Tongue. In. Cheek. (Please Keep That in Mind!)

Crap. I want to go home.

Wait, those two sentences are more connected than that. Damn you, Text! Curse you, Grammar! How do I... let's see...

Crap, I want to go home.

Does that fix the problem? Is that still one thought or two? It should be one. Hold on. I'ma put my thing down, flip it, and reverse it.

I want to go home... crap.

That makes sense, right? I don't like the ellipses. 'Crap' is not supposed to be a reaction to something and therefore 'I want to go home'. No no no! In fact, this has been a great trip! It is the realization that I want to go home that brings about the 'crap'.

I want to go home. Crap.

Voila! Can you feel it? The conflict between wanting to go home and realizing that this is my favorite part of my job! And, all things considered, it's been a pretty successful week! So, why in the world would I want to go home?

If you know me, you know why. If you don't know me, you'll be a little confused until I gather the mustard to come out with it.

Not that you've had any clues, mind you. Well, I suppose I told my house like a month ago... But, I've not brought it up since then so there's no reason it should be on the front of their minds. And, well, Melissa knows. She always knows. But, aside from that and some fairly highlighted clues in other blogs... you should have no idea!

And, I don't plan on giving too many more hints. Aside from the fact that I am blogging about it, obviously. And, by 'it', I mean the thing that I always think about. The one question about my future that I want an answer to. But, that's it! No more help! For now...

I feel lighter.

And, I'm glad I'm feeling lighter and everything, but...

Wait, that really doesn't look like it sounds in my head.

And, I'm glad I'm feeling lighter and everything, BUT...

People are more interesting when their melancholy. Nobody likes happy people!

Truly, truly... everyone WANTS to be happy. But, no one wants someone to be happier than they are! Okay, maybe for a moment on big occasions. We'll smile and congratulate them and wish them happy times from here to eternity... just, when we get to eternity your happy times should be slightly less happy than mine.

Well, I've been willing to take the hit for you people. I like being interesting and I like making other people happy so for years now I've made it so that I have been unconsolably miserable about one thing. I've been unconsolably miserable about one thing so that deep down inside you could be reminded about how happy you are.

And then there's the whole interesting thing. I didn't do this for free. In return, I got to be interesting and melancholy and fun to ask questions of. To check in. To make sure I was doing okay.

Well, damnit, now that I'm all light again you've got nothing to be concerned about. Nothing to be interested in. (Aside from figuring out what/who I'm talking about... but, as soon as this mystery fades then it's back to the doldrums of complacency and happiness.)

But, answer me this: (Or, these:)

Would you watch House if he was supportive of his staff, courteous to patients, and snacked on TicTacs?

Would Holden Caulfield have inspired millions of angsty high schoolers if he was the college-bound high school quarterback?

Would Moto have gotten replies on his last blog instantaneously while my thoughts are left commentless?

(Yeah. I admit it. I'm jealous. What part of "attention whore" don't you people understand?)

Aha. You see? Misery loves company. If not like company then company who want to help. And, by 'help' I mean 'feel better about themselves'.

Well, apparently, I don't need your help anymore. I'm happy.

I'm light.

Crap.

LeBrandon is Out, Sohrab is In

So, blogger here is telling me that it has been exactly one month since I have written anything in here. And, y'know... that feels about right.

Wow, it was a full month ago that my parent's visited me. It was a full month ago that I was just given permission to stop using crutches. It was a full month ago that I only had maybe a hundred pages left to finish The Kite Runner.

Good grief, those things seem like forever ago. I miss my parents a ton and can't wait to figure out a chance to head back down to SoCal. My leg is far from healed, but I am walking normal and going to the gym on a regular basis. And, I just finished The Kite Runner about five minutes ago and cried at the end of a book for the first time since 'Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close'.

This time it was in a Starbucks though, as opposed to the safe confines of my own room. Awkward.

But, so good! It doesn't quite topple EL&IC as the Most Magnificent Manuscript Manufactured by Mere Mortals (the 6M Award, I'm surprised you haven't heard of it). But, it might have my favorite last moments of a book I've ever read. The words:

"For you, a thousand times over."

will forever haunt me. In a good way. I want that phrase to fuse itself into my vernacular. No longer "Yes" or "You betcha" or "I can do it, I can do it nine times", but...

For you, a thousand times over.

Oooooh. Can you feel it?

No? You should probably read the book.

Inshallah

"She said, 'I'm so afraid.' And I said, 'Why?,' and she said, 'Because I am so profoundly happy, Dr. Rasul. Happiness like this is frightening.' I asked her why and she said, 'They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something from you".

---

Gosh darnit, I wasnt going to blog tonight. I spent the evening counting my blessings, realizing that I am so little to complain about, and then complaining about it anyway. I had curled myself into bed, pulled the covers to my chin and commited myself to knocking out another noticable chunk of 'The Kite Runner'. I was going to read for a few minutes and then close my eyes and fall asleep.

