’ll make it to the point.

My first computer was a Commodore 64/128, that is, it could handle both types, though without peeking at Wikipedia, I couldn’t tell you the difference between the 64 and the 128. Either way, it was a hand-me-down from a family friend’s son, Oren. (Not O-ren.) Being my father’s son when it comes to technology, this was the utmost blessing. I loved that computer and all its limited abilities. I remember attempting to pen my first novel in its substandard word processing program. I remember playing some hack of Mario on 5.25” floppy disks. I remember Print Shop. I even had access to a BASIC editor, but like Legos, the depths of my imagination never soared in the medium, and I was reduced to copying directly out of a BASIC game book Oren had given me in addition to all the hardware. (I failed also to mention the complementary dot-matrix printer.) Still I had my fun. However, I did not receive this “gift” at an appropriate time. It may have been my first computer, but Windows was already happening around us. I grew out of it, and soon, my father wanted to join the hub-bub himself.

So I received my Macintosh Performa 6300. It may have been 1994 or 1995, but the computer was actually relevant to the year. You may, at this point, wonder how I got from Windows to Macintosh with nary logical leap between one and the other. I also wonder this because I don’t know what provoked my father to buy our first Apple computer. Still, I loved the fuck out of it, and it was my friend on many an adventure only hampered by the limited amount of games available for both PC and Mac. I think the OS was 7.5.1 or something of the sort, but I do recall upgrading it myself up to 7.5.6. (My foolhardy father ignored the recommended system requirements and went to OS 8 and OS 9 after I had moved on thus creating a Macintosh Chug-a-lug.) On my Performa, I used my first copy of Photoshop 3, which was a trial version. In order to save my work, I would do a screen capture and copy it into some other standard program on the computer. My experience with the interweb also began here, as my friend Steven LeVine let me create a username on his account on AOL. I think my first name there was BloodCrzy; my morbid interests are another blog entry entirely. Anyhoo, this computer was my first opportunity to start making graphics and making electric friends, and that lasted me throughout most of high school.

In 1999, I think, I had received my first PC, or should I say, Windows PC, since all home computers are PCs technically. It was a Compaq Presario. I had a new found sense of excitement there, too, since finally, I had Windows like all my friends, and I had access to all the games normal humans did. However, it wasn’t long before the computer proved to be a pile of shit. The Presario coupled with Windows ME proved to be a combo for failure as it was the buggiest piece of crap I ever used. At this point, I cannot really recall what specifically went wrong, but went wrong it did, and I had enough after about a year. My father did, too, but instead of seeking out a new computer by band, he and our neighbor sought it out by part.

From 2000 until this morning, my PC has always been built for me with part repeatedly being swapped out for newer and/or better ones. The only constant throughout all my computer’s iterations was the processor: AMD. Also, the bulk of those years was spent using Windows XP once I had replaced my Windows 98. Complain as you will, but it was probably the most stable of the Windows versions in the past 15 years, though Windows 7 is proving to be popular now. I had always been comfortable with this kind of computer, and it certainly made me more intimately familiar with the insides, which most people have never seen. When it came to worrisome repairs or replacements, I could usually count on my friend, Sam Steele. He’s seriously responsible for 95% of all my troubleshooting for my computer over the years, and even though he’s since moved to San Francisco, he still plays consultant. However, about a month ago, it all went downhill.

My computer died. It had started dying well before then, but I assumed its occasional inability to power on correctly was the cheap-o Dynex power supply that I had purchased. I was wrong! After some back and forth troubleshooting, it was determined that my CPU had died. The very object that makes a computer a computer died. That was disappointing. Consulting with Sam and such about hardware replacements just proved to be convoluted. I won’t go into the thick of it, but in order to maintain what I had going also meant a complete lack of progress in terms of technology. So I bought a Dell! To be honest, my home brew computer was never perfect anyway. For the past 5 years or so, I had it splayed open like a whore in order to keep everything cool.All the panels of the computer were all over the place, and anyone could witness the “we all look like that inside” experience that was the exoskeleton sitting at my desk. It wasn’t an ideal experience by any means.

I got my Dell Inspiron 560 while I was at work today, and thus far, I’m pretty happy. It came preloaded with Windows 7, so I can once again join modernity. I’ve got a Core 2 Quad processor, 1TB hard drive which I’ll never fill, and an nVidia graphics card. Oddly enough, I could not find this combo through Dell’s website or even my work’s discount site. No, this magic combo, which I purchased through Dell.com only appeared when I searched the processor through Google Shopping. I don’t suggest searching for it now, either, since I can no longer find it myself.

