Catching Up

If you asked me if I was no longer interested in recording the private details of my life, I would disagree. If you asked me if my life had stagnated, and I no longer had anything interesting to write about, I would disagree. The ideas, the retrospection, the Adventure; its all still there. And yet, I’ve been updating at best once a month. Part of the problem is that I want the blog to represent a complete narrative of my experience. When I think of filling it all in, it seems overwhelming, and in these circumstances I tend to inaction. Tonight I can tackle some of that space, I think.

Much of my spare thought lately has been devoted to fairly big-picture stuff. My current social situation is by far the best I’ve ever had. I have a large circle of close, well-connected friends who are smart, interesting, and most importantly genuinely good people. In the right circumstances, these people, being mostly young, motivated ivy league grads, would represent the foundation of an excellent social network upon which I could build a career. If my talents and interests were in writing, policy, campaigning, or, um, whatever it is that people do in DC, then things would all be peachy. Except, as you may have noticed, I’m no writer; in fact, I’m actually a NERD. Capitalized for emphasis. What I like to do is solve problems, ones that can be modeled and parsed and simplified and coded and optimized. I like to turn words into math, and then fuck the math. er, solve the math. And then I like to go home and play games and read fantasy novels and watch science fiction movies and etc.

In many way my current life is a denial of these basic elements of my personality. I spend my free time reading Slate instead of doing these things, or watching election returns instead of playoff basketball games, so that I can be well-conversant in the latest twists and turns of the race to the Democratic nomination. For a while I thought that these things were truly more important than my own geekish interests, but lately it has become more and more apparent that following politics in DC is essentially equivalent to following sports in Pittsburgh or the industry in LA.

So, what is the next step? There’s no mark for me to make in this world, which reduces its importance to me to just “something to do”. The girl I’m fucking right now is gung-ho about universal health care, and is doing whatever it takes to make it happen. My friends who write for Slate, well, they obviously have a somewhat greater investment in the things that they are discussing. So, at least for some of my friends, there’s an element of investment in this scene that I do not have. If I persisted in this scene I would be slowly pushed to the outside as my friends became more and more centralized. It’s frankly not an option at this point to reconfigure my career path to the degree that would be required to stay on track, so it seems the only option is to cut-and-run, relocate and develop a group of friends whose interests and talents mirror my own.

The fear associated with implementing this strategy is significant; Whatever the future may hold, thie current group of people is the best I’ve ever been associated with, and strangely I feel more accepted, less marginalized, than in years past. Ironically, after a year of Slate and HuffPo reading, I am almost certainly more conversant now in politics than in tech, and based on some fairly solid self-analysis I have serious doubts about my ability to quickly form new social circles in a new environment. In the short term, a radical social reprogramming is going to be a significant loss.
Alas, the decision has already been made. I am moving to Seattle in August to pursue a math PhD at the University. I’ll be leaving behind beloved friends and financial security and starting over in an unfamiliar place in a field that I’m only barely confident I can hack. And yet, it still feels right. Maybe next year will be rough. But I’ve been lucky with friendships in the past and I’ll trust my luck again. I’ve been lucky with my talents and success in the past and I’ll trust my luck again. I’ve been lucky in life, if not lucky in love, and besides, for true Adventure, the Young man must go west.

Deam 2/10/07

Found this in my documents today.  I took a nap after work one day last year and woke up at just the right time to remember the entire dream.  I made sure to write it down before I forgot it.  As far as I can remember I transcribed it exactly as I remembered it.  One final note: I frequently dream about running or driving out of control; either being unable to slow down or stop, or being drunk while driving, or trying to run away while my feet can’t touch the ground.   Enjoy!

 

 