Then, Amir crossed paths with an old professor who knew his mother. The last thing the old professor remembered Amir's mother saying to him was the above passage. "Happiness like this is frightening... They only let you be this happy if they're preparing to take something away from you".

I feel like I'm on the other end of that fear. Perhaps spending an evening laughing myself into a stomachache listening to my dad tell his stories was the start of my melancholy being taken away from me. I left dinner tonight with a huge sadness that I only had a few hours tonight with my parents and I only have a few days more with them. Over the course of the night I was entirely submersed in them and their love. But, as soon as I got back in my car to drive south my doubt grabbed hold and counted the remaining hours for me.

If Amir's mother was at the top of happiness, I am far from the bottom of sadness. There are still layers of bad news I'd have to find myself in before I admitted hitting 'rock bottom': anti-depressants, reactivating my WoW account, etc. But, why does my masochistic hopefulness find something to cling to in the above passage?

Spoiler alert: As the reader, I know something bad happens to Amir's mom. First off, it's been mentioned several times that she died in Amir's bearing. Second off, she is mentioned being pregnant just before the above passage is read. Third off, irony demands that something bad happens when admitting that everything is going oh-so-right. Think of any soldier in any war movie who carries a picture of his wife into every battle: You know that black and white photo is the last image he'll see of her.

Because if something bad happens to her when she is feeling so good, something good has to happen to me when I am feeling so bad. Right? That's the way the world works, isn't it? All of this self-doubt and druggery is going to climax into a wonder I can't describe just as all the blessings and happiness spiraled into the horror Sofia couldn't predict. That has to be it! That's why my parent's are here visiting, to help me begin this new chapter of untold joys!

There are two possible outcomes here: either the world is in order and my psyche is about to grab my hand and pull me from the hole I've been digging or another self-defense mechanism is about to be shattered while my psyche dumps a fresh layer of cynism on me.

Damn. I wish I wasn't a betting man.

Swept into the Sea

This blog thing is wildly inaccurate. The day/time that you're blog is "posted" under is actually the day/time that you begin writing the blog: not when you push 'Publish'. I started this blog, then went to go use the restroom, read a chapter of 'The Kite Runner' and now I am back well past midnight. Yet, this blogger thing is going to read 'Saturday, April 3rd'. You watch.

Anyone else offended? Up in arms? Want to take the streets with pitchforks and torches?

Yeah, me neither.

I cried tonight during Mass. I've teared up at certain sections each of the last two nights, but tonight it was tears coming down my cheeks. Not quite sobbing in the pews, but my myriad of themes, problems, issues, joys, doubts, frustrations, hopes were all pushed aside as I realized:

I've been with Melissa through this entire 6+ year process.

Here I am, wondering every day and every night as to whether anything I am doing now is making a lick of difference in the foreseeable future. And, sitting right next to me, is the culmination of a friendship that's lasted over a half-decade. All of our smiles and laughter and hugs and awkward moments and jealousies and small fights and coffee dates and sitting in cars listening to music and differences and indifferences and all of our love has manifested into this infinitesimal second of huge significance.

But, of course, now that the music has faded and a much-more-awkward-than-anticipated reception has passed my pride and joy is melting into one question:

What else am I working on?

It would be wrong to say that I was 'working' on Melissa. The beautiful thing about the moment of her confirmation was me realizing how little I had been involved. All I did was answer a few of her questions and be a stubborn ass when other people told me I was wrong. It has been her path this entire time and I have been fortunate to be walking so near to her. But, I will say a lot of untrue things before I take any kind of credit for her confirmation.

But, what else am I working on? What else is slowly morphing itself into something beautiful that will come to fruition years from now? I can't imagine it's my drumming. I don't see my time in admissions setting me up for my 'big break' into the corporate world.

I was told today (for the second time in three nights) that I have a decent voice. I've really enjoyed singing a lot of the Easter songs: they are significantly underrated compared to Christmas tunes... But, seriously! Where is that going? I'm going to join the choir soon?

I'm afraid I'm not working on anything. I can't see more than about fifteen minutes into the future nowadays and even that superpower isn't very reliable. The one thing I know for a fact that is changing is my demeanor. Beth called me out on it the other night. My cheerfulness has an edge to it. It is cheer without happiness. It is cheer slathering itself in cynicism.

My favorite song tonight was a diddy with a more traditional Jewish sound and tempo to it:

"Sing a song of freedom, God has won the victory.
Horse and chariot are cast into the sea.

Sing a song of freedom, God has won the victory.
Horse and chariot are cast into the sea.

Horse and chariot,
Fear and lonliness,
Death and emptiness,
Horse and Chariot are cast into the sea.

Horse and chariot,
Hate and prejudice,
Chains and slavery,
Horse and chariot are cast into the sea."

The cheerful part of me clapped my hands and swayed to and for.

The rest of me sits here and wonders: 'What else is left?'

