I've Heard That Before

If I told you what was really going on in my life, you'd never believe me. I did a very long journal entry about it. It's really impressive and probably would make some great blog material. I even worked a reference to Heidi Klum into it. (That alone makes it worth it's weight in gold.) It's almost a tragedy to keep it simply in journal form. However, now after all that buildup, it would never meet your expectations. So I'm likely better off just going with something a bit less personal.

"He said I should go to law school."

If I had a $1,000.00 for every time I heard a person say that, I'd be rich. (I say $1,000.00 because really, what can you get for a bunch of nickels nowadays. Besides, if we're going to discuss in hypotheticals, I might as well make it worth my while - I thought $1,000,000.00 might be greedy.) Every person I talk to seems to have been told, at one point or another, by some mentor type figure - you should go to law school. I sometimes think that perhaps this line is just thrown out there as a compliment - "You're so smart, you should go to law school." The person doesn't actually have to believe what they are saying, they're just throwing the compliment out there. Other times, I think the person offering the statement simply has no damn clue what law school is like. They've never experienced it. They figure it's just one of those things people do. Just go to law school. Like it's as easy as breathing or climbing Mr. Everest; a walk in the park.

I have always done everything in my power to discourage every person I meet from going to law school. From my experience, only people that really want to learn law and how to be an attorney should go to law school. They shouldn't do it for money because lots of attorneys don't make a lot of it. They shouldn't do it for respect because almost everyone I meet immediately looks at me sideways when they find out I'm one of those scum sucking, bottom feeding, attorney bastards. They shouldn't, necessarily, pigeon hole themselves into any one area of law they would like to practice because often, they won't get to practice in the area they so choose. And law school is no picnic. Unless you really like law, you likely are not going to enjoy law school at all. It's going to be stressful and miserable, threatening your relationships and your sanity, as you undergo the metamorphosis from an ordinary person to a person that thinks like an attorney. Sound like fun yet? (I did have a friend that went to Harvard who found it a fairly easy experience, much easier than her physics classes in undergrad. As a general rule, the higher ranked schools are easier, and after first year, you can sometimes find ways around the difficult professors - especially if you do not actually care about learning.)

You want money? Go work on Wall Street or do something entrepreneurial. There's far more money in either of those fields, and you probably won't have people looking at you with utter disgust and hatred when you announce what you do at dinner parties. Do you have any idea how many attorneys leave the practice of law so that they can work on the investment banking side of things? Or how many unhappy attorneys are out there?

Generally, people have listened to this advice from me. I've actually talked people out of going to law school in one sitting. I think it's because I'm just so matter of fact about it. I remove all of those romantic notions about law school and tell people real stories about real people that I've known, and of my own experiences. (And most of mine were good, for law school.) However, I really think people have to stop with the whole, "So and so told me I should go to law school." Because, really, everyone seems to have been told at one point or another that they should go to law school, and it's clearly not a career for everyone.

Face Value

Often movies or stories try to teach us not to judge a book by its cover. When this mantra is applied to people it is often illustrated with the less attractive women being really just an amazing catch and a beautiful person on the inside, and people have just never taken the time to get to know her so they just don't see how wonderful she really is. I once had a discussion with my friends about this cliche that the movie Shallow Hal memorably illustrated.

What we all agreed on is that this is a great concept and is possibly applicable in a certain number of cases, as we all have known that guy or girl that is really just an amazing person but never has much luck with landing that very physically attractive person of the opposite sex. However, we have also all met a lot of really mean, jaded, angry, miserable unattractive people. Whether their personality is a byproduct of not being anyone's object of affection frequently enough or if it's because they just don't feel terribly good about themselves or their parents didn't hold them or something as a child, I don't know. But they are ugly as sin, inside and out.

In fact, we all agreed, it's actually more common that the physically unattractive women are just as unattractive on the inside as they are on the outside. So instead of that woman in the movie looking like Gwyneth Paltrow (or Heidi Klum - yes, I know she was never in a movie like that but this is my blog and we will talk about Heidi Klum as much as I want), she is more likely to look Rosanne Barr. Not that Rosanne Barr is ugly, but she's certainly no Gwyneth Heidi Klum.

