paper or plastic?

(found on weheartit.com via cloughridge's flickr)

While sitting in the grocery store parking lot the other day, I got to thinking of what an interesting sociological study would come out of observing people's food-buying habits. I'm sure that someone has already done it, even multiple times. It's not my most original thought.

But think about it. The food items that people buy, for the most part, seem to determine their socio-economic status. Hostess snacks versus Pepperidge Farms, for example. Types of beers. A lot of it has to do with prices, sure, but I also think that certain kinds of food have come to define and differentiate one social group from another.

You know what's weird? The observation that inspired this blog post in the first place was parking lot demographics. It's almost like the parking lot (at Acme, anyway) resembles a high school cafeteria: different types of people park in different areas of the lot. Older people, poorer people, yuppies...each have their own area where they regularly park. And the only reason that I noticed this was that my mom decided to park in a totally different area than usual, and I found our little black Honda Civic surrounded by gigantic Escalades with flashy rims.

It probably even comes down to the ubiquitous "Paper or plastic?" Eco-conscious people will choose paper, probably. You can tell a lot about a person just by following them around the grocery store.

Now! Where's my Twinkie?

ticking clocks

(found on weheartit.com)

We don't have enough bookshelves in my house. The ones we do have are at maximum capacity, I'm pretty sure: there are books squeezed into every nook and cranny, at every possible angle. This just goes to show you how important reading is to my family; reading and knowledge. Outside the family room, though, we have the Book of all Books displayed on its own little stand. No, it's not the Bible. It's the Encyclopedia.

It's open to a different topic every time I walk past it, depending either on the whimsy of the person flipping pages, or a topic he actually was interested in, or something relevant to his (or her, I guess, women are the majority in this family) life.

Tonight, I flipped to "Machines That Measure Time."

I would like to make time go a little slower some days, and faster on others. What is time? Does it exist? It's just a human construct...right? So why can't I manipulate it the way I'd like?

loneliness is a choice

(from farruggio.tumblr.com)

Bear with me. This is going to come out really emo.

I don't know where I belong anymore. I'm kind of a vagabond, only that seems too romantic a term to call it. Being at home and hanging out with old so-called friends from high school has made me realize that I have very little in common with these people anymore. Very little or nothing in common with these people. And then I think about my college friends, and the various conclusions I've come to this summer: how difficult it is to find genuine, unselfish, intellectual but fun people. Whatever it is that I'm looking for, it's proving hard to find.

Now, these are just sweeping generalizations. I have lots of people I call friends, even best friends. But in general, right now, I am lonely. And it bugs me.

clickety-clack

(yyellowbird's photostream on flickr)

When I was little, I wanted to be a great author when I grew up. Well, actually, in kindergarten I desperately wanted to become a nurse, but that quickly changed when I found out that I'd have to deal with blood. Blood gave me the willies. Still does. (Did I really just use the word 'willies'?) Anyway, I'd mass-produce stories and wheel them around in my little red wagon, selling them for 25 cents. When I grew a little older, and got my first computer, I'd type story after story--usually about fairies, or ballerinas, or orphans (for some reason I found orphans terribly romantic). Reading these stories now, I laugh out loud at how, well, elementary and immature they are.

But what I remember best is how much I loved writing. I devoured books, and then clickety-clacked on that sticky old keyboard, trying my own hand at the craft, anticipating my own masterpiece. I had this brown corduroy hat I'd wear. I called it my Author's Hat. (Creative, I know.) I'm pretty sure I really believed that it made me write better, that it had some sort of powers that would turn me into a literary genius. I think it's because my role model at the time was Jo March: I'd picture her scribbling away madly in a garret (I'm not really sure what a garret is even today) with some sort of cap sitting askew on top of her head.

I have no idea where that hat is anymore, and if I did I don't think it would fit. But I think that once I stopped believing in the hat, I stopped believing in my writing. In fact, I stopped writing. I think I've finally figured out a relatively good replacement for that hat, though. I think it's good books.

I believe that good books make me write better, and that they have some sort of powers. Maybe not to turn me into a literary genius, but they definitely inspire a long-dormant creativity within me into action. The latest good book to light that spark? The Catcher in the Rye. (Yes, finally.) I've been clickety-clacking all night. And I love it.

searching for everything

(from redridinghood.tumblr.com via weheartit)

As usual, my summer reading list has remained relatively unread. Perhaps I just shouldn't make lists. It's nice to organize my thoughts and to give myself deadlines and to-dos, but I never follow through. Anyway, that's not the point of this entry.

The point is that I did read some books, the most recent of which is Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love. (There's no underline function on blogger. That's annoying.) To quote the back cover, "Following a divorce and a crushing depression, Gilbert set out to examine three different aspects of her nature, set against the backdrop of three different cultures: pleasure in Italy, devotion in India, and on the Indonesian island of Bali, a balance between worldly enjoyment and divine transcendence."