I understand this blog entry is pretty mundane, but I guess it’s nice for me to see where I came from. Of all things, I am most amazed by the generations of storage media I’ve managed to witness. Remember ZIP disks? FAIL.

Up From the Grave (and Right Back In Again)

Yesterday, I had the incredible delight of seeing a good friend from grade school, Carl. He and I were buddies all the way through to 8th grade, but sadly, we went to different high schools, and then his family moved to Massachusetts during our senior year. The last time I saw him in person was when I went to visit him there shortly after I graduated. Other than that, we had little to no contact. I suppose, though I don't immediately recall, I found him somewhere on the interweb, and we managed to maintain an email correspondence about 4 years ago. I last emailed him in July of 2006 about some random garbage, and then yesterday, he emailed me back stating he's in New Jersey and asked if I was in Monmouth County, which is where we grew up. Honestly, my answer suffered some brevity because I more or less told him, "Nope. Come find me." But he did!

To be frank, I was a bit nervous about seeing him. Probably 20 minutes before he arrived, I had this sudden panic: What if we have absolutely nothing to talk about or in common? You know this has happened to you before. You're out somewhere, and you run into someone you abso-fucking-lutely loved in school/work/whatever. Your immediate conversation is an amalgam of "OMG Hi! How are you? What are you doing? Where are you living? How's so-and-so?" and it goes on. But once all the how's are answered, they devolve into what's, and then it becomes "so..." and it's over. You no longer are pulling pranks together. You no longer are going to your favorite place every Friday. You aren't even dealing with the same issues. What the FUCK was your friendship about? This is so awkward! I mean, it's lovely to see the other person, but there's nothing, not a goddamn thing to talk about from there. You don't even want to suggest doing something you used to do. The magic is gone.

Sadly, it becomes worse when you know you're in the area of someone you used to see all the time, and both of you actively pursue hanging out. You actually schedule hours of your day to devote to seeing this amazing person. I think my worst experience with this was the last time I went to the Bay Area in California. I actually went with a friend from high school, but she and I are still friendly and communicate without issue. We both were friends with this girl when we were in high school, and she lives in San Francisco. We made arrangements to meet up with her, do a little shopping, and then go to a Bad Movie Night together. Well, it wasn't the reunion I hoped for. I used to see this girl so often and pick her up in my car and go see independent movies together. I had such high hopes. But the night was mostly, "So..." Every now and again, she'd mentioned something particularly strange that happens or happened, but it was as interesting as reading one of those Strange Yet True books they had when you were little. Then the bad movie was actually so bad, it was humourless. (Star Wars Holiday Special, if you're curious.) My friend and I left early, and other than minor phone calls, I have not spoken to the other girl again.

Yesterday was nothing like that, though. Carl arrived, came in, sat down, and we just chatted straight through for a while. Of course, we asked how the other was, what the other was doing, and all the usual stuff, but we actually managed to chat about recreational time, relationships, and more. He was down here just for a high school reunion, so he had to go to that, but we managed to convince him to come out to dinner with us, and that was also lovely (if anything, because Francesco loves his barbecue). I also insisted he stay with us after the reunion. We have a free couch bed, and I cannot fathom seeing someone I respect so much overpaying for some dumpy motel. On second thought, though, we only had a wall unit for air conditioning, so maybe it would've been worthwhile. Oh, well.

Anyhoo, I appreciate life's little surprises, and this was certainly unexpected. My biggest ambitions for the day were for Francesco to cut my hair and for me to clean the bathroom. Only the former happened, though, once I received a text message (in perfect English, mind you) from Carl stating he would be over in an hour. I did, at the very least, vacuum the wall-to-wall carpeting that was our bathroom hall full of hair. To think I'd receive a reply to an almost four-year-old email and get to see someone I hadn't seen in almost ten years who I went to school with almost fourteen years ago is just an awesome drop of good fortune. I'm not one for signs, karma, or luck, but it was nice to have someone successful, intelligent, and interesting drop by my life so randomly. I hope to see Carl again, but even if we don't intersect, I find his visit yesterday to be inspirational. I could be. I really could be.

Note: Carl also is the first house guest to remove the sheets from the bed, put the couch back in order, and move our coffee table back into position AND pay for dinner. And he's single, ladies!