Hanging out at Paul’s tonight, but the first thing is to meet his two friends on the way over in the parking lot. It’s cold out. I can’t remember one of them but the cute one was Laura. Cute, or available? I think she was the sister of Paul’s friend. I don’t know why I did this but I moved as if to make out with her. She recoiled, and I played it off; no harm no foul. Is that how desperate I am? I’ve never even thought of trying something like that but there it was and I’ve known this girl for ten seconds. I saw the look on her face, she knew. We’re hanging out at Paul’s, there are some more introductions. A couple old friends there, but I can’t remember their names. The one girl, the fat one, she is always fading into the background for me. She says something and I say “yeah sure”. Not the first time it will happen tonight. Laura is still cute, she seems interested enough in me, I try to make conversation but its too hard, I keep drifting to other places. The details fade incredibly fast, but I remember how amazing Paul’s apartment was. It was at least four floors, the top was the only part I knew, but somehow there was this incredible cavernous space two floors down. Wood paneling and books. Lots and lots of books. Paul somehow got the sweetest space in town, the one with all the books and all the space. I’ve been drunk the whole night, and I will keep getting drunker, but I don’t remember drinking. Hanging out and talking. Ignoring the fat one, and the ugly one. She seems to be getting annoyed. I feel bad. What’s her name again? I realize what a jerk I’ve been and the fat girl calls me out on it. “You didn’t hear a word I just said.” I feel awful, apologize, I come totally clean. I’ll be better in the future, I swear. I really felt bad, at least I can say that. Then there’s the part that just has no place in this at all: CVS. It’s in the middle of the space in Paul’s apartment of course, suspended in midair. The story would be much better without it, but there it was. I pick up some toiletries: razor blades, acne medicine, but I can’t remember the last one I needed. I’m sure I have soap and shampoo. Oh well. The hardest part is getting across the counter (I’m sitting on it). If I fall off I’ll die, but the clerk doesn’t seem concerned (really nice black lady). I start inching my way across and the whole thing starts to tilt, I’m falling off, but she grabs me and saves my life. Swipe my card, go back to the party. This is the worst of how I can feel at parties. Playing the party goer just fine, jokes and laughs, but not connecting with anyone, and worse I can feel their mockery. Some kids I teach are there hanging out, and I remember all the wrong things are there for them to see. Porn. I can never go back there again. Will finds the camera with the pictures of us hanging out last time. Neither of us remember it, but there he is giving someone a piggy-back ride. We must have been so wasted. I can’t let them drink with me! I hear one of the kids mutter something about weirdness. Why are we hanging out in my room? Looking on my computer? Why do I have those pictures as my background (girls). This is a disaster. Things are getting bad. The girl whose name I can’t remember brings it up, and I freak out. They freak out. I storm off to complain to Dave in his room: about it all, about having to remember and expectations and pressure and people, and the next thing I know I’m driving. Driving away from this mess, from my life because I can’t go back to it, I couldn’t keep up with those people; I wasn’t good enough. Not even Laura, she liked me, but I couldn’t make it work, mean the right things. And worst of all, driving drunk. Really drunk. I’m still going straight though, I’m fine. But then cops start showing up. Sirens blaring, but they’re heading the other way. Fast. I have to get out of the way, so now I’m in the left lane as they buzz down the right, sirens blaring. Sleek, black police cars, hot on the chase. More and more are coming, now in both lanes, and I have to switch to the shoulder. I start hitting the brake now, because I have to stop, but of course it doesn’t work. If I was just sober I could control the car and stop it but there’s this sense of inevitability. I know this is going to end bad, but if I keep my foot on the brake maybe it won’t be quite so bad. The cops start aiming for me right down the should now, they’re still hot on the chase. I’m not even avoiding them by my own skill now. Like in the hallway at school, I feign left and he feigns to my left and it takes a last second swerve to avoid the collision. Getting so lucky, but it can’t last. Now I’m at the station, this is where they register and release your car back to you (after what?). Now I’m dodging and swerving around parked cars, the same sleek black police cars. Foot on the brake, I must be slowing down, but its still to fast to register what happens. I must be almost stopped now when I see I’ve run out of room. Two parked cars with officers standing outside them, I can squeeze between and I’m almost stopped oh god I hit the pole and I’m drunk I hope it isn’t too bad. Ok be cool. Get out of the car, the cop is already there with his clipboard and his list of questions. I glance at the car. Man it was so nice, how could I crash it. It was a mazda, brand new. The front end had that new styling and must have looked great in the mirror clean blue paint job. The damage is much worse than I thought it would be, the whole front end is wedged together and pushed up. I’m fucked. He starts asking questions, and I can’t hear them and I can’t answer them, because I’m so drunk, even drunker than I thought I was. My life is ruined. “Where were you going tonight” Home, I don’t know, I don’t know where, nowhere. “My brakes didn’t work, officer” I’m not slurring and he doesn’t know yet but he will. I don’t have a chance. How could I have fucked everything up so bad?

 

Oh my god I’m in bed. Of course my brakes didn’t work, it was one of those dreams again. I have my life back. Only 7:30? still time to go out tonight…

Pan’s Labyrinth

What an incredible movie.

Two of the most powerful moments in cinema in the final thirty minutes.