I guess I wanted this book to speak to me more than it did; I wanted it to apply to me perfectly, which is ludicrous, really--in no way have I experienced the loss, heartbreak, and depression that the author did. But I feel as though this summer has been one full of soul-searching, and I was hoping this book would provide me with valuable insights for figuring out myself, my place in the world, and the things I want from myself and those around me.

In some respects, it did. A few choice quotes that made me stop and think (and ask questions):

"To me, the Augusteum is like a person who's led a totally crazy life--who maybe started out as a housewife, then unexpectedly became a widow, then took up fan-dancing to make money, ended up somehow as the first female dentist in outer space, and then tried her hand at national politics--yet who has managed to hold an intact sense of herself throughout every upheaval. I look at the Augusteum, and I think that perhaps my life has not actually been so chaotic, after all. It is merely this world that is chaotic, bringing changes to us all that nobody could have anticipated. The Augusteum warns me not to get attached to any obsolete ideas about who I am, what I represent, whom I belong to, or what function I may once have intended to serve. Yesterday i might have been a glorious monument to somebody, true enough--but tomorrow I could be a fireworks depository."
So what's the point of trying to figure myself out if the person I am today is definitely not the person I'll be in a year? Why waste all this time worrying and wondering? I don't dispute that the world brings unanticipated changes to everyone, but then what's the point of even trying to make sense of it all? And why does the thought of not wanting to make sense of it all bother me so much?

"Ketut said he could answer my question with a picture. He showed me a sketch he'd made once during meditation. It was an androgynous human figure, standing up, hands clasped in prayer. But this figure had four legs, and no head. Where the head should have been, there was only a wild foliage of ferns and flowers. There was a small, smiling face drawn over the heart. 'To find the balance you want, this is what you must become. You must keep your feet grounded so firmly on the earth that it's like you have four legs, instead of two. That way, you can stay in the world. But you must stop looking at the world through your head. You must look through your heart, instead. That way, you will know God.'"
The way I understand it, Gilbert believes that "God" is actually just an energy within her, within all of us. We all have "God" in our hearts, and we can call it whatever we would like; it is just comfortable for her to call that God. But then aren't you just praying to yourself, trying to get in touch with your inner energy and balance? Isn't that kind of strange?

So instead of being enlightened, I am burdened by more and more questions. But there was a quote that I think we should all live by:

"...and when you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grab onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face-first out of the dirt--this is not selfishness, but obligation. You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight."

faking it

(amadika's photostream on Flickr)

I'm pretty sure no one actually likes each other anymore. In general, I'm the type of person who believes that people are inherently good. I like to look for the best in people. I don't know if that's my fatal flaw, or what, but no one else seems to like anybody else.

All my friends seem to do when they get together is bitch about this person, or that person. At the restaurant? Same thing. Everybody complains about everybody else. It's getting really tiring trying to keep who-hates-who straight.

One of the managers made me laugh tonight, but it was kind of a bittersweet laugh. He just walked over to my hostess stand, got on Wikipedia, and then motioned to the page to show me how he was feeling. "Misanthropy."

Good grief.

summer lovin' happened so fast

(appletea's photo from fotolog.com)

Where did the summer go? Seriously, how is it already August? I really don't understand this whole time thing. On a day to day basis, everything feels so long. But this summer has flown by. I came to New York two months ago without anything set, and now I'm leaving with everything going for me. Promises of the potential for an amazing fall. Opportunity.

Anyway, I just want to write a little bit about some of the events of this past week. Just so I can remember them and the thoughts that they've inspired.

On Sunday I went to this huge outdoor music festival in Jersey called All Points West. After a four-hour rain delay (which I spent clad in a garbage bag laughing with my two best guy friends) I danced and swayed and let the music take over and do its thing. We saw Akron/Family, We Are Scientists, Mogwai, The Black Keys, and Coldplay. There is just something about an outdoor concert that really gets to me. Sure, I get the feeling at a regular ol' concert as well: everyone together, enjoying themselves. But outdoors, it's different, I think. There is something more raw and human about it all. And the fact that the entire park turned into what Chris Martin called a "mud jacuzzi" certainly added to that organic, natural one-ness with my surroundings. It was an epic, epic night.

Yesterday, after a much-needed yoga session, I had dinner with two of my closest friends and my landlady, who happens to be an Episcopal priest. We chopped, grated, baked, and ate. We drank wine. And we talked. We talkedtalkedtalked for a good four hours, and sitting there, being a part of this amazing conversation, was the most invigorating experience I've had in a while. There is nothing like good wine and good company. There is nothing like having an intelligent conversation with intelligent people. That is something I definitely needed, something I was definitely missing.

Last night's conversation made me think about a lot of things. How much there is I don't know, for example. How different people think in different ways. I would really like to take a history class, a politics class, a comparitive religions class. I guess I could always just read a book, but I want someone to help guide me. I want someone to lead me and prod me into thinking in ways I've never thought before.

Or can I be my own teacher? Is that possible?

love poems

(celestephotography on Flickr)

I love you without knowing how,
or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly,
without complexities or pride.

So I love you
because I know no other way.

-Pablo Neruda, XVII