I’m a loner, Dottie. A rebel.

So I went to a show last night. It was great and quite artsy. I mean, check out the flyer (obviously, Moviate might take the image down, in which case you’ll just get an X).

Yes. Great show. It was interesting, though. It was the first show I’ve been to in HBG at which I didn’t know the band. I don’t mean know them like I’m familiar with them. I mean know them like I’m friends with them, or at least I talk to them for like half an hour randomly and they invite me. I checked out all the bands last night on myspace. That was the extent of my knowledge. A few kids kept referring to For a Minor Reflection as “that Sigur Ros band,” simply because they were from Iceland. Those kids were probably disappointed, as they were incredible but not like Sigur Ros.

I went alone. I talked to a few people about going together, but none of them were going to be able to go. I figured I’d probably know some people there. I was wrong. But that’s ok – as we all know, I make friends pretty easily…when I want to.  Last night was not one of those times. I decided to sit around texting people and examine the art on the wall. Some of the art was incredible.

The problem is that this has in many ways summarized the way I’ve been in Harrisburg. Moving here, I knew I wasn’t going to be here very long. So I decided not to make very many friends, and to try not to get too close to the friends I do make. I had a lot of great friends in Lynchburg. Then I left Lynchburg (and my friends). Then I had a lot of great friends in Silver Spring. Then I left Silver Spring (and my friends). Now I’m in Harrisburg. When I leave Harrisburg,  I don’t want to leave a lot of friends. So I just won’t have many.

But what if we need people? What if we were created for community and communion? What if I can’t do everything on my own? What if everything about my pattern of thought is wrong? What if God builds us up through others? What if I need people to keep my sanity? What if this whole thing is stupid?

Nights like last night make me think it is.

America’s Next Top Model

So I’m sitting here at Sara’s house waiting to go back to HBG. America’s Next Top Model is on. Everyone is putting so much time and effort into being the best model that they possibly can be. And I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with pursuing your dreams. But it makes me think: what’s the point?

Some of these women are spending all of their free time posing. If nothing else, they’ve given up months  of their lives to pursue this. It’s their entire focus. And is it really important? At all?  But you know, I’m not here to attack models or reality tv or anything like that.

It got me thinking: what really matters? How do I spend my time? What that I do is truly important?  And, more to the point, what do I do that isn’t and not do that is?

This isn’t a lesson or a sermon or a lecture. Just a thought.

Awkwardness As an Art Form

Today I had lunch at Neato Burrito with Biz. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Neato Burrito, imagine if Chipotle was hip with better food. Not hip like CalTort – hip like the first time I went there Mastodon was playing.

Anyway, not the point of the story. I had the hummus burrito. Biz had the Cowboy Crunch (or Cowboy Crizzle, as they wrote it on the specials board today). If only it were Thursday: Thursday is “Chick in a Thai,” which means I could’ve gotten spicy peanut sauce on my burrito. I’m really bad about getting distracted and going on tangents about delicious food.

We originally sat at the bar, but there were no footrests on the stools, so we moved to a table right beside the door. As I already said, I’m easily distracted, so I kept looking out the window beside the door.

A girl walks in. She’s very pretty, and looks familiar. She’s carrying a text book. I try to read the title of it, or at least determine the subject, but can do neither thanks to the way in which she’s holding it.

The girl gets in line. She buys a burrito. I keep glancing at her, trying to figure out who she is. I do, however, avoid her noticing that I’m doing this.

She sits down at a table all the way in the back. She sits there, presumably eating her burrito and possibly reading her book. She stands up to leave. Again, easily distracted me is looking around like a newborn in a bright room. She is panning the room with her eyes at the same moment.

Suddenly, our eyes meet. And neither of us looks away. She may or may not have thought I was staring. I wasn’t, but at that moment we both were. She gets an uncomfortable look on her face. She waves to me. We both look away quickly.

We reached the maximum awkwardness of any given situation.

For those who are wondering, I think she might have been this girl named Tici that I met right after I moved her. She was really cool but cripplingly idealistic. As a matter of fact, there will probably be a future post about her and a few other people, so I’ll spare you that story now.

This post doesn’t really have a moral. It doesn’t have a big question to end it. It’s just a story. A great story, if you ask me (which I think by reading my blog you did).

In the words of George Castanza, “I’m all awkward pauses!” This, though, was the quite possibly the most awkward situation in which I’ve ever found myself. She and i made awkwardness into an art form.

The New York Times

Her name is Joan. She comes to Starbucks every day. Usually 2 or 3 times. No one is quite sure how old Joan is, but she’s retired. For a long time we didn’t know her name, but it’s Joan. She’s an older lady, but she’s so sweet. Every day she comes in and gets a drink (actually, often more than one), a few pastries (which she eats throughout the course of the day), and a newspaper (sometimes two).

Yesterday in the New York Times was an article about Starbucks. Since we are a Starbucks after all, Joan wanted to make sure that we all read this article. I told her that I would read the article online.

“What? Why? The Times is right here…”

I insist on reading it online. After all, it’ll save me $1.25, which I would much rather spend on music or a book.  Joan glares at me. She picks up the New York Times and opens it to the article. She hads me the paper. She pulls $1.25 from her pocket and hands it to Evelyn behind the counter. “He needs a newspaper.”

I was almost embarassed that Joan bought me a newspaper. I mean, I have $1.25. I totally could’ve bought myself a newspaper. But I didn’t. She bought it for me.

In a way, it makes me feel like a pharisee. The pharisees were a prideful bunch of people. I feel like they were best described by, oddly enough, Bright Eyes: “You can save face, but you can never save your soul.” The pharisees were afraid to admit that there was any element of weakness in their lives.  And in a lot of ways that’s how I sometimes feel.

I’m a college graduate. I have 5 years of college education. On top of that, I’m pretty smart. Not to brag, but I’m in touch with it. I hate to admit that I need things. There’s an element of being proud of my needs, but even that’s just pride and ego. I always make my life look a million times better or worse than it actually is. Maybe I should just get over it and be realistic. What am I so afraid of?