My good friend Susan asked a question on Twitter: 

Ok peeps! What was your favorite song in highschool? What was your song at Prom?

— Susan Porter (@susellwrites) April 17, 2012 

She then wrote this blog post rounding up the answers.

See, to me, those were two different, and almost impossible to answer questions that couldn't possibly be related. My favorite song in high school? It changed daily, all four years. There's no way I could narrow it down to just one song. As for the prom question, I didn't go to prom, because I didn't know any women. I went to an all-male high school. Sure, other people in my school went to prom with girls. Those other people weren't socially inept. At that time in my life, I didn't even know how one went about finding women. The library? Convenient stores? *shrugs*

[Note: Thinking about this, I also inadvertently answered a tweet from my good friend, Katie:

In which part of your life are you a chronic over-compensator?

— Kate Djupe (@tokatefromkate) April 23, 2012

98% of my friends, and people I talk to, are women. In high school, and the first years of college, that was probably less than 1%. There is my overcompensation.]

Now, where was I? Oh, yes: music. My whole life, I've thought that I was born at the wrong time, in regards to my musical tastes. Really early in life, I was exposed to the musical taste of mainly my father, who would create the 8-track mixtures played in the car during our road trip vacations (my dad despised flying). My dad mixed genres like no other. For example, a single tape could have songs of the following performers:

The Four Aces

Elvis

The Platters

Frank Sinatra

Doris Day

The Beatles

David Soul…you know, the guy from Starsky & Hutch. 

Patti Page

The Ray Conniff Singers

ABBA

Looking back, it was the weirdest mashup of songs and artists ever. But that's what I grew up listening. My dad was also an avid record collector. No, really. We're talking hundreds and hundreds of records. But he wasn't a completist, like a lot of people are. Some collectors want to have every album from a particular artist. Not my dad. He would just have random records, records that he liked.

With that background info, you can almost see how I would have some strange taste in music. In my early teens, I think I listened to whatever anyone listened to: Michael Jackson. If you weren't around back then, it was this strange universal thing: everyone liked Thriller. Everyone. It was ubiquitous. Of course, most pop music at the time was…because it's pop music. POPular music. I liked everything that I was exposed to on the radio and MTV…because those were the only places you heard/saw new music.

I started high school, and that's when things got strange…or stranger. By this time, I was already a big fan of The Smiths, so I don't have to talk about that. Just know that they've been in my head since the age of 12, when I bought "The Queen Is Dead" on cassette for my sister for Christmas…and subsequently listened to it over and over again. Best present I ever bought someone. So, besides that, I would get on these musical "kicks", like how you want to eat the same food over and over again for days or weeks. 

The first two years of high school I was really into the British Invasion…of the 60's. I need to state the time period, because many consider the 80's as another time British bands invaded the US. I was really into all these 60's bands, and not The Beatles, strangely. I was really into The Hollies, after buying a greatest hits cassette I found on clearance.

I was also really into Herman's Hermits, The Dave Clark Five, Tom Jones, and others (especially The Zombies, with whom I rank right up there next to The Smiths as one of my top bands). I found a lot of these artists by rummaging through my dad's record collection in the basement, finding soundtrack LPs of movies I've never even heard of, but finding tracks on the album that I liked. 

My third year in high school had me listening to The Style Council, Paul Weller's abrupt change of musical heart from his previous work with The Jam. I never really got into The Jam; I thought it was too noisy, too raw. But The Style Council, now this was stuff I could get into. Jazzy and soulful and modern; keyboards and a guitar and a voice, so simple.

Also, one of the weirdest videos ever. You know it's good when it makes you uncomfortable. Carl-ism #41.

I was also very much into The Housemartins, and The Beautiful South.

I don't know what it was. The simple chord progressions paired with witty political lyrics of The Housemartins? Heaton's nasally voice? A premonition that in 15 years I'll like the DJ work of The Housemartin's bass player, Norman Cook a.k.a. Fatboy Slim? The fact that The Beautiful South did a cover of Pebbles' "Girlfriend"? Who knows? I just remember pouring over the record sleeves, trying to get as much information about the band as I could from the lyrics and the credits in fine print.

My senior year in high school: it was all about disco. At the time, everyone I knew was listening to Nirvana's Nevermind. And here I was, listening to obscure Donny & Marie disco songs. I mean, I listened to disco a lot as a kid, mainly because my parents were into it. My mom used to have "disco dance parties" where friends of the family would come over and learn new disco dance moves. My parents took me to see Saturday Night Fever in the theater; I was 4. I know, right? So, it's not like this was some new music to me. But honestly, it was. Listening to disco at the age of 17 is way different than at the age of 4. Again, I searched the stack of 45's my dad had in the basement, looking for any disco song I could find. I hooked up the 8-track player to the stereo, and started dubbing cassettes of the disco mixes my dad had on 8-track. I played these cassettes in my car every day as a drove to and from school. As a graduation present, my sister gave me an original cassette tape of the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack that she found (which, apparently, was a rare find, as anything disco related was non-existent at that time). Why disco? Why not? I was just so enamored with the beat, and the instrumentation, and beautiful lyrics hidden behind the guise of a throwaway song you're just supposed to dance to.

My answer to Susan's question about the prom song was "More Than A Woman" by the Bee Gees. It's so good. 

But, there were actually two different versions of that song on the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. The other version was sung by Tavares. It's more upbeat, more of a soul-infused dancer.

To this day, I can still picture the scenes in the movie (that I saw when I was 4) where these songs are played. Did I mention I have a really good memory of stuff when I was younger?

Now you're probably thinking, "What the hell kind of weird stuff are you listening to these days???" Well, if you must ask, I am currently on another kick. I'm stuck on listening to children's 80's TV show Kids Incorporated's "lyrically inoffensive" versions of popular 80's songs sung specifically by Renee Sands/Renee Sandstrom. How's that for a genre? My favorite at the moment? A *clean* cover of Madonna's "Into The Groove":

I've been watching/listening to this song non-stop for a week so far. I don't know how I started up on the Kids Incorporated kick recently, but seeing this video brought up all these repressed memories about watching this show secretly (so no one would make fun of me), and how I was and still am in love with Renee. Seriously. From Kids Incorporated, to Wild Orchid, to her doing that song for the Camp Rock soundtrack, I am still so in love with Renee. But that's a whole other blog post. Also, the little blonde girl left of Renee? That's Fergie. You know, "My Humps" Fergie. No, really. That's her. Yeah, I don't know what happened either.

