Little Bill

Was just chatting with my designer at work here:

LittleBill: y’know how I was complaining about photoshop’s tools randomly disappearing on me?
Aaron: yeah
LittleBill: ever just press TAB?
LittleBill: TAB turns the tools on/off
Aaron: haha yes
Aaron: that’s what you did?
LittleBill: *hangs head*………. yes
Aaron: haha
LittleBill: Art Director FAIL

I had an amazing night last night. Here’s the rundown:

6:00 - Found an amazing parking spot on the street for my car.
6:30 - Meet up with Will, Meredith, my best friend Mike and his lovely wife Kate, and other new friends for drinks in Manhattan. We all tweet while there. Will calls us nerds — via twitter, of course. I finally meet Xopchipili, whom I’d seen in and around the blogosphere, tweetscape and social networking world, who is also good friends with other friends of mine.
7:40 - Chat up a couple of nice girls at the bar. Their names were Nicole and Alison. They’d just moved to the neighborhood.
10:00 - Slackmistress‘ cousin John and his lovely girlfriend invite us to a birthday party at a bar in Williamsburg.
10:30 - Drinks in Williamsburg.
10:45 - Open Invite to LA from Will to visit his wife, The Slackmistress and him — (hope he told you that, Nina)
11:00 - I meet a “burner” girl. I forget her name. I guess she’s one of those Burning Man types. She’s flirty. Turns out all she wants is free drinks. Drink/flirt FAIL.
11:30 - We all bounce to another bar in Williamsburg so I can achieve my final goal of the night: to meet up with the lovely Tiffany. I’m a sucker for redheads, and women with beautiful smiles. She happens to have both.
11:45 - We meet up with Tiffany as she heads out. No worries, we head in for a glass of scotch. I buy a round of 21 yr old Glenfarclas for the friends.
12:00 - We all head to my apartment 2 blocks away. Will crashes. The other friends leave.
12:15 - One-handed instant messaging Mlle. Wang on my iPhone. I think we decide we should meet up for drinks sometime. This morning she tried to tell me that I drunkenly came on to her via IM. Chat logs refute this statement! Don’t mess with me, yo!
12:30 - SLEEP WIN.

The scotch was too much. That was definitely the final nail in the coffin. I may have not spent the entire day in a painful hungover stupor all day had I not had that glass. Or if I’d done what I know to do: prepare with lots of water before bed.

Also, having someone shake you awake is really jarring. Never had anyone do that to me before, that I can recall. Will needed directions to the subway to get home.

All in all, a good time. It’s too bad Will and Nina aren’t closer by, they’re good people to spend time with. I’ll have to take them up on that LA thing sometime. Will seems to think he can hook me up with some beautiful west coast ladies. We’ll see about that!

You find yourself ruminating for weeks on end. A month goes by, and then another. And you’re still left without anything worthy of production. Nothing of value to show the world.

And that’s okay.

It’s okay because you’ve been processing. You’ve been piecing thoughts together as if they were building blocks. No, better. As if they were Legos. Snapping together, piece by piece you find yourself with a towering structure. But you need to be careful how high you build; after all, it will topple.

And then you’re left with the pieces back on the floor. Ready to be built up again.

At some point you have to declare it finished, even if it’s not so. You have to declare success and move on to the next towering structure. Perhaps there you’ll learn from the first and apply your failures in design to the next.

And again.

And again.

Until you’ve got something worth showing the world.

Soon I’ll have something worth showing the world.

This is an analogy for many, many things.

It’s never as bad as you think it is. That’s the lesson I’ve learned this weekend. This weekend was utter shit, both with my family and personal life. I expect more bad news in the future, and I’m even resigned to the loss of hope for the best. Still, it’s never as bad as I think it is.

That’s because there are lessons taken away from, that can — and will — be taken away from this. The lesson, this time, is to not compare myself to you. Any of you.

It’s the same as what they say, making mountains out of molehills. If you feel you’ve dug yourself into a hole, it’s not nearly as deep as it seems. The very effort to save yourself, no matter how hard it feels, is the first step.

What’s better, is that my molehills aren’t even that steep.

I’ve got this, this is no problem.