As I've noted above, this is not to say that there aren't some tremendously cool people out there that just don't have the looks of George Clooney or Natalie Portman, but there are also a lot of mediocre people out there with this condition. And, I'm assuming, a good amount of very attractive people that are positively atrocious on the inside. Which brings us back to the original cliche of, Don't judge a book by its cover. However, one would be served well to keep in mind that just because the cover isn't very attractive does not mean that the story will be any better.

Order Out of Insanity

All the topics that were spinning in my head have suddenly decided to check out, and all I've got now are snippets from my weekend. Enjoy.

"He says he's changed."

"Doesn't he always say he's changed?"

"Yeah, but what if this time he really has?"

Ah, there it was, the eternal female hope that I know and love. It's all vanity, though. It's not just hope that the person changed. It's the ego trip that this person changed for me. Oh, vanity.

"Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." - Albert Einstein

There was an upshot to her going back with him. Even though it might mean a lot more complaining and drama that I would have to watch her go through, it would provide excellent material for my blog. You know, when I really have nothing else to talk about. And then I can listen to all the women tell me that "not all women are like that". Funny thing, she used to say the same thing. It remains my belief that most women like it when that man - you know the one that never does - treats them well. Vanity of vanities.

For my part, I've been doing my best to organize my life, or at least the physical objects within it. Getting new file boxes and storage containers. Reorganizing my kitchen and trying to create a more appealing order to things. It's certainly not the easiest thing I've attempted, as it requires a lot more effort to figure out how to organize things in any sort of logical way, as opposed to simply putting them somewhere. However, I find it rewarding, as I seem to have more room and I actually know where more things are when I need them. Fancy that.

When I'm not organizing my life, I'm at the movies. It became a tradition somewhere during law school that every Saturday, this girl in my class and I would go to the movies, but never together. We took Saturday completely off and refused to open a single book, unless absolutely necessary. You weren't even allowed to worry or think about classes. This is why movies were always appealing. It was great to actually have one day every week where I didn't have to do anything.

Soon I'll be signing up for my surgery and have screws drilled into me. It ought to be a blast. Although, I'm really nervous and worried, as I haven't had surgery since I was very little. I'm afraid about what I will feel when I'm in my "twilight state" and how much pain I will be in when I wake up. I don't really like all of this unknown stuff, but I also don't like not being able to lift things without a certain degree of personal agony.

The Power of Post-It

There's a certain something about a Post-It note. They can be used to convey that extra message when nothing else will do. We all remember the time Berger broke Carrie's heart with a Post-It note. Well I don't actually remember it, but I know it must have happened because every woman I know immediately is reminded of that scene when I tell them about the attorney that quit my friend's old firm (or as he called it, the death camp) by leaving a Post-It note on the office manager's computer monitor, which read, "Nice knowing you."

However, what I saw yesterday adds a completely new dimension to the entire concept of Post-It notes in my opinion, and their ability to convey a message without a single word.

My Space

I was convinced, somewhere along the line, to establish a My Space page. (I actually wound up with two of them, although I cannot figure out how and am doing my best to remove one of them, but it does not seem to be linked to any email account that I actually use. So I'm not sure where it came from, nor how to delete it.) I didn't really enjoy the idea of establishing a presence on My Space, as I really think the pages are stupid and annoying. They can get so bogged down with content and everyone has some sort of song that automatically starts when the page loads - tell me that isn't bloody annoying.

I really feel that My Space pages can often be referred to as My Virtual Clutter Zone. The organization and layout of the content is, to me, absolutely annoying and pointless. If I really wanted all of that crap, I could add it to my blog. After all, to me, I feel the blog is probably the most important aspect of those pages (unless I'm looking for gorgeous red heads), and most people I have seen on there do not update theirs very frequently, if at all. Not to mention, the blog is not really featured very prominently and the posts look bizarre there. It reminds me of blogging for junior high. (Not that my blog is terribly impressive or updated frequently enough. It does, however, seem to have a bit more of a sophisticated appearance.)