I was digging around files on my old desktop computer (a PowerMac G4 450mhz from 1999…yep, still working perfectly fine), and found an oddly named text file titled "creation consumption.txt" from July 15, 2010. Upon opening it, I realized it was a blog post I wrote almost 2 years ago. I read through it, and don't remember writing it at all. It's weird how that happens. Reminded me of a time when I picked up an old physics book, and a couple sheets of paper fell out. They were homework problems in Quantum Mechanics that I solved. I stared at the paper, and it looked…alien. I did this? Really? I solved these problems? It's my handwriting, but I don't recall ever doing anything like this, nor could I replicate this today.

I read through this text file, and some of it seemed familiar, but only in the sense that, yes, this is what I would say, and in the style I would say it. But I have no recollection of ever writing this. It seems that this post was to be a follow-up to a post on my blog that got a lot of attention from design blogs called "The Product Designer's Dilemma", which talked about this ethical battle that plays out in the head of industrial designers regarding consumerism and consumption. I don't know why I never posted this particular essay. Maybe I wanted to proofread it, then forgot about it? Totally plausible.

So here it is, totally unedited, and with strange working title ideas at the beginning. I am so weird. But I really do love gravy and cherries.

————————————————————————————————————

Creation or Consumption: Right and Wrong?

Priorities: Gravy or cherries or friends?

I was in a grocery store the other day with my mother. I saw some nice cherries, and thought "Hey! Cherries!" [I like cherries, what can I say] I picked them up for a moment, put them down, then continued perusing. My mother said "Aren't you going to get them?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't need them."

"Do you need cash? I have some. You can get them."

"No, it's okay. I don't need them."

"But you like cherries…?"

"I know. But I don't need them."

Puzzled, my mom just let me go.

***********

You may or may not know this, but I am an avid road cyclist, have been since I was 15. Wow, that's 21 years. Crazy.  Anyway, I have a road bike…two, actually. One was my great uncle's, the bike that started me riding, then racing, then quit racing, and back to riding. [Why quit racing? That's a post in itself. Short answer: road cyclists are pretentious bastards. Haha.] My other bike is pretty darn cool, if I do say so myself. It's a Look KG196, a hand-built monocoque carbon fiber bike, aerodynamically designed by the guy who designed the TGV in France. The bike is from the mid 90's. It's not light at all by today's standards. In fact, it's downright portly. In cycling—road cycling in particular—there are people known as "Weight Weenies." These people are concerned with one thing and one thing only: to reduce the weight of their bicycles. Light bicycles go faster, accelerate more quickly, etc. So these people start out with carbon fiber frames, and substitute as many light parts as they can: carbon fiber bottle cages, titanium bolts, thin-shelled saddles, etc. They are hell bent on having the lightest bike imaginable. 

I used to be like that for about one year in my cycling life, probably at the beginning. Then I decided that spending X amount of dollars to save X amount of grams was…stupid. I could reduce the number of grams of my bike for free; it's called "losing weight." Hell, it might even save me money, since I'm not eating as much.

In fencing [Yes, I used to fence. I kinda miss it.], there is something known as "priority". It determines who has the "right of way", so to speak, when two fencers strike each other simultaneously. We have priorities in life; some things have precedent over other things. Sometimes I wish there were no such thing as priority. What if all tasks were the same priority? What if one thing was no greater than the other? What if everything and everyone was equal? What would we do? In fencing, with no priority, it would be a mad poking and slashing-fest, not unlike "swordfighting" as a kid.

**********

I like cherries, don't get me wrong. But I don't need them. And so I passed. Or maybe I prioritized. The joy I would get from eating those cherries was far less than the joy I would get from, say, using that money to put gasoline in my car. With gas in my car, I could drive and see friends. Spending time with friends is greater than eating a cherry. And losing weight is greater than spending money for lighter bicycle parts.

I'm not one to go out a lot with friends. I mean, I see friends and hang out, but I don't go out to eat or go to bars often with friends. [I also don't like to spend time with more than one person at a time, because with more people, I feel that I am not giving everyone my undivided attention.] For some people, it is de rigeur to go out to eat, or grab a drink anytime they want to meet up with friends. A good friend of mine has a friend who heads up a local band. Many times, we've met up at a bar or club where her friend's band is playing. After some months of not meeting with her at one of her friend's shows, I asked my friend "Hey, have you hung out with _____ lately?" "No. The only time he wants to hang out, is when he's playing out. I feel like I'm paying a cover charge just to spend time with my friend. That's not cool." I feel the same way, which is maybe why I don't grab drinks with friends too often. One could argue that I feel that way because I don't have the money to spend, which is also true. But if I did, would I still say that? Yes, I would. It's a priority thing, you see: I value my time with someone I care about more than the activity we are doing. As I told a friend recently when she asked me where I wanted to meet her, "We can chew gum in the Staples parking lot if you want, as long as we're hanging out."

[2012 note: I read this and thought "Wait, does this mean I value money (the saving of it) over friendship, since I don't want to spend much money if meeting up with a friend? What does money in this situation mean? Is it security? Friendship could also bring security. Hmmmm…]

I see a lot of my friends and other people on Twitter and Facebook love going out to eat at restaurants and such. And honestly, I wonder, why do they do it? Obviously, there is the basic reason: hunger. Then there is the social aspect: it's a way to get together with friends. But other than that, what else is there? Sure, it's a way to experience something new and different; it's a way to reward yourself, treat yourself. Maybe it's a celebration (like how I had a get-together at a restaurant for my birthday), but I guess that falls under the social aspect. I really wonder, though: why do people go out and eat? I'm really not trying to sound like a dick, I just want to know. I mean, we can cut out hunger for the most part. No one really goes out to sate hunger; the human body can get by with far less than what a $20-30 meal at a restaurant can provide. And I totally understand being lazy, and not wanting to cook; I do that too. I assume people are fulfilling some sort of need here, but I don't know what it is. It's even more perplexing when I see people who continue to go out and eat when I know that they barely have the financial means to do so. In those cases, I know they must be trying to fulfill some need. A self-esteem issue? I don't know.