And anyone who wants to leave me in their dust are now severely lacking in something wonderful. I may be up shit creek, but I’ve got a paddle.

- - -

I’m okay with the cliché abuse in this entry. Ha.

- - -

Addendum: After talking to my good friend Rachael, it turns out that the shit creek I thought I was in might just be shallow mud. Excellent. Crisis potentially averted.

I’m not sure what to say. The last seven or so has been a whirlwind, starting with utter bliss. Laughter, kisses, bagels and wet socks. Sleep with contentment, without feeling restless. And yet there were no promises made, nor any kept, but perhaps a little bit of optimism in the air. It was grand.

A week later and it’s all come crashing down. I’m finding myself in the lowest place I’ve been in a long time — perhaps ever — not just emotionally but physically as well. I’m restless, lost, confused, guilty, at fault, and certainly not a victim.

I don’t know who I am anymore — and no, I’ve never based self-worth on the validation from others. I just don’t know who I am anymore.

And yet there’s still a few pluses, if you can call it that. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a silver lining. More like life saying to me, “lighten up, you’re only knee-deep in shit, you’re not wading in it.”

I come home and I see what a real nightmare can be. And I’m reminded that, as bad as my life gets, and as bad as life can be here, there’s always someone worse off than me.

And I keep going. I just wish, for once, it wasn’t alone. That said, I’d rather be alone than be with someone who doesn’t want me.

Still, it doesn’t mean there’s no pain,— even if I’m the guy who drove the knife in the first place.

Sometimes you don’t expect the quiet. On Bedford Ave. At 11am.

It’s hard to explain but there’s a difference in the way a car drives down the street in the winter than in the other seasons. I’m not sure what it is. The pitch is higher, the sound of the tires rolling down the street more crisp, and there’s a quiet solitude towards it.

No one is out yet on a Sunday morning at 11am. It’s too cold yet.

The sound reminds me of home — where I want to think things are simpler, easier, slower. But really there’s no difference between here and there. People can find themselves stagnant, stubborn and selfish there just as anywhere else. People can find themselves just as difficult, or fun, or full of zest.

You keep thinking there’s always something better out there. When I lived in my hometown it was here.

Now that I live here I want to point my finger elsewhere. Another neighborhood, another subway stop, another borough, another state, another coast. Something better is only found within. And that’s the most frightening part. Changing requires taking a hard, honest and critical look. Not with the aim of self pity, nor self destruction, but with self-improvement.

So, as another set of tires comes rolling down the street, I take a deep breath and realize that I’ve already arrived. Now it’s time to make my move.

She makes me feel like I’m not alone. It’s really as simple as that. I mean, it’s obvious I’m not alone. I live in a city of millions of people. MILLIONS! Everywhere I turn there are people, and yet — even around some of my best friends — I feel alone. Sometimes painfully so.

But with her, she’s really there with me. Even from a couple hundred miles away. And, despite the fact that she’s physically absent, there she is.

And I don’t know what’s going to happen. After all, she is a couple hundred miles away.

Bud I’d like to find out.

So for about two months there, during this summer, I was eating healthy and in the gym three times a week, sometimes more. As a result of a better diet, swapping out Diet Coke for Seltzer water and regular exercise, I’d lost fifteen pounds. And then, somehow, for the last three (maybe four?) weeks, I fell out of the habit again.

I was really starting to feel better, and had begun to notice some differences in how I looked. Already I’m beginning to feel a little bit lethargic, though that could be the beginning stages of Seasonal Affective Disorder — not that I know if it really does anything to me — now that the sun’s setting before I step out of the office.

Though not quite sure why it happened, I really need to step up my game again. I’ve only gained three pounds back which, considering how I eat, is surprising. Starting tomorrow I’ll have to make up a grocery list for dinner, since that’s when most of my bad eating habits show up. It’s difficult with pizzerias, Chinese food, tacos, burgers and fries are all within walking distance from me. Also I’m just too exhausted after work (let alone after the gym!) to cook. Still, it’s got to be done.

So I’m back on that. And I’m also going to revisit my workout and try and make it more enjoyable. After all, if I’m not going to enjoy it, I won’t make it into a habit. Simple as that.