A Mischief of Mice

Did you know that was the proper term for a family of mouses?

Oh, families! Is there a better word in the English language? What a broad and generic term when we are grouping things that belong together and then what a intense and specific word when we begin conjuring images of the families we belong to.

From what I understand from the media and some personal ties, I am in the very fortunate minority of people who still get along great with their folks. My insides are doing backflips thinking about how my parents will be visiting Portland for a few days with the primary intention of spending time with their eldest son and seeing where and how he lives. Suddenly, I feel like I am planning time with a girl that I like: my mind has gone blank! I can't think of what I do on a regular basis!

We have to go to Powell's, that's a given. I'm kind of hoping they'll buy me a few somethings there... Then, I want to take them to Bunk. That's kind of a self-serving trip as well, because I really want another Bunk sandwich. But... then what? I really like these people, what can I do?!

Families beyond my immediate family have been a source of comfort this week as well. I forgot how much I truly love the triduum of Catholic services leading up to Easter. I've spent most of my adult life trying to be as ecumenical as I can. But, the fact of the matter is that you Protestant Christians haven't experienced Easter until you've consecutively attended Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Vigil services.

Of course, I don't mean that as condescending as that might sound. I'm sure most of you have had very fulfilling Easters. I hope this is one of them. But, seriously, next year. Think about it. It could be because my dear friend is joining the Church, and I'm sure the fact that I've had a rough couples of weeks/months has magnified my need for the stability and love that I find going to Mass, but I can't think of a time of my life that I felt more connected to the Spirit. This week is good. And right. And alive.

My house family is riding a roller coaster right now. I think the stresses of moving and the realization of limited time with one of our housies is wearing on us. The constant reminder I have is that we all are in this because we are good for one another and really care about each other. We had an amazing dinner and some great time of hanging out that really solidified that continuing our houe-family-ship was the right thing to do. I think some more honest conversation and a couple of exciting days of moving will put us in an awesome place. Both literally and figuratively.

And, of course, there's the family that I met breifly earlier tonight. They were gracious enough to let me gab about myself for about an hour while we got to know each other. Oh, and there was some wicked tasty (gluten-free) chips and dip. I like them; they're good people.

I've got a lot more thinking before I make any bold declarations, but I'm formulating a thought that says something along the lines of:

You're going to be okay as long as someone claims you as family.

Contrary to Last Night...

And, I was trying so hard to be a skeptic!

Lesser known things about Justin Hudec:

-In a perfect world, I will never order the same item as someone else in my party at a restaurant. I will do everything that I can to be one of the last to order when I am in a group and will always have two different plates in mind just in case someone kypes my first choice.

-As the oldest of four brothers and having the closest brother being the single most stubborn person I know, I've been in my fair share of disagreements. I am nowhere near perfect, but I have considerable training in the art of choosing battles. You will find me passive on the issues where my investment is slim but shaking my head violently against the soft chimes of reason if I have any stake in the matter.

-There is nothing more crucial to comedy than commitment. Brevity, wit, appropriateness... these are the purest of vanities unless you are willing to walk a mile along train tracks wearing Crocs backward as they dig into your Achilles.

All that is to say that I can be stubborn when the kneejerk reaction kicks in. And, when I sat down to watch Shutter Island tonight my knee had already been jerked and I was settling in for two hours of nit-picking. Too many people had given it two thumbs up for me to give it a fair viewing; I was prepared to tell people why they were wrong.

And, for the first half of the film I had a mental list filling up. The cinematography seemed a little contrived and a little more obviously trying to be artsy. The flashbacks were getting a little longer everytime in order to give you more backstory but I still felt like I was being dragged along forceably through the set-up. There were definitely some weird people and events in the first hour but they made me much more uncomfortable than creeped out. Long story short, I had convinced myself that I didn't get it.

Then, the middle half hour begins and the scariness that had been advertised for months finally got cranked to 10. No longer was I uncomfortable, I was grabbing the seat dividers and wishing I had left myself some soda to temporarily pull myself out of the film. At the peak of the horror, as every ounce of your being is afraid of what is around this last turn... the best performance by any of the actors shines on screen. Literally. I want to send the actor who played G***** N**** more money because he was Heath-playing-Joker-esque in his role. Incredible.

At this point in time, my jaw is fixed to the top of my chest from adoring this guy's acting. It stays there through the 45 minutes of the movie as the plot crescendoes and your brain leaks out each of your ears. As your brain matter drips off your earlobes, little smiles from the first half of the movie wave and taunt you and swim laps in the pool of things you should have added up the first time through.

I mention all this for two reason:

1) Go see Shutter Island. I will go with you. I have no hesitations about dropping the price of four or five or twelve movie tickets on this movie. It's that good.

2) I'm getting all this sorted out in my brain so I can explain it to someone. No, not the stuff about the movie. In fact, part of me hates that I liked the film that so many people liked before me. So, I have to explain that along with why it bothers me and with my specific reasons of liking the movie. I'm not just a fanboy or anything, here.