Which brings us to consumption. Why do we consume? Why do we buy things? Do we really want to buy things to fulfill some unmet need? Will consuming meet our needs? I doubt it highly. 

My birthday was last week. I thought of things that I wanted for my birthday, and for each thing, I thought "You know, I don't really need that." At one point, I said I wanted gravy. [It's a fact, I really enjoy gravy.] Of course, I didn't get gravy [Thanks, friends. haha], but I thought about it more. I don't really want gravy, I want someone to make me gravy. Why? Because making a meal and sharing food one has made means love. I did the research*, it's true. ;)

[2012 note: the * regarding research and food goes back to a design project I did, regarding the correlation or role of food preparation and the act of showing affection. I know, sounds pretty far out there, huh? But it's true, preparing food for someone is a very good way to show someone that you care about them; and it's something many people can relate to. Strangely, the research I did on this project long ago also played a large part in creating this. I know. Crazy.]

Reading my last post on here, I know that I'm way different than other people, in terms of thinking. I think that maybe going through a time when I lost pretty much everything [job, love, friends], and still have pretty much nothing, had an impact on my thoughts and beliefs, but I think the seed was planted a long time ago…and maybe I was just choosing to ignore it; we do a lot of things subconsciously to make us seem like we belong and are just like everyone else. I still have this issue with consumption, and I sometimes wonder about how other people view their consuming actions. 

As a designer, I create, just like other people work. But why do other people work? To pay bills, right? We all do that. And to provide things for themselves. That's valid, too. For me, however, I find that I work, and create, to get money…which I then use to not only pay bills, but to create again. My life seems like some weird feedback loop. I design things, to get money, that I use to use to design things I want to design. For me, I feel I have to design, I have to think, I have to create.

But for those who don't work to create, like me, do they just work to consume? People work to get things they want. but why do they want those things? Is it because they feel like they deserve it, for working so hard? Why do people deserve things? What is this need for reward? Is it entitlement? And besides having lots of stuff, what is the end product of consuming? We use up all these resources…for what? To show others that we're awesome? To make someone jealous of our lives? To say we have something—be it an experience or a physical object—that someone else doesn't? And why does any of that matter?

I caught a bit of a story on the local 6pm news the other day. The electricity in a neighborhood was turned off for a number of hours as electric company crews cleared some fallen trees. The reporter interviewed a resident about the situation. "We can't do anything. We can't watch TV, we can't use the microwave. We can't turn on a light. All we can do is sit there with each other. It's terrible. I mean, I guess we'll just have to get used to it until it comes back on…" Yeah, it is ridiculous, isn't it? But think of this. What would you rather have? A lavish meal at a foodie restaurant with all your friends, or a few hours standing in a parking lot, talking with your friends?

It's all about priorities, isn't it?

I just bought a 28 cent gobstopper from cute little girls operating a candy/lemonade stand in their driveway

— Carl (@trx0x) April 6, 2012

I was driving along, and I saw these two little girls at the end of their driveway, waving at me. Of course, I pull the car over. Why the hell not? I saw cups and other stuff, I had no idea what they were selling, though. With the engine still on, and Stan Getz blasting on the stereo, I rolled down the passenger side window. "Uh, how much…?", I said. And then I started laughing.* The one girl said "50 cents!" Of course, I have no change on me. Don't you take Square?? Still sitting in my car, I searched my pockets while Astrud Gilberto whispered sweet nothings. I had 3 cents in my pocket. "I only have…I don't have any change…I'll have to come back. I need cash.", I told the little girl. She looked disappointed. Oh no! Disappointed girls! That's my kryptonite! Then I remembered there was change in my ashtray. I found…a quarter.

"Hold on! What can I get for…28 cents??"

"You can have this Gobstopper!"

I got out of my car, and handed the little girl 28 cents. A quarter and three pennies seemed like an absolute handful in this girl's hand. The other little girl handed me the Gobstopper. I got back in my car, which I realized was really loud in this quiet neighborhood. Damn you sport exhaust!† I was almost thinking a mom would come running out, wondering what all the racket was, and catch me handing a little girl some change. Then again, I'm sure the mom was okay with the whole thing…or wasn't even home at the time. Kids are sneaky. Anyway, the girls waved as I drove off, and I unwrapped the Gobstopper and put it in my mouth…and crunched it, because that's what I do with all hard candy.

*Years ago, I would drive to my girlfriend-at-the-time's apartment to pick her up when we would go out. She would always wait behind her building, in the alley, because there was usually no parking on her street. The running joke I had was that I would pull up in this alley, roll down the window, and yell "Hey! How much?!?" Because, you know, that's what guys do when they pick up prostitutes. Of course, it was all in good fun, as she would tell me either "SHUT UP" or "More than you've got." And I can't believe I told you this, haha. I know, it just adds a whole other element to the "buying candy from little girls" story.

† By sport exhaust, I mean I have no muffler.

Everyone knows about who.unfollowed.me, right? When that came out, I used to check it weekly. And for the most part, it was fine. I would just see a bunch of spam-bots unfollow, or big companies that never really said anything to anyone. But then, sometimes, there would be that one unfollow…from someone I talked to almost daily, someone with whom I've DM'd, and have actually had enough of a relationship that we've talked outside the walls of Twitter, via email or text. That unfollow: it crushes you. It makes you feel worthless, wondering "What did I do or say???" You start searching your stream, trying to figure out when it could've occurred. Was the unfollow triggered by that retweet from someone that said they prefer women who are not tanned? Did they know that guy in Starbucks? Do they hate baby hippos?!? And then you're stuck, the victim of a relationship without closure. Perhaps it was a relationship with you that they didn't even know they had. Or maybe they do hate baby hippos?

You know what? I'm just not going to think about it. I'm not going to check who unfollows me anymore. Why? Because it HURTS. Like that scene in Indiana Jones & The Temple of Doom where that dude pokes his hand into the one guy's chest. 

I did a bad thing. I played a game with someone's heart.

That would make a good lyric to a song, wouldn't it? Okay, to be fair, what I did wasn't so bad, and I didn't exactly "play" with anyone's heart. But I could have, and someone could do the same to me. What am I talking about?