First, the doctor chooses a right death rather than a simple act of service to evil.  Sticks it to the captain and with nothing more to say picks it up and walks away, knowing it would be his final walk.  If you are not thinking of the meaning of life and death by this point in the film, something has passed by…  how can our lives be worth living if it has never been worth dying?  This is the same feeling I got watching “The War”.  Perhaps the best we can do is appreciate those lives given up as we live out the frivolity afforded us.  Perhaps not…

But of course, this is not the message of the film; it is the fairy tale, the real fairy tale that comes to a point as ofelia lies dying.  It is the truest fantasy ever put to film because we know in the end that it exists only in her imagination.  An existence in the mind of a child should be well more than is required for true existence, the way I see it, and that is the brilliance of the film.

V for Vendetta comes on next… a reminder of why some movies get 5 stars on netflix and others only get 4… but still, natalie portman is otherwordly

Decisions Matter?

I’ve gotten used to making transient decisions; one way or the other my life would go back to normal, or whatever, within a reasonable amount of time, and the road into the abyss of capital “L” Life still seemed to have enough switchbacks and traffic circles to take corrective action if necessary.  In other words, I’m not ready to deal with Major Life Events.

Such an event has taken place.  No, I must face the music and use the active voice:  I have decided what I am doing with my life.  Next year I’m off to pursue a PhD in mathematics and that’s that.  Five or six years in school, then post doc, then assistant professorship, the full professorship, all if I’m lucky.

Lucky??  I made this decision partly because the thought of my life playing out as the past two years, an annually skipping record, groundhog’s year of teaching ninth-grade geometry, was too oppressive to bear.  I continue to expound on the joy of the job to all who inquire, and in these days of graduate school visits, its been frequent enough to stick in my mind.  Will life as an academic be quantifiably better?  If not, then why take the pay cut for eight years or ten years or whatever it will take to make up the lost dough?  Ten minutes ago I was asking myself these questions honestly, but I think I do have answers.

First, the money is not the issue.  The pleasures I take in life; friends, music, food, knowledge, sports, sex, the outdoors; have little if anything to do with money.  I’m tired of being urged me to take the finance money, or whatever money, and run; tired of even bothering to give it an honest consideration as often as I do because I come up with the same answer every time; I just don’t care.
Second, more importantly,  its not a hamster wheel.  This school is different from other school, merely by signing up I’m asserting that I have something to offer; research is the name of the game now and it promises to renew itself as I uncover it; and ideally in the process renew me.  Yeah, there will be seemingly impassable chasms as I move forward; no one said math was easy; but I’ve always liked mountain climbing better than track anyways.

Bring it on.

Girls, Girls, Girls

Tonight I fielded text message from three different attractive girls who are clearly interested in hooking up with me.

This post will be about how I have been successful with girls.  It will be somewhat deceptive; there have been frequent and recent periods of my life where I would approach this from the opposite side.  Right now, I’m feeling confident, and this post arises from that. 

 Back story:  at the time of my graduation from high school, I had never made out with a girl, much less dated one.  I had some social skills, a large group of friends, but I had never transferred my social strengths into my relationship with girls.  By my senior year of college, I had only had relations of any kind with four girls, and my approach to each was not something I would recommend to anyone.  Then came Feb Club.

We agreed to field a competition.  A competition to hook up with as many girls as possible.  Yes, its the worst sort of thing.  To this day certain conversation with female friends become tense over the events of that february.  However, something important happened:  I made the decision that I would approach girls in unfamiliar situations and see what happened.

 That’s all it takes.  I promise.  You do not have to develop an alter ego that plays along with the standard notion of what it takes to impress a girl.  If you can carry on a conversation for over an hour in a scenario with drinks, then you can succeed.  And the easiest way to carry on a conversation is to be completely natural.

 I should try to post when I’m sober… I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

Its not how it seems

i have enough in me at the moment for a book worth of posts.  I still feel this is important, and I can’t say why I’ve been delinquint.  Obviously, drunk.

 I’m going to try to separate the threads into topics, and hopefully the important ones I’ll save for when I am sober.

History Repeats Itself

I was interested in a relationship with TCNC; here, finally, was a girl laid back enough to deal with me.  I just don’t care about so many things that other people care about, and I felt that we connected on that level, quickly going to the important things in the way people connect.  I also thought she was pretty cute.  Sadly, and predictably, I got the “just friends” call, as I have in the previous two potential relationships.  This time, though, it seems she actually means it; she’s called me twice since then about hanging out.  I’m just gonna play it on the back of the beat, see where she’s coming from.  I honestly thought (again) that there was potential here; maybe she sees it too even if she doesn’t want to fuck me (yet).  Who knows.