For Beth (And, Really I Mean 'Dear Me')

Attention friends:

As of tonight you are no longer to accompany me to a bar and, after more than one drink has been consumed by this party, ask or proceed to talk about me. After more than one drink has been consumed by Justin, the topic of conversation must be changed to one of the following:

-The weather;
-How boring it is to talk about the weather;
-Places to ski;
-Cheeses made in the state of Vermont;
-Books I have not read before (Note: this is a close violation to the new rule, but the object is to turn the conversation to something which is foreign to me, i.e. a new book);
-Things you can make out of one sheet of 8.5"x11" piece of paper;
-The proper number of times to use a towel before it must be washed;
-The advantages to a Radial coordinate system versus the Cartesian coordinate system;
-Ponderings to if they've changed map's location of sea level and the height of Earth's mountains due to global warming;
-Anything which I should not reasonably be able to steer back towards a discussion on me with one or two well-placed question.

One should note that 'reasonably' is a very subjective word. It is up to the friends present if I have unreasonably or unexpectedly turned the conversation back toward me and if a punishment is in order. I trust you all to be both severe and fair.

---

I am not entirely certain that imposing the above rule is in my favor or yours. Likely both. Apparently my cynical side is slowly blossoming into my cynical psyche. I'd apologize for it, but I'd say there is a strong a chance that you are witnessing the birth of the 'new Justin' as there is a chance of me snapping out of it and reverting back to being one smile pasted on top of the previous one. One way or another, this rule should protect both of us.

Crap. This blog doesn't work. Earlier tonight I perfected a theory that the best blogs are happy blogs. You want to read happy blogs. I want to read happy blogs. The blogs that update once every three weeks with an apology that 'I keep meaning to write more' translate into 'there's nothing happening in life right now' really translates into 'what a sad, sad life I lead'.

Sad blogs are simply passive agressive electronic calls for help and generally arent interesting to write or read. That's why you won't find the words "Sorry, I've been trying to think of stuff to put here" anywhere on my blog: I don't feel good about pressing "Publish" because I don't want you to get bored and close the web browser or get conflicted about what the best electronic means of reaching out to me is.

But this blog... Sad? Happy? Somewhere over the rainbow? Is this blog interestingly depressing or cheerfully cynical?

I've had a lot of fun writing it, I feel good about pressing 'Publish'. Does this mean I've broken the genres of blogging and transcended into a realm untouched by human thought?

I like to think so.

Should Have Spent This Time Reading

Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer
Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
Wampeters, Foma, & Granfallons by Kurt Vonnegut
Shopgirl by Steve Martin
Sophie's World by Jostein Gaarder

What do all of these books have in common?

They've each got bookmarks in them that range from the free, quotation-endorned bookmarks from the cashier at Chapter's to the receipt from my last physical therapy appointment.

That's not really what they have in common but it is a result from the fact that I have started them (one of which for a second read) and not finished yet. The kicker is that I don't really have reason not to finish them. They've each hooked me in their own ways, they're each books that I feel would add to my "books I feel smart talking about" cache... and, they each sat at various places in my house while I was couch bound and wasted my time playing melancholy puzzle games and getting addicted to LOST.

Then, here in my 9/10ths of the way unpacked room, I feel glad that I was too lazy (or, too repeatedly injured) to finish unpacking that last tenth. That's that much work I won't have to do here in a month or so.

Blah. Life. I guess I'll keep going.

I Think I Need More Ginseng

First off: how boring are blogs that start with:

"Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I couldn't think of anything to say..."

Well, that's sort of the case here. Amidst a conversation with one of my roommates this morning, I had the smallest little thought timidly tap on the back of my mind:

"Um, Justin?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"You... you know what Ben's talking about right now?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I was thinking... if you think it's a good idea... I have this thought. You could, y'know... expound on it and turn it into a pretty good blog."

"Yeah, totally. Remember it for me, okay?"

"Um, yeah. Sure. But, y'know... that normally doesn't work..."

"That's what she said! Haha! What normally doesn't work?"

"Ha. Good one. Um, remembering little thoughts like this one. They tend to... disappear. Almost as soon as you're done focusing on them."

"No, no. This one's good. I'll totally use it. As soon as we're done talking here. Oh, and I have to answer some emails from work. But, then! Then I promise I'll sit down and write it out. I really like this idea."

And, I did really like that idea. But, then I turned back to my conversation and the little thought dropped his shoulders, hung his head, turned and walked out the backdoor.

The little jerk left the door open, too. 'Cause just a few minutes ago a breeze made me shiver and when I went to close the door I realized that I didn't leave it open. So, now I'm left here scratching my head wondering...

...was it something about my first PT appointment this morning? Something about being on the road to recovery?

... was it something about my surgery? I haven't sat down to write since the hour before leaving for the hospital.