OKCupid.

You know, the dating site for those of us who are too cheap to pay for Match.com, and much too interesting to pay for eharmony.com. I mean, those people on there are really boring, don't you think? Of course, I'm only going by the commercials, but I bet the people in the commercials are probably the most interesting people on there. Doesn't say much, does it?

It's no secret I'm on OKCupid; then again, it's not like I'm shouting it from the rooftops. If you have half a brain cell, I'm sure you can google the right string of characters and find all the places I am online. [If you do google me, and find some weird stuff…a long time ago, I was really into modding action figures. Don't hold that against me, please.] I've been on OKCupid for some time now, but I never really do anything with the site. Before logging on last week, I didn't touch it for more than a year. I don't know why, I guess I was just too busy doing other junk. It's the same reason why I don't update this site as often as I'd like. Too busy.

Anyway, for those unfamiliar with OKC (what the cool kids call it), you can see who has been looking at your profile. No one ever really looks at my profile (probably because I'm not active…or because people consider me inhuman. Either/or), so it's always an ego boost when you see that someone was checking you out. The other night, I saw that a woman was looking at my profile. She was pretty, seemed nice, and was located in a far away state. Boo. But we had a high percentage match, like in the 80% range. Oh, when you go to someone's profile, next to their lovely profile pic, you'll see some percentages: match, friend, or enemy.

[Wow. This Elmo dude is a perv.]

In the world of OKC, if you answer the questions similarly to someone else, then you're a better match, so the logic goes.

So, OKC listed this woman as having an 81% match. I guess that's good, I really don't know. Anyway, a message at the bottom of the page said "Hey, why don't you answer more questions?" It makes sense: statistically, you want to have as many sample points possible in order to get better results, right? Right. I clicked on the "questions" tab, and started answering these multiple choice questions. The questions are sometimes mindless, sometimes stupid, sometimes "WTF???" in nature. It being midnight, I figure I could kill a few minutes doing it before I went to bed. Click click click, I was a radio-button clicking machine. After a page or two of questions, I happened to look at that woman's match percentage again. It was at 83%. "Wait, it went up?? I must've answered some questions with the same answers she gave.", I thought to myself. I answered another couple pages of questions. 84%. And a few more pages. 86%. This was great! I was gaining percentage points by the minute. I really started getting into it, and then I thought "Wait…I really need to start answering these so we get the same answers. I need to answer these as if I was her…"

I scoured her profile again, reading about the things she'd said about herself. "6 Things You Can't Live Without…got it. What You're Looking for…got it…" I was in this mindset of trying to think how she would answer the questions, just from the information she listed. I answered more questions, and the match percentage went higher. And higher. And higher. It was now 2am. I had been doing this for 2 hours straight, and reached a match percentage "high score" of 96%. The total stranger who lives in another state and I were now 96% compatible, when previously we were only at 81%. I was in some weird gambler's high. "Just one more page of questions, then I'll go to bed," I thought to myself. Click click click. I clicked on the next page, and watched the numbers refresh. Still at 96%. Click click click some more. 96%. Dammit. Click click click, then clicked on "next page."

95%.

It went down a point. "Daaaaammmmmmmiiiiiiiiiit!!!", I exclaimed. I started to think of the questions. "I should've picked yellow as my favorite color, not blue. I should've said I liked pie more than cookies." But 'should've' and 'could've' are…is there some old saying like that? I don't know. Anyway, I "cashed out" just as I would if I was playing nickel slots. I closed the browser, closed the lid of my Macbook, and went to sleep.

It wasn't until a couple days later that another person on OKC pointed out something to me. I messaged this woman just because I found her profile amusing. "Amusing"? Damn, that sounds really uppity. I meant she was funny, or more specifically, her profile was funny. There. Anyway, I mentioned to her that we're "23% Enemy." She replied to me, explaining that we're probably enemies, because she answered some questions with answers that opposed mine.

Then it hit me. *noisy gears turning in my head* "Ooops." Most of the questions that I answered on OKC—which the site uses to compare to other people, to get accurate percentages—were answered the other night…when I was answering questions as if I was that one woman, just so I could get a high score in my "% Match" game. I didn't answer them truthfully, I answered them in a way that I thought they should be answered, to match a profile…someone else's profile.

That's when I realized this wasn't cool. The percentages are meaningless. It's easy to skew results. Maybe for some, this is glaringly obvious. But I'm guessing for many, especially those who are lonely and possibly emotionally vulnerable and looking for true love on an online dating site, these percentages could mean something special: a chance for a relationship, that's based on a possibly science-derived percentage. But those numbers aren't science-derived. They are just statistics that can be bent and shaped in any way you want, as long as you know what you're doing.

So what am I saying in this long-winded post? Relationships are complicated. Maybe having some things in common is a good starting point, but they aren't proof of compatibility. I guess you really do just have to go out there, and meet people, and talk, and be real. And try not to be a perv. Huh. Now this feels like a "very special" episode of some sitcom. I'll go with "Growing Pains", because who doesn't like the Christiany Kurt Cameron? He's dreamy. And he likes bananas. They are "God's fruit."

Oh, but they don't let anyone else know that. Not even (or especially not) the people they hate. 

Also, 90% of my friends are women. Coincidence? Maybe. 

Don't get me wrong, I have some guy friends, and they sometimes act like bitches. I don't understand that. So I should probably say that 93% of my friends hate each other. And 3% of those friends are men. But you're saying "What the hell are you talking about?"

I went to an all-male high school. I never really dealt with women until college. It was then that I discovered this thing called "drama." It's something you don't get when you hang around a bunch of guys. With a bunch of guys, you have feelings. Those feelings are usually one of two:

1) "I hate you."

2) "Meh."

Simple, no? There were those people you just didn't care for. Maybe you don't really *hate* them, but you know you didn't like them, or you didn't get along with them, so you just ignored them. You were amicable, you didn't get in their way, and they didn't get in yours. Easy peasy, as Jamie Oliver would say, in some strange way that sounds like he has an enlarged tongue.