I was accepted into a math PhD program this week, with a teaching assistantship.  Five more decisions are pending.   The school I heard from was the lowest ranked that I applied to, in the top 40, so I still have no way to know how the others are going to go.  Wish me luck!

loveandsex / sexorlove

I’ve masturbated twice since my post a week ago.  I have not used pictoral pornography (yay!).  Masturbating to sexy stories is a tradition as old as time and I won’t try to escape it.  Rather than the woman being the object, the experience is the object.  Right?

 My random hookup four weeks ago I think may have marked something of a turning point in my attitude towards picking up/hooking up/casual sex.  February of senior year of college (two years ago today) was the beginning of the latest phase, marked by a philosophy that sex is fun, and that my main mission in going out is to take the most active role possible in finding girls who agree with me.  If you are entering this phase, or are in a position where you think sex would probably be fun, but you are too nervous/inexperienced/shy to do anything about it, I want to do nothing to discourage you.   As regrettable as certain actions I took were, especially in those experimental days, they were invaluable learning experiences and my ability to approach girls and evaluate my chances accurately is paying dividends.

 I have been reflecting very negatively towards my latest encounter.  A girl struck up a conversation and, with only a subconscious evaluation (vis a vis the binary scale of attractiveness) I plotted my course and never looked back.  Cut to several hours later and I am in bed, drunk, with this girl who is not really my type, joylessly plugging away (use your imagination).

 There was absolutely nothing wrong with her.  Great face, a body type that plenty of men would find perfect, and a fiery personality.  I won’t forget her quizzing me on my pornography habits, or the extreme discomfort I felt at the time.

 The point is, I only slept with this girl because I had programmed myself to try under any circumstances above room temperature.  Nearly every day since then I’ve thought about calling her (she didn’t take my number, but gave me hers), and I haven’t because… I can’t think of what I would say.

 ”Hey, its me.  Just calling to make sure you’re not pregnant or crying yourself to sleep every night or anything crazy like that.  Don’t really want to hook up again, or go out; just feel kind of weird about the whole thing.”

I have two opportunities for my Second Good Relationship Ever (the first was last spring, as recounted in this blog).   One is purely speculative, but comes with all the positive signals plus the mythical LAFS (love at first sight) phenomenon attached to it.  The other is very real, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with this girl except that she might not be crazy enough for me.  After inviting her back to my place saturday (which she thankfully declined), I realized I need to change my approach.  Not that I won’t fuck her if I get the chance…

TC not C update

I am at a far more manageable BAC than last night.  I honestly have NO CLUE what I was talking about with that quote.  I can only hope that one day the rest of my posts will be as incomprehensible to me as that one.

 I met TCnotC (this stands for tiny and cute but not neccessarily crazy) and her friend doubledate (I went with a friend of mine) to head over to a friend’s house party.  Talking, dancing, enough to make it work.  TCnotC is into me (making out).  OK.

 Go back to one of the more embarrassing posts in this blog.  I well and truly fell in love with this girl the night I met her.  As I most eloquently stated it at the time, I mostly played it cool in our interactions.  Thus, the big reject/accept didn’t happen, and I wasn’t ready to handle it.  I fell apart, but fortunately not in public as usually happens.  Therefore, there was no negative effect on our relationship.  I’ve seen this girl a couple times since then, including tonight, and each time there has been an increasing level of chemistry.  How often have I been in a position to select between incredible girls?  Never.

 I need to manage two relationships.  Its an incredible situation and inevitably I will destroy it by enjoying it too much.  I exhort myself to take this seriously and do the right thing:  be honest with TCnotC and pursue the other with conviction.  In reality, however, the potential of forthcoming sex with a high quality girl will be too much to pass up. 

Goddamn!

Too Easy

“Some one is trying to organize us.

 I told him I was intoxicated, and I might read it when I was sober.”

 I need to start by quoting my roommate, who is always more drunk than I.

 My blood alcohol is at the bare minimum .12 by now.  If there is an intelligence that allows one to fix grammar while drunk, I have decided I have it.

 New topic.  Tonight reinforced:  I have a thing for TCC: Tiny, cute, crazy.  the cute is not just “hot”; it’s a facial thing, an innocence that returns me to a more primordial state than the one in which I normally operate.  Boner.

 Please do not think that I’m writing this of clear mind.

 Tomorrow was a TC, with the final C (crazy) still debatable.  She seems fine to come to this party.

Shit

Wasted.

More later