If you live in New York, you discover that there is, in fact, a sound to silence. It is the incredibly conspicuous clack of your fingers dancing across the keyboard. The fan of the laptop humming against the top of the bed. The actual ticking of your wristwatch from five feet away, and the freight train’s rumble across the tracks and whistle over three miles away. The simple fact that you can hear these things is a reminder of the things you’re not hearing.

And those things are the sounds of New York City. It’s where you’re forced to hear drunken people shuffling down the street. Cars and cars pass by. And what’s not expressly identifiable becomes this low hum of white noise which is the cumulative sum of every siren, junkie, broken bottle and subway train crossing town.

I’ve found silence again by coming to my hometown. Here, in the beginnings of autumn, not only can I find peace and quiet, but I can discover — I never fully appreciated that which I took for granted growing up here — the incredible beauty that are trees, spanned across the horizon, peppered with greens, browns, oranges, reds and yellows. Here I can find twilight with a dark landscape, indigo sky, orange sunset with the very rims of the clouds overhead painted a delicate red-violet.

Here is where I can find dew crystallizing in the middle of the night to greet the morning as frost.

I may never again belong here, but I’ll certainly never forget that I still call this place home even though I live two hundred and fifty miles away.

Despite being home today — instead of at the office — and having a mountain of work looming, there was a sense of calm tranquility. Curtains were drawn for kitties to bathe in sunlight and, out my window, Bedford Avenue fell into step with the pace of my day. The light was rich but the air was crisp and it all came together to feel more like a late afternoon in spring, rather than the dawn of fall.

Productivity was at a high level, which could be attributed to being home — despite not feeling well — or maybe it’s simply that things needed to get done.

And they did.

Two top tattoo artists rejected the design, calling it too intricate for such a small area. It’s unfortunate but it does make sense, so it’s back to the drawing board… kind of. The I-Ching will remain. But what will go inside? That’s the new challenge. And being told one cannot do something often times provides opportunities to approach from another perspective. And perhaps something even more beautiful will come from it.

It was a good day.

We can live beside the ocean,
Leave the fire behind,
Swim out past the breakers,
Watch the world die.

—Everclear

I can’t get this song out of my head. It got so bad that I went to YouTube, loaded the video up, and every time the song ends, I hit replay. Then I hit stop, grabbed my neglected guitar, sung it a few times until my fingertips went raw, and then hit replay on YouTube again. I don’t know what it is about this song but the chorus, which hits me from time to time out of left field, leaves me with a sense of longing.

What it is I’m longing for I don’t know. It’s certainly not material possessions, I’ve got enough of those.

Replay.

Is it love? Is it a sense of purpose in life that often seems fleeting, as if trying to grasp a fistful of water? Is it simply a computer chair that doesn’t leave my ass completely numb after twenty minutes of sitting in it? Maybe my stir-craziness is simply that.

I don’t know… but it’s gnawing at me. And so is this chorus. Replay.

- - -

In other news, I’ve been thinking about my tattoo more lately. I’ve nailed down the design, which you can see here.

Replay. (Yes, I’m typing these when I replay the song)

I’ve been calling around to some of the better tattoo shops in the city, as reviewed by others. One of the top tattoo artists I e-consulted with said it’s too difficult for him. Another one wants $300/hr at 15-18 hours. Um, no. Just because you tattoo celebrities doesn’t make their rates my rates. Other ones that I’d like to do the tattoo are booked into 2010. No kidding.

The tattoo features two visual elements. The first are the eight trigrams of the I-Ching, each one representing points on a compass, or the element pairs Heaven/Earth, Mountain/Lake, Fire/Water, Wind/Thunder. Four trigrams will go down one forearm, their corresponding opposites on the other. This is to represent to me balance. It’s a visual reminder, etched in blood, for me to strike a balance between play and work, between spending and saving, between being withdrawn and being gregarious.

The other element is The Great Wave off Kanagawa, a print by Japanese printmaster Hokusai. It’s one of my favorite pieces of artwork um, ever.

The thing is, for a tattoo that’s supposed to remind me to strike a balance (I am a Libra, after all) this is awfully expensive. That kind of goes against the whole save money/spend money thing. And believe me, I’m a champ at spending money.