And for "meh", those were guys you liked. But you didn't really tell them you liked them. That would seem kind of gay wouldn't it? [Oh, and if you think an all-male school is all about repressed homosexuality, it is, but only for about less than 10% of the school population, by my guesstimations, at least in my school. We did have some 'out & proud' guys in my class though. Those guys were always fun. No, not in that way. Geez. I like girls. It goes inside of me when I think about guys in that way.] For the most part, the "meh" guys were friends, and people you sort of knew, and guys you wouldn't mind doing stuff with. No, not that kind of stuff. Seriously, enough with the gay jokes. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Back to my problem of friends hating friends. They do. And I don't know what it is. This person hates this other person, because of what she did this one time with this one guy. This person was friends with this other person, but then stopped being friends with her because she heard from another person that she hung out with this other person. This person is now friends with this other person, even though they used to hate each other, but they found out they agree that they both hate this third person, so now they are friends. This one person hates these two other people because one drunken night, after one of them made out with a guy that the one person liked, the two other people went out and killed a family of meerkats then drank all the OYO Vodka and it was a bottle from the FIRST BATCH. GASP. Isn't this all very confusing?

Now, imagine you're me. I am friends with each and every one of those people. So I'm stuck in the middle of every single drama related incident, or so it feels like it. My relationships with people are a) personal and b) one on one. I don't like someone because they are friends with someone else. If I think you're a friend, it's because of you, not because of who you know, or who you're friends with. Just you. Because I like you. I don't understand the whole "If you're friends with her, you can't be friends with me"-thing. That's like saying "Do you like durian bubble tea? Then there's no way you can like chocolate eclairs." Yeah, what? Those are two different foods. Also, I like both of those, and have never had them together. Hmmmmm…

Sadly, I don't know what to do about this situation. It kinda makes me not want to hang out with any of these people whom I consider my friends. I mean, what's the point of hanging out when the conversation eventually goes into "So, have you talked to [insert name here]? Oh you have…? Huh." *insert awkward silence for the next 5 minutes* I mean, maybe this is how all relationships are. Maybe I've just been lucky, because previously, I never had this sort of drama unfold. If I am this lucky, I should really start playing the lottery. If I win, I'm throwing a really big, fancy party for all my friends, and I'll have fun watching them squirm as they attempt to be amicable to each other. And there will be Jell-O® wrestling. And ice cream sandwiches. Perhaps then, my relationships will be drama-free. But I doubt it. Why?

I saw a Facebook update from a guy I knew in high school. [Please note: I rarely see Facebook updates from friends because a) I don't go on that much b) there are so many updates I can't keep track of them all. So if you think I don't pay attention to you on Facebook, you're probably right, but not because I'm intentionally doing it. I still like you. If you text me, I'll text you back. :)] His update was about his mom, who, unbeknownst to me, passed away a year ago. He wrote something like "I miss you, Mom." I haven't seen this guy since we graduated high school, and we haven't spoken since then either, not even on Facebook's convoluted messaging/instant messaging platform. [Also, for those who message me on Facebook and I don't reply, it's because I didn't see that you message me, and by the time I found it, it was days/weeks later. Don't hate me for that either. I don't hate you. I think the lesson here is, if you want to contact me, your best bet is texting. *makes hand motions like I'm typing with my thumbs on a mobile phone keyboard*]

But just seeing that status update made me think of a) my own father passing away shortly after I graduated from high school and b) high school physical education class. 

The first two years of high school, we had to take phys ed. Phys ed sucks in general; phys ed at an all-male college preparatory school that highlights competitiveness is even worse. It's an atmosphere of one-up-ed-ness. Yeah, that's not a word. People try to one-up you in everything. Academics, sure. Sports? Of course. Being a guy who doesn't buy into the "rich school boy" subculture, trying to be down to Earth and approachable? Yeah, there was someone to one-up you there, too. "This guy walks to school, and volunteers at a homeless shelter." "Well, that guy does that, and also got shot in the arm while protecting a homeless person." Okay, I don't know if that's exactly one-upping, but whatever. 

Phys ed sucked. And every quarter, we had to do these "fitness tests." I don't know if these were really 'guidelines for health' or just a way to pit 14-15 year old boys against each other in feats of physical strength. We had to see how much we could bench press; how many times we could bench press a 50lb bar in a given period of time; how much weight we could leg press; climb the rope attached to the ceiling, etc. You get the picture. The final feat was the dreaded mile run on our track. There was always talk that if someone didn't finish the mile, they would get an incomplete and fail the course. I'm not sure if that was true, or just a scare tactic. Some would say that if you ran it over 15 minutes, you'd also fail. I never knew. But I did know lining up 30 or so kids going through puberty while they attended a really competitive school, and telling them to run a mile as fast as they can, that's just trouble. Or cause for someone to develop an eating disorder.

The trash talking from the kids stopped suddenly as soon as the teacher's whistle blew. And the kids who were on the cross country team took off, like they were running a 100 yard dash. I remember seeing them thinking "I am so screwed." It was a cold day, a day much too cold to be wearing the requisite blue shorts with gold t-shirt phys ed uniform, but I guess you'll warm up as you run, right? I started at a decent pace, which then ended up at a not-as-decent pace. I remember thinking "Why the hell am I running in Chuck Taylor All-Stars?? These shoes are definitely not made for running." I'm not a runner to begin with (I blame my flat, archless feet), and running in those shoes made me feel like I had gone AWOL from clown college, and was trying to get away as fast as I could. But I kept at it. I had to. Because when a phys ed teacher keeps blowing a damn whistle and yelling "COME ON! HUSTLE! PICK UP THE PACE!", you better do what he says. Or at least nod your head a bit, so he knows that you heard him.

I don't even remember how many laps around the track we had to do, but I remember I was almost done, maybe a couple more laps to go. The cross country guys were done decades ago. While we all started en masse, we were now spread all around the track. I passed the starting line, and I saw my friend. He was a bigger guy. I was no petite thing either, but he was a bit bigger than me. And he had asthma. And he was running really slowly. I slowed my pace down, and ran with him. "Come on, we can do it. We're almost done." He looked like he was going to die. I mean, he wasn't dying, he was fine. But he just looked like he couldn't do this anymore. And I'm sure the other guys heckling him, as well as the phys ed teacher yelling "SEVENTEEN MINUTES, LADIES!" didn't help much. I remember specifically saying to him, "Fuck those guys." We trotted along.