...was it that I hadn't written since the surgery? Was it about the complete lack of productivity that this week has been?

...did it have something to do with LOST? That, along with Dexter and Bioshock and Netflix, is is the reason more than my leg has atrophied over the last two weeks.

...was it about the mandate coming down that we have to move out of this house? No set date or timeframe... but as soon as someone buys it out from under us.

...did it have something to do with realizing how much grace I've received, particularly from my housemates, since my surgery? They have been so good to me.

I don't remember. One thing's for certain: I am growing quickly tired of being an invalid.

Thoughts on Being Cut Open

I'm taking Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close to the hospital so I can be re-introduced to my favorite character before going under the knife.

...

"I once went to report on a village in Russia, a community of artists who were forced to flee the cities! I'd heard that paintings hung everwhere! I heard you couldn't see the walls through all of the paintings! They'd painted the ceilings, the plates, the windows, the lampshades! Was it an act of rebellion! An act of expression! Were the paintings good, or was that beside the point! I needed to see it for myself, and I needed to tell the world about it! I used to live for reporting like that! Stalin found out about the community and sent his thugs in, just a few days before I got there, to break all their arms! That was worse than killing them! It was a horrible sight, Oskar: their arms in crude splints, straight in front of them like zombies! They couldn't feed themselves, because they couldnt get their hands to their mouths! So you know what they did!"

"They starved?"

"They fed each other! That's the difference between heaven and hell! In hell we starve! In heaven we feed each other!"

"I don't believe in the afterlife."

"Neither do I, but I believe in the story!"

Mr. Black is Causing Me to Stumble

I'm kind of an attention whore.

But, I think I got a little bit of an explanation as to why today. Remember that whole 'do unto others' thing?

I received an amazing bit of encouragement from the people I work with today. We had our Admissions' Winter Retreat and spent the day at Tilikum (a.k.a. Greatest Place on Earth) basically alternating between extreme silliness and intentional relationship culitvation. Despite the fact that we were on retreat for 8 solid hours I am genuinely tired.

The piece that will forever hang in my mind is when we broke into small groups to encourage one another. The process started by each person sharing a story of a time in our lives where we felt proud of who we were. Then, the other people in the group would drop three words of encouragement on the person who just shared. After I told my story, the words that fell upon me were some conglomeration of 'makes people feel important', 'willing to help', and 'listener'.

Then, as the person showered in love, we had to pick one of those ideas and introduce ourselves to the group. I tried to paraphrase a few of the thoughts and I said, "Hi, I'm Justin, and I pay attention to people."

One of the ladies I work with decided that was not good enough. "No, no, Justin. I would definitely say it is more of a valuing that happens. You value people."

Hi, I'm Justin. And, I value people.

Do unto others... Attention whore... kinda makes sense, right? Basically: show me some love. I promise I'll show it back.

Incredible. Today is the first day of Lent... I'm having reconstructive knee surgery in less than 36 hours... I turned twenty-five a week ago today... And yet, three little words are what this blog is focused around. In the end, I guess it's more important as to how you got somewhere than where you end up.

Damn, I wrote a great paper in high school about how the ends justified the means.

In related news: I'm re-reading the first book I've re-read in a long time. I don't re-read things very often. There's always so much more that I want to start that I don't want to take time to read something I've already been through once. But, there is one book that made me break that rule: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.

I don't intend on breaking out into one of my many rants about how it's the greatest work of fiction every produced (but, it is). The idea that I want to focus on is that I've stalled in my re-reading. I turned a page yesterday while I was at the end of a exercise bike ride in the gym and realized that I'd finally come to the introduction of my favorite character. I wanted to give my full attention to every page that Mr. Black occupied in the novel, so I closed the book and finished my ride.

That was yesterday. I've had two or three chances since then to sit down and begin those pages (including right now, actually...) and I've not been able to do it. No time feels right. It needs to be perfect.

Am I putting off the ends? Is this part of the means? Will I ever know happiness?!

My Last Act as a Kid with an Excuse

Lying.

Sorry, Bryce. I really did have a good idea in my head when I left work earlier today. I had a title, an idea for the body; the blog had almost written itself. Then, the evening hours came.

It looked like it was going to start off well: I was walking around to meet a friend for dinner at 6pm and it was still light outside. Light. Outside. At 6pm. I half assumed that I'd need a flashlight on my way out of the gym 'cause I've just fallen into the routine of expecting it to be pitch when I leave campus after work.

That last paragraph begins like the night is about to take a turn for the worst. But, the truth of the matter is that I spent my last night as a 24 year old with one of my closest friends. We had burritos, went to a class to learn about Catholicism, and then sat in her car in my driveway as we exchanged truly meaningful inquiries and comments.

I like to think that there have been a number of good opportunities for great conversation in the last week or so. A smattering of examples that would occupy all but one finger on my counting hand immediately spring to mind.