So I’m left here thinking…

I don’t know what I’m thinking.

I do know that I’ve stopped hitting repeat. though.

This weekend, I was talking to an online friend from Florida who’s not very involved in politics and I found myself dismayed at how much of the misinformation and outright lies are circulating about Barack Obama. My friend D says she’s undecided between McCain and Obama, which is her right to be.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I just don’t think that it’s a good idea to put a Muslim in the Oval Office.”

I was aghast. “What makes you think he’s Muslim?”

“Well that’s what I heard…” she replied.

“Did you do any research to find out?” I asked.

“No, but isn’t his middle name Hussein?”

“Well, yes. But how does someone’s name make them a Muslim? Also, what’s wrong with a Muslim?”

“Well, aren’t they all anti-American and everything?”

This is where I had to stop her. First off, I told her, just because his middle name is Hussein doesn’t make him a Muslim. That his father was African, and had a son with an African name — but left him with his American Mother to raise him in Kansas and Hawaii — doesn’t make him a Muslim. Also, the name Hussein in Africa and Arabic nations is probably about as common as Smith is here.

Secondly, I explained to her, just because someone’s Muslim doesn’t make him or her anti-American.

“But aren’t the Muslims the ones who attacked the Trade Center and are terrorists?”

“Well, yes. They were Muslims. But they’re Muslim Extremists. They’re to Muslim what the Klu-Klux Klan are to Christians.”

“What?”

“Do you consider the KKK to be good Christians?”

“No…”

“Think of these guys to be about the same. They have taken and twisted the religion, which also teaches tolerance and peace, and twists it on its head.”

“Really?”

Again. Dismay. Here is a 24 year old undecided living in Florida, a swing state, receiving all this misinformation. I implored her to please please do some research on the candidates before November.

“But they’re all going to tell us what we want to hear.”

True. But facts and track records can be researched. Let their actions speak louder than their words. At least she’s in agreement that Palin’s inexperience made for a bad choice for McCain.

That said, I’m trying to figure out if there’s ANY way we can spread the truth about the candidates in the midst of this horribly horribly frustrating campaign. You know when Karl Rove, of all people, consider the McCain campaign to be going “one step too far” that’s a sign of how rotten this has become.

So how do we counter the misinformation that’s being spread in places that aren’t friendly to Democrats?

INVICTUS,
by William Ernest Henley (1849-1903)

Out of the night that covers me,
   Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
   For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
   I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
   My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
   Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
   Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
   How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
   I am the captain of my soul.

Thanks to Dan for sharing this one with me.

It’s a cycle. And I go through it about once a year.

First I’m into seclusion. You know, for self-repair. Then it’s back out into the world for the very same reasons. The last few months of relative seclusion charged a toll. The price? My Self. Where is all the currency coming from? Where does it go?

Though I take little real stock in astrology, my sign is Libra. One could interpret that to mean that it means I strike a balance in things. This could be farther from the truth for me, where it’s either one extreme or another. Either I’m a hermit, or I’m gregarious. Where’s the balance there? Perhaps that’s what I should seek, perhaps it is the place from which I will rediscover the currency of Self.

For the last two years I’ve pondered getting another tattoo. On my forearms I wanted to get some of the Trigrams of the I-Ching. The eight trigrams represent directions on a compass, as well as the element pairs Heaven/Earth, Mountain/Lake, Fire/Water, and Thunder/Wind. Down each forearm would go four trigrams, with its corresponding opposite on the other arm.

I could literally etch into my body a reminder to strike balance. To find a balance between work and play, between society and withdrawal, and maybe even between the material and spiritual.

And maybe then I will have an abundance of currency to bank on and to invest wisely back into my Self.

LittleBill: help.
LittleBill: talk me out of it, Ed.
LittleBill: I have an overriding need for Doritos
LittleBill: STAT.
SteelValor: DON’T DO IT!
SteelValor: ewww
SteelValor: wtf
SteelValor: omg
SteelValor: get drunk, then you can’t drive!
LittleBill: dude.
LittleBill: I live in NYC
LittleBill: I have all of a 20-foot walk for Doritos
SteelValor: GET REALLY DRUNK!