Our trotting turned into walking. My friend clutched his side, shook off the pain, and would try to run again, but he couldn't, and would just start walking. I remember hearing the teacher yell specifically at me, telling me to "hustle" [I fucking hate that word. Hustle. It reminds me of too many bad memories: this phys ed one, being forced to do drills in soccer practice when i was 9, an ex-girlfriend comparing me to her ex, saying that he would 'hustle' more than me if he was looking for a job…because that's the way you get a job: by 'hustling'. People give you jobs if you show that you 'hustle'. The economy doesn't matter at all. It's all about 'hustling'. I fucking hate that word. But the dance/song from the 70's? That's not so bad.] "You're losing time running with him! Just go!", he yelled. But, I didn't care. I don't know if my friend cared about this whole thing. I know I didn't. And I wasn't going to listen to some guy yell at me to leave him behind. So I walked. We made our way around the track, and as we got close to the finish, I said "Come on, let's run as fast as we can." He looked at me and smiled, and we took off. I know he didn't have much left in him, but for a guy who earlier looked like he didn't want to do it anymore, he still had something. The teacher clocked us at 27 minutes. We were the last ones. The rest of the guys had already showered and got dressed. The bell for class change was going to ring in 3 minutes. I don't think we cared. At least I didn't. Fuck that. I did the mile. And so did my friend. I didn't care what my time was. At least I knew we're not getting an incomplete for phys ed.

So you're thinking, "What are the take-a-ways from this enlightening (and possibly boring) story?" Oh, I don't know…I didn't really think about it. Let me see…

1. Don't worry about what others are doing, go at the pace in life that you think you need to go.

2. If it's cold out, use the sweat pants of your school phys ed uniform, not the shorts.

3. Fuck people who make fun of you because they think they are better than you. They're just insecure because they know there are people better than them out there. 

4. Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars are not good running shoes. At all.

5. Don't use the word "hustle" around me unless you're talking about the dance from the 70's. I will throatpunch you.

6. One part of these "fitness tests" in high school was showing your proficiency using the Nautilus machines (yeah, I thought it was weird having a full Nautilus setup in a high school, too.) Each person drew a machine/exercise, and had to demonstrate it to the class and teacher. I got "neck curl." Yeah, I know, right? I bet you could spend a whole day in a gym, and you would never see anyone exercising their neck. It's just not something people do. This isn't really a take-a-way, just an aside.

7. That person you really care about could be dead tomorrow. So…make sure they don't think you hate them. Or at least like something on their Facebook. People seem to respond to that.

8. Friends are always friends. Unless something happens, where someone kills another's family or something horrible, that friendship never goes away. Yes, even if you haven't spoken in days/months/years. People get busy, lives change, they end up homeless, or find themselves in a magical wardrobe, stranded for years in another realm. It happens. It doesn't mean the friendship is dead. Well, that's how I feel, anyway. Your mileage may vary.

This post came out of a conversation I had with SSDated on Twitter. She mentioned something about physics, I said no one likes physics, and that I've lost followers for mentioning it. She exclaimed "I LOVE PHYSICS!" multiple times. I scoff. [I didn't tweet the scoffing. How do you tweet scoffs? Do I just type #scoff?]

"Why scoff you?" asks Yoda. I'll tell you why. In my many years of studying physics, and working in a university physics department, and working as a physicist in a non-academic setting…and ALSO being a heterosexual male, I have come to the conclusion that there are three reactions from girls when it comes to the mentioning of physics:

Girl 1: "I love physics!" [translation: "I'm indifferent about physics, or don't know much about it; most likely, I haven't studied it much. I'm just saying it because that's probably what you want to hear. Or maybe I want you to like me, and there's nothing bad about having a common interest. Or maybe I want to convince myself that I'm cool and smart, and physics is cool and smart, right?"]

Girl 2: "I love physics!" [translation: "I really do love physics. And Star Trek. And Monty Python. And acting out Monty Python skits interlaced with Star Trek references while I take a break from doing my Quantum Mechanics homework. Wait, I don't think I want to do anything but physics…ever! That includes sex."]

Girl 3: "Yeah, physics…" [translation: "You're a big nerd. I hope you act normal. Not like this one girl I know. What was her name? Oh yeah, Girl 2. WTF kind of name is that? And what's with the Monty Python? That shit isn't that funny, you know."]

Right off the bat, unless you're exactly like Girl 2, you stay away from Girl 2. So then you're left with Girl 1 or Girl 3. Girl 3 is a good shot, as long as you act normal (and not at all like Girl 2…wow, that is a stupid name.)

Girl 1…now that's a hit or miss. Maybe she really is into physics. If so, you have to ask "Why???" To me, physics is like…something you have to do. It's some weird obsessive compulsive behavior, you don't "choose" it, you just have to do it. Like those people who have to turn off a light switch 50 times before leaving the bathroom. I can't help but think of free-body diagrams while I'm driving, or whenever I see a block on an inclined plane…? I say things to myself like "Hmm, well with electrical arcing like that, I bet that's a really high voltage, and low current. So yes, I will touch those sparking bare wires! I should be fine!" It's a sickness, I tell you. A sickness I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

But let me tell you about a fun dating story I had with a Girl 1. A few years ago, perusing the fun people on OKCupid, I saw I had a message. This girl looked…okay. Normal, I should say. The message was something like "Hey, I like your profile. I love physics! We should hang out some time." I messaged her back, and I think I even said "Why would you tell someone you love physics??" We talked a bit, I told her I worked in the physics department at the local university, and she said she has a lot of friends that also worked there. I said we should go to this symposium that was a few days from now, her friends would probably be there; we could meet up, go to the talk, and then maybe grab a drink afterwards. It was a date.

I met her at the symposium and we sat down. I ran into professors I worked with, would say hi, and with each "hi", I got an elbow nudge. "Who is that?" she whispered. "Dr. So and So…he's in High Energy." I asked her if she saw any of her friends here. "I don't see them. I'll have to check afterwards."

We get some seats, the talk starts, and not 5 minutes into it, I hear somewhat annoying "hmmphs" coming from the seat next to me. Then some elbow nudges, followed by "What is he saying? What's he talking about?" I whispered an explanation, which was followed by a "Oh…THAT. Yeah, I get it…" Then the fidgeting started. She just sat there, crossing her legs, uncrossing them, slouching in her seat, then sitting upright. She couldn't sit still and just listen. So now there are "hmmphs", elbow nudges, and fidgeting. Yeah, it was annoying. "Would you like to leave? We don't have to stay, you know." "No, no. It's fine."