This was deeper than that. This reminded me that I am far more than the words I speak, even far more than the thoughts I think. This reminded me that 25 is not the number after 24 or even before 26. 25 is the cumulation of 1, 2, 3, 4... et cetera.

I have doubts. I have fears. I push past the future of those on a daily basis to put on the optimism I have such complete mastery of in every moment of every day.

By doing so, I've also pushed past the events that have brought me to this place. I'm so caught up in postponing the inevitable and focusing on making the moments of today worthwhile that I've disintegrated my memory of the ways I've impacted people. Which, is funny, because the title I was going to use in my original post was going to be 'One Less 24 Year Old in the World'. That may still happen.

So, this has turned into a series of thoughts. Maybe someone would describe it as a blog. I apologize at the beginning because I was intending to produce a declaration of conquering and instead it has transpired into a treatise on hollowness.

I.

Will.

Try.

Not.

To.

Lose.

Control.

Las Vegas: Not Really for Lovers

I have a confession to make: I am consistently scanning the horizon for a relationship status change. I could write pages on the thesis that I am not looking for any major commitment at this point in my life. But, the primary focus would be the sappy and groan-inducing things that I miss about having around that 'special someone': someone to call on my way home from work, someone to have a certainty of Friday/Saturday plans with, spending the majority of a day watching movies/television and still feeling like you've done something moderately productive, etc.

As much as the radar is checking ring fingers and trying to catch more-than-random glances every waking hour, I've found that spending a little time in the Las Vegas airport is giving the radar operate a little R&R. We can go ahead and run at minimal power for the next hour and a half. There will be no Bastille storming anytime soon.

Las Vegas is one of those unfortunately many places on earth where you can get an overwhelming sense of the depravity of man. And, I'm not about to break into a bashing of gambling, drunkenness, or smoking. For starters, I smoked a pretty good cigar for a solid hour last night while getting slightly tipsy... and, I love a good poker night as much as the next person.

No, I'm much more of a "everything in moderation", fence-sitting kind of guys. The depravity that I'm feeling now is that sense of hopelessness and hollowness. I could very well be projecting the emotions that I am feeling when I glance upon an elderly person in a wheelchair strapped to an oxygen tank pulling rhythmically at the arms of a slot machine. They could be riding the roller coaster of life and loving every gripping minute of hoping the odds will fall in their favor. But, I doubt it.

The scary thing was sitting next to a guy on my flight down here and realizing that the main thing that separates he and I is roughly 3 decades. He wasn't on oxygen or had any noticeable disabilities, he looked like a pretty healthy 50-year-old guy. But, I was reading 'The Wild Things' by Dave Eggers, and I was falling in love with the character of Max. The character in the book is VERY similar to the kid in the movie and my first reaction to the kid on screen was 'Whoa! Slow down.' I'm no psychologist, but I was definitely leaning toward A.D.D.

And, the book paints Max in almost the same light. He has trouble focusing his thoughts at time, he is prone to episodes of acting on instinct, he's a very antsy kid. But, then it hit me, what part of being a normal 8-year-old isn't like that? Aren't kids supposed to get in a little trouble and push boundaries and confound their parents at how surprisingly simple their thought process is?

Basically, I was defending Max because I'm mostly sure that I was pretty close to that kid when I was growing up. I didn't have a lot of snow in SoCal to make a fort and have it fall on me... but, my brother and I collectively thought it was a good idea to spit on our carpool's ride. Why? Because we pretended to spit on another car on the way home, and he called us out on it. He said we pretended, so we decided to show him by actually spitting on his car.

Makes sense, right? Well, no. It's stupid. It's illogical. It's very... childish. Would I do it again today? No. Is it something I have fused in my memory and now, twenty years later, has made me a fully-functioning adult? I'm going to vote 'yes', but I understand that may be up for debate.

So, back to the guy on the plane. If I was used to be a Max and am now somewhere lost in my mid-twenties, then I am on the path to becoming the guy next to me: a wise, experienced old guy. Wise old people havent been that way their entire lives... they kinda had it formed around them.

But, there is a lot to do between now and then. And, what’s the probability that I’ll be the guy on the plane? What’s stopping me from winding up in Atlantic City with a walker and an alcohol addiction?

Not enough. I need to get out of here and get my radar going again.

Dreaming of Physics

Shoot.

Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.

I purchased three books yesterday. And, despite my repeated convictions to spend less money at Powells and spend more time at the library borrowing books, money is not at the center of my present worries.

Well, it is... but, that's because I am still trying to replenish my savings account after a financially devastating November and December filled with a small amount of Christmas shopping, traffic tickets, first and last month's rent, and a new TV. (Note: The last two hurt so good.)

However, my explosion of harmless expletives has roots, not in anything monetary, but in what the books mean for my future/next year/destiny.

The first one? 'The Universe in a Nutshell' by Stephen Hawking. Yawn. Is anyone really surprised? The amateur astronomer completed his collection of Hawking books? Isn't he tired of purchasing books that don't make any sense to him?