I am, however, terribly happy that I created the page. Not just so that I could gawk at the lovely ladies or do something trendy, but also because it allowed me to find two of my friends that I have known since I was about six, but who I lost touch with over the last three or four years. I also located another friend from high school. I'm so excited. I haven't actually been able to communicate with any of them yet, as they seem to check their pages about as frequently as I check my snail mail box. However, I figure that will all come in time and soon I will be catching up and learning about their new and exciting lives.

Every now and again, the Internet spits out a gem.

Orbital Patterns

"Let me get this straight. He told you that he has still been seeing his ex-girlfriend and they have a trip planned to Jamaica together for New Years, and you want to know what you should do?"

"He swears they aren't sleeping together."

"Have you asked any of your other friends about this?"

"Well one of them said that maybe I should give him a chance, and noted that he had been honest enough to tell me about all of it."

"He really only came clean after you finally got him to talk about your relationship, a concept that you were completely resistant to, as you didn't want to seem 'needy'. Out of curiosity, is this woman telling you to 'give him a chance' the same friend that is now married to the man that pushed her out of the moving vehicle while they were dating?"

"Yeah."

Women amaze me with their uncanny ability to stay with men that are completely terrible to them for extended periods of time. I have often found that the worse I am to a girl and the less I care, the more likely they are to stay around. Alternately, if I am actually nice to them and show how much I care for them, they usually tend to walk all over me and breakup with me. I'm told women often grow out of this condition at around fifty. Figuring that I couldn't really afford to wait that long, I decided to find a mix that I was comfortable with - nice to a point.

It strikes me as odd that women blame men for being terrible or for being pigs or for this or that. As though they were suddenly betrayed by men who never gave the slightest indication that they might not be everything the women dreamed of. However, I have always found the signs as being fairly evident from the beginning. Clearly, the man that thrusts you out of a moving vehicle may have some anger management problems that might creep into your relationship in the future. The man that clings to you and follows you about the room like a lost puppy, may have some insecurity issues of his own that are bound to compound and manifest themselves in such colorful ways in the future. All of these signs will be quite clear and evident and yet the women will often stay. They all have their reasons, I'm sure. Often, there seems to be some amazing power of hope coursing through their bodies. What, exactly, they are hoping for remains a complete mystery. Perhaps they hope that he will change, or that it was an isolated incident, or that something equally magical is at play. Perhaps they are fearful of change or of being alone or of admitting that someone got the better of them.

One of my best friends has taken to using a different approach with women. He uses honesty like sword. "I am not looking for a relationship. I really like spending time with you, and I love having sex with you but there is absolutely no way I can be with just you. I'm simply not ready for anything like that right now." He's been giving this speech for the last four years to countless women and yet they stay. Eventually, each woman he dates often gets angry and frustrated with him, as he simply continues to date and sleep with other women. "I almost had sex with seven different women last week, but I got too tired and went to bed for two days. Apparently, five is now my limit." And yet, even though the women get mad, even though they might get frustrated and angry and walk away, they always seem to come back for more, like he is the sun and they all sort of orbit about him.

To the women that blame the men for being this way, I'll tell you exactly what my best friend has confided to me numerous times, and which I have also found to be true. "I would love to be honest with a woman and just totally be there for them and do all of those nice things that women profess they want. Like one of those sweet, sappy romantic movies. I think it would be nice, and certainly a hell of a lot easier than the crap I have to deal with now. However, if I do that, the women leave and go after some other guy that will treat them exactly the way I'm treating them now. We don't make the rules; as guys, we'll do just about anything for sex. This seems to be the way I have to act to get it."