After the talk was done, we stood up. "Oh, I think I found where my friends are…be right back." I watched as she found her friends…who just happened to be the only people in the department with whom I did not get along. Awesome. I noticed her point in my direction from across the auditorium, and her one friend give me a squinty "I think I know that guy…and I don't like him"-look. With that, I started to leave. Everyone was leaving at once, so there was a traffic jam. Luckily, I found my friend's sister, and started talking to her, and basically said "Hey, I'm on this blind date, and it's not going well. Just talk to me, and make it look like we're in a deep discussion, so she'll pass me up, and not notice that I took off." Worked like a charm. My date passed me by, talking to her friends, didn't even stop to look for me. We never messaged, spoke or went out ever again.

Maybe, somewhere out there, there really is a girl who is interested in physics. And is, you know, normal. And I totally understand that it's cool to have common interests with whom you're going out. But physics? Really? Physics is not like yoga, or cycling. It's perfectly normal to say "Hey, do you like to ride your bike? Me too! We should ride together sometime." It's not normal to say "Do you like physics too? We should discuss string theory, and then go over some of the data from the Large Hadron Collider!" 

If you're a girl reading this, and the guy you like has an interest in physics, don't lie and tell him you like physics. Just lie and say that you like HIM. It works out much better than you think.

Early on in life, we're always taught to "accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative…" I guess that's good, right? "Be positive!" "Let people know how good you are!" "You're an awesome person!" "Sell yourself!"

Let's be real for a minute. Sure, we know we can do stuff, we know we're good people (whatever that means), we like to think we're successful. But for many of us, down deep, we know we suck. And we know that we don't want anyone else to know how much we think we suck. Why? Because then someone might actually say to us "Wow, do you know you suck?" And then we'll go cry in the corner, and write passive-aggressive/emo status updates on our Facebook…which will lead to many of our friends going "Awwwwww! It's okay! You're awesome!" Then we get on this "Hey, I AM awesome!" high horse, and we become an annoying person with a big ego. Until we get depressed again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I see it so much on Twitter. We all try to be something we're not. We don't DARE tell anyone about our weaknesses. "That's not BRAND", as some marketers (or marketing/socnet douchebags) might say. Whatever. To each his own, I suppose. But yeah, you see a lot of people tweeting all the awesome stuff they can do, or have done. Why do we brag like this?

Why? BECAUSE WE WANT TO BE LOVED.

Like half my posts in this freakin' blog, it all boils down to acceptance: we want someone to like us, to love us, to think "I don't think you suck!", because down deep, we think we suck.

Again, is it wrong to think you suck so badly? Honestly, I'd be leery of those who think they don't suck at all. That's just weird, to think you're awesome 100% of the time. Because if you're human, you're not. Unless you're Chuck Norris.

In this post, I am going to anti-brag. I'm sure you know the things I'm good at doing. Or maybe you don't. Want to know what I can do? I guess you can read my resumé. Or you can ask me "Can you do [blank]?" on Formspring. This post isn't going to list that stuff. This is a list of things that I know for a fact I am not good at doing.

The trx0x anti-bragging list

-I can't play any card games: poker, euchre, go fish, UNO. I suck at all card games. I'm not even good at "52 pickup."

-I am horrible at: folding laundry, wrapping presents, ironing, opening paper milk cartons, paper folding [for some reason, I think all these things are related to a part in my brain that is deficient.]

-I can't dance well [but have incredible timing/rhythm abilities when it comes to playing music, like i have a metronome in my head. Why that doesn't translate to my motor skills, I have no idea.]

-I can't play tennis, baseball, anything involving an instrument you swing and hand-eye coordination.

-I can't run. I have flat feet. It's just really awkward.

-I'm not a coder. I can't really program, code websites, etc. It's weird, because in 7th grade, I wrote a computer soccer game in BASIC on an Apple IIe: thousands of lines of code. I seem to have lost that ability.

-I'm not good at ice skating. I used to roller skate a lot when I was younger. I lost that ability, too. I ice skated for the first time last year. I fell down while ice skating for the first time last year…many many times.

-I can't golf…which is okay, since I hate golf.

-I am not good at painting: models, still lifes, etc. 

-I cannot play guitar solos. I can play all the chord changes you want. Solos? Hey man, I'm just the rhythm guitarist.

-I can't juggle well. Which is weird, because I was once a member of the famous Saint Ignatius Circus Company in high school (although back in the day, it was known as The Circus Club). I can do scarves, and rings okay. Balls and clubs? Not so much.

-I'm not good at making you feel good about yourself. Sorry. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll try. But if it gets to the point that you still feel like you suck a lot after I've told you that you don't, I'm just going to say "You know what? You're right. You really do suck."

Well, this has sort of come full circle, hasn't it? The whole "I suck…no I don't…yes I do"-thing? Actually, not really. I'm also not good at writing blog posts.

This title reminds me of a Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoon. Ha.

Isn't it okay to just not like someone? To accept the fact that you and another person have differences, don't have much in common, and probably would never ever spend time with each other in life? Not saying this other person is a bad human being. And it's not like you hate the person. [Because as my mother always says, "hate" is a strong word. You "dislike".] It's like the cashier at a grocery store that you rarely frequent: you're nice and courteous and friendly, but it's not as if later, you guys are going to get half-price appetizers at Applebee's. [We all know Chili's trumps Applebee's anyway…]

I always seem to deal with shit in my brain. My brain sucks, and I hate…err…dislike it. I blame those things called emotions, or probably more specifically, brain chemical and electron interactions. Being on Twitter, interactions on there cause chain reactions in here [points to head]. Why? I don't know, because as much as I would like to be a soulless robot, I can't. I'm like the part of Robocop that lives on baby food, and not the part that has a gun stored in its leg. Sometimes, it gets to me, and I need a break. I probably will always come back, because I do have real friends on Twitter with whom I like to keep in touch. But some people who leave? They never come back.