The second one? 'The Wild Things' by Dave Eggers.

Okay, so this one has little cause for alarm. Actually, I should be celebrating... And, I should have one less 'shoot'. Let's start this whole thing over:

Shoot.

Shoot. Shoot.

'The Wild Things' is Dave Egger's novel based on Maurice Sendak's 'Where the Wild Things Are'. He helped write the screenplay for the recent film adaptation. And, apparently during the process of writing the screenplay, Eggers was encouraged to put the plot into a novel, as well. As I have been rendered smitten by each of Eggers' other works, I expect his interpretation of this classic to smote me once more.

Okay, so, that was a good more. I can't consider a chain of events where I would regret purchasing this book. Even if it winds up being an unenjoyable read, the book was produced covered in fur that gives it the appearance of being its own 'wild thing'. One way or another, this guy is going on my shelf.

So, the third one? The third one isn't even a traditional book! The first was nonfiction, the second fiction... the third is a test prep book. Not bad enough? It is the test prep book for the Physics GRE.

See, I spent my Martin Luther King Jr. Day turning my life around. Remember the leaves? I was turning them. I started a blog, I dedicated myself to going to the gym before work in the morning, and I sent emails of inquiry to universities across the United States that I might apply for enrollment into their Master's of Astronomy program. The response was overwhelming:

"Well, you only have a math degree... It would be better if you had physics... The GRE will be the bar that you're measured from."

"Then I'll teach myself physics!" the Max in me proclaimed. "I've got a healthy start, just grant me six months and a few books and the laws of physics will be tucked safely under my belt!"

That was my demeanor as I drove to Powells, as I tracked down the test prep books, as I paid with a swipe of my Discover card, as I had my parking verified, as I drove home, as I climbed into bed with the book, as I blogged about how I was about to crack the book open...

But, not as I started reading. Wow. As the pages turned, my fire flickered. A grave reality set in: those who teach themselves entire subjects of academia accomplish truly great feats. Feats that are definitely not the norm.

I 'shoot' repeatedly through this bombastic musing because I ran headfirst into the realization that there is a long, strenuous road in front of me that I must intentionally take steps down every day. A long, strenuous road that I could march powerfully down and easily wind up with nothing. The odds are definitely in favor me reaching the end, taking the exam, and not scoring as well as I needed to.

So, my watered-down profanities comes from the realization that I've got to do this thing and it may not pay off. I've got to stick with it... I've got to stick with it....

I've got to.

Unlocking A Door That Should Probably Stay Closed

Day 2: So far, so good. I've got a favorite position in my bed: wrapped up to the undersides of my shoulders in two blankets with a third blanket within arm's reach, laptop sitting on those blankets right where it belongs (my lap), and... and...

Well, I guess there are only two real requirements for my new 'Blog and Bedtime Position'. But, the important part is that I am here writing, I have read a blog that is not my own, and I commented on it. I should purchase some gold stars.

And, through the course of my driving to Barnes and Noble, then Powells, and finally back home this evening, I have a schedule I am hoping to keep most nights:

10:00pm - B.B.P. Read other blogs, spend a few minutes crafting my own.

10:20pm - Bust out my new Physics GRE test prep book and try to work through at least two problems.

10:40pm - One page at a time, attempt to relocate books from the staggering 'still need to read' pile to the rather embarrassingly small 'totally owned this book'.

Somewhere around 11, 11:30 - Go to bed! Get some sleep! And, get your ass out of bed by 5:30 to go to the gym before work!

That's my current formula for success and grad school for Fall 2011. Actually, in this formula, success and grad school might be interchangeable on their side of the equation. There is a part of me that will forever tap it's foot in anticipation if I don't at least attempt to become an awkwardly social astronomer.

Oh, gosh. Awkwardly social... That might be my new favorite string of words for the next indeterminate amount of time. Albeit a short string, 'awkwardly social' so much more accurately describes my handicaps as a person. And, who I ultimately aspire to be.

Being a person so disconnected from the rules of daily interaction is a painful thing for everyone who is not the socially awkward person. When a socially awkward person becomes an element in any scenario, the rules to being socially awkward imply that the awkward person has no clue that they are the one turning the air around them palpable.

Saving Grace! I, Justin Hudec, feel the awkwardness of the situations that I find myself a part of! Does this mean that I cannot be accurately described as 'socially awkward'?! Because, more often than not, these uncomfortablilities do not arise from me being unaware of a situation or conversation happening around me. No. More often than not, I find myself in an awkward situation because of my inability to let a bad idea be a bad idea. When I feel the need to chime in, my penchant for half-backed schemes and thoughts overpowers the small, timid side of me asking, "Is that really a good idea?"