I have a close friend whom I have met on Twitter. We had mutual 'in real life' friends, so it wasn't too weird. But we used to talk all the time on there. Operative phrase: "used to". See, my friend left Twitter. For good. As in, closed the account. Done. Fin. Kaput. Of course, this made me sad, but it's okay, we're friends in real life, so I could always talk to this person, or text, or email, or Facebook, or actually drive over and visit in real life. So in one of these alternative forms of communication we have besides Twitter, I asked "Why did you leave Twitter?"

"I just felt…too nice. Like I had to be too nice."

"But you ARE nice…?"

"No, I'm not! I'm mean, and I make fun of people, and I'm snarky! You know me! But on Twitter…it's almost like you are forced to be nice, because you don't want to make those people angry. You don't want to make someone dislike you, someone who is a total stranger. Or what if they aren't a total stranger, and they are someone who knows someone you know? You don't want to be mean to them."

"But, you can't be nice to everyone, just like you can't be friends with everyone. There are people you like in life, and there are people you don't. You don't have to like everyone on Twitter, and they don't have to like you. That's how real life works."

"Not on there. Don't you see it? Everyone on there either likes someone so much, and acts like they are best friends, even if they've never even met in real life. Or they hate each other and argue. It's as if there's no middle ground. And it's weird, because when you get on Twitter, you *want* people to like you, and you fall into this trap of saying things to people that you would normally not say…but you do it because you want someone to like you. Even if you don't even like them that much."

____________________

My friend was right. I've fallen in that trap too many times, on Twitter and sadly, in real life. We want acceptance so badly sometimes, that we're no longer ourselves. We do or say things we wouldn't normally do or say. But that in itself is a trap, isn't it? Because then, when the relationship is made, and someone "likes" us, now what? They are basing their feelings about us on how we acted towards them initially…which was not how we act normally. So the minute we act like ourselves, will this relationship go to hell? Is that when they realize that they like the 'fake you' more than the 'real you'? What happens then?

For the most part, I try to be as I am in real life and online. Some may argue that I am different; if it seems that way, it's far from intentional. Going back to my "Twitter = Party" analogy, I'm not going to be a dick to a stranger at a party, so I'm not going to do it online (well, not until I get to know them, or not until they say something so ridiculously wrong that I have to chime in.)

"You can be real on Twitter. Just be yourself."

"Maybe *you* can, but many people can't. And won't. People on there make themselves more awesome than they are. And people on there are hypersensitive. They take things out of context, and almost seem to read everything as a personal attack. I've wanted to say so many things on Twitter, reply to so many people's tweets, but I didn't, because I knew they wouldn't believe that I was just joking, even if I said I was. And it's just too much trouble to try to defend yourself when someone takes what you said wrongly."

____________________

Damn. Twitter IS weird. I used to think that everyone on Twitter was real, that they were themselves. I've been part of blogging communities for years, and there, I've always found what people wrote reflected who they are as a person. In my experience, on those sites, it's 100% true; I've really connected with people just from their posts, and comments we've exchanged. But Twitter is something different. People see Twitter like a soapbox: it's a way to promote oneself to a large number of people. Social media experts will agree: it's marketing at it's e-finest. And because of this marketing aspect, participants are not in the same role as if they were in a blogging community. There, you could just be some Joe Schmoe who wrote about anything and everything. You were just someone who typed out thoughts in your head. On Twitter, you can still type out thoughts in your head, but you're no longer Joe Schmoe. Every Twitter user is a brand. You define yourself and your market by your tweets; you determine your success by the number of followers, and more specifically, by seeing *who* is following you. 

Is there anything wrong with that? No, not at all. There's nothing wrong with promoting yourself. The danger comes when we're not ourselves, and we promote an image that is not who we really are.

At a recent Twitter gathering, I met some people in real life with whom I have only conversed on Twitter. We were not "friends", more like acquaintances. [Again, think of the "Twitter = Party" analogy.] During this gathering, it shocked me to hear these people speak so openly about other Twitter people, describing what they thought of them: how much they didn't like them, or thought they were not intelligent, or that they were mean and annoying. Of course, these opinions came not from meeting them, or spending time talking to them in person. These opinions were formed just from reading updates on Twitter.

What bothered me the most was that these "unintelligent/mean/annoying" people they spoke of…they were speaking about my friends: not just Twitter friends, but real life friends, with whom I am very close. And maybe this is part of the reason for my Twitter self-exile, because I feel really badly about it…I feel guilty. I should've said something. I should have defended my friends. But at the same time, a Twitter gathering where you are meeting people for the first time is not the right venue to do so; it's also not a venue to bitch about other Twitter users whom you dislike. [I think that's another thing: it seems many Twitter users with whom I converse online, whom I've met in real life, have no real life social skills. None at all. That's another danger of Twitter: conversing on Twitter can make the socially awkward feel like they are the life of the party. Bring that person into a real party with the same people? Watch out. Awkward city. Even more so than Bachelor Pad.]

I still feel really badly, and extremely guilty, like I've been the worst friend in the entire world, and I don't know how to fix this. And I'm still confused as to what's going on regarding Twitter and these weird validations we seem to need on there.

____________________

"I had to stop. It's just not me, you know?", my friend explained. I know many people stop using Twitter because they don't receive the interaction they would like. Or because they receive too much interaction, and feel uneasy when strangers want to talk to them. Both of those are understandable. But stopping Twitter use because you're compelled to be something that you're not, for acceptance? That's a new one for me. For Twitter users, the hard part is, do we continue playing this game of being what we're not, knowing that people follow us based on this false persona? Or do we change gears, be who we really are, possibly alienating those who liked our "other self" more? The more I think about this, the more Twitter sounds like awkward teenage dating, when how you looked, how you acted, and whom you were seen with was more important than making an actual connection with someone. Sadly, as adults, I think many people still operate this way regarding relationships in real life. 

That reminds me of a quote I heard once: "Relationships happen when no one is looking." I think this applies very well to Twitter. Think of your real friends on there, or people you know you care about, with whom you have a real connection. Did that connection come about because you tweeted back and forth, for everyone to see? I bet the answer is "no". And I bet the real connection happens when you're being real…

…so so real. That I just can't explain the way that it's making me feel.

Any segue to put a Mandy Moore video in here is fine by me.