Oh, no! It is 10:30! I've passed my time for blogging and must move onto physics! It's okay, since I bought the book today I will use my time reading the introduction and "how to use this book" section. That shouldn't take too long, then I can jump back into 'Wampeters, Foma, and Granfalloons'. (Again, Google or coffee. You can probably count on a lot of references like that...)

It Would Be Greatly Appreciated If You Added This to Your Google Reader

Alright, one more fast note and then I am calling it a night. When I decided to start a new blog earlier tonight I mandated myself to use the three 'titles' I had written down in my iPod Notes as titles to individual blogs to get this thing going.

This one's title may be a stretch, but I would get it if I saw it on a track listing to a new CD.

Essentially, I wanted to say that I intend on writing on this semi-regularly. One of the things I'd like to do this year is really get into following people's blogs. I know that there is a major upheaval going on about using the internet and technology to keep in touch with people. But, I also know that a lot of people that mean a lot to me or should mean a lot to me are posting really awesome stories, adventures, and thoughts on a daily basis and I am missing out on most of them by simply not spending five minutes outside of my usual Gmail -> facebook -> Cracked.com internet path. If I were a dog, the paths between those websites would be a streak of dead grass through a backyard with how many time I go back and forth between those sites and never deviate.

So, this is my resolution: To spend more time on the internet every day.

Okay. That didn't say exactly what I wanted it to say...

My resolution is to be more intentional with the time I use on the computer by keeping tabs on other people's blogs, keeping mine fairly fresh, and live-tweeting the Bachelor when possible.

Future Song Titles (It Would Be a Bad Day If My Car Was Impounded)

At first, I was going to go with 'Analogists Anonymous'. I was trying to think of something creative to call this new, breakthrough blog. I was thinking of all the fun ways I could cleverly use 'AA' when referencing my own blog. But, then, I felt really conflicted about the idea that analogies were a crutch. Or, a way to bury my problems deep inside me.

Shoot, now I'm rethinking everything. What are analogies but a crutch (a tool to help explain something a little more complex) or a way to bury my problems deep inside me (I didn't feel this one needed more explanation, but the left side of my brain will be damned before it lets me only use one set of parenthesis in a sentence where I use the word 'or' and the first half got a parenthesis).

No. Stick with it, Hudec. The real reason I bailed on the 'AA' idea was because that would seriously set me up for failure. I am definitely of the opinion that analogies are our way of comprehending ideas and theories that rival intuition. Like, using a pond full of blind fish with a drain in the middle that can accelerate water to the speed of sound to explain black holes and their accompanying Schwartzchild radius. (Google it. Or, ask me to coffee. I am a strong proponent of either.)

But, I am far from a master of analogies. I wish I was, and I definitely want to incorporate as many analogies as I can. But, the idea of 'AA' would mean bringing people together to discuss their analogies and how they are better than mine. And, while I would give my left leg at the knee to have a healthy comment section on every one of my blogs, to call it "Analogists Anonymous" would imply that I would have an analogy more often than not to explain something that happened in my life. And, I will not make a boast that I can't back up.

EXCEPT THAT THE SAN FRAN 49ERS ARE GOING TO WIN THE SUPER BOWL IN 2011!!! YOU CAN TAKE THAT TO THE BANK!!

Nope, I'm sticking with 'Future Song Titles'. The ethos behind this decision is that I often mentally summarize events that take place during the day as facebook status updates or clever phrases I can see on the back of a Fall Out Boy album. For instance, let's say that, hypothetically, I've had my driver's license suspended from January 4th to February 4th for acquiring four traffic violations in a period of less than two years but I am choosing to commute to work anyway. During my trip to work I'd brainstorm facebook statuses like:

"Justin Hudec is really hoping to not see any cops on the road for the next month." Or...

"Justin Hudec is wondering who wants to spend the night at his house to drive him to work in the morning..." Or...

"Justin Hudec is rolling the dice today!"

Either that, or I'd try to summarize it in a working title that could be used for a song if I wanted the title to tell you a short story without actually using words/a phrase that appear in the song:

"It Would Be a Bad Day If My Car Was Impounded"

That could be the name of a song, right? Well, it can also be the title of a blog. And, 'Future Song Titles" is a far more legit name than 'Facebook Status Updates'.

Hassan is an Insider, Attempt is on President Taylor

I'm a pretty bad guesser. Above is a quick note that I wrote to myself during the season premiere of Season 8 of 24 on Sunday night. I was trying to guess the first twist of the season. Turns out I was way off. President Taylor is fine, hasnt seen any danger yet... and, the 'twist' was that there was no twist. It was the brother the whole time.

That's probably why I love 24 so much... if you're just there to roll with the punches even the real predictable stuff just slaps you across the face. And, Lord knows I love a good face slapping as much as the next person. Maybe more.

Alright, I've got three more blogs to write tonight and a whole lot of explaining to do. Don't worry, this was just a trial run. I'm in the process of turning over a new leaf. I'd warn you to get out of the way... but, it's just a leaf, right?