Too Good to Be True

Given that the ineffable Jill was sick and all of my other reads were otherwise occupied this past holiday weekend, and given that I was still recovering from my own sickness, I was forced to play on the Internet unattended, which is always one of the most dangerous prospects imaginable. In an attempt to distract myself, I did manage to bake pumpkin bread with chocolate chips and walnuts and a banana nut bread, but alas, nothing can keep me from the Internet for too long and I soon had found two old friends and stumbled upon her (the most beautiful woman I have ever had the pleasure of virtually staring at).

It's always a bad sign where your mouth gets confused and the words don't quite know how to escape the tongue that feels like it has somehow swelled to three times its normal size. I tried to swallow the cotton balls that had formed in my mouth and say something unassuming and witty but was stuck, as I still didn't know enough about her. I knew that she was a Latin divorcee named Jessica, that she liked snow boarding and jumping out of planes, and had traveled quite a bit. I also knew that she had a good sized family, enjoyed South Beach, and was attending school. I also knew that she had the most perfect smile, hair that was unimaginably attractive, and curves in all the right places.

I was infatuated with a woman I would likely never meet, and I had to find just the right words to say to change all of that. The only other option was to willingly accept the fact that she would be my muse, kept in her state of absolute perfection by means of her distance from me. I know all too well how even the most perfect of women lose something upon a closer inspection. The woman that you see from across the room can lose her luster in a matter of seconds after opening her mouth and betraying her not so attractive personality. Sometimes the best looking ones are the ones best left alone if only so that your fantasy isn't ruined with the reality that is sure to hit you right in the crotch.

And yet, there I was sitting there with the lyrics to Billy Joel's Modern Woman running through my head and thinking Christmas really wouldn't be too bad if I woke up with her underneath my tree. And consistently asking myself, "What would Bond do?" Unfortunately, all my answers required a martini, shaken not stirred, and her following me back to my room later, despite all odds of her doing something more realistic, and that seemed like an awful lot to expect from a martini. In the end, I decided there was simply nothing I could come up with other than a simply compliment that would likely lose its effect through email and to which she would likely never respond. Although, she has had the effect of inspiring one post already. Perhaps muse alone is enough, although, after Sarah and Sass, it makes me wonder if Houston is simply crawling with beautiful women, and whether I should relocate.

Unexpected Costs

"I'm sorry, sir, but while you are entitled to twenty physical therapy visits per year, we only cover the cost of the therapy after you've met your deductible."

"But that's $2,000.00."

"Yes, that's correct, sir."

"But the woman I spoke to before I started the therapy several weeks ago said that it would all be covered without any cost to me."

"I'm sorry, sir; I don't see that in the system, but you can appeal it if you'd like."

The really interesting part is that there is no way you could meet the deductible with twenty visits, and it's unlikely twenty visits would ever be enough to recover from surgery. Not to mention the fact that you'd have no coverage if you should need any therapy for another injury later in the year. What a brilliant system. Pay for insurance that never really affords you a benefit. Brilliant. I'd imagine my office saves quite a bit with having this coverage in place. Unfortunately, I don't make anywhere near as much as the partner that selected this plan and am unable to so easily absorb the additional out-of-pocket expense.

My day could really only get better from there one would think. However, as the day wore on, I started hearing about terrible things that were happening to others and it was hard for me to feel bad for myself. A woman who used to work at my office has a husband who will die from cancer within the next week or two and a friend of mine lost his house in a fire. Not to be outdone, I immediately got sick. I know it still doesn't quite measure up, but having lost two homes to fire in the past and almost losing my mother to cancer, I feel like I should get some credit for it.

Our office took up a collection for the woman. We're not sure how helpful it will be or if she'll even be able to pay all the medical bills that are sure to be accruing right now, but we figured it should be helpful to at least help her buy some food or something for now. It's hard to know what to do when tragedy strikes. I remember reading recently, about all the people that donated money to an organization that was supposed to help the families of the firefighters that lost their lives in California last year, only to find out recently that the money raised may not qualify for the charitable deduction. It makes me wonder what would happen if a person hit hard times and needed to file bankruptcy but because of all the money being donated to them, they couldn't qualify for relief. What an odd predicament that would be.

It now remains to be seen how I will be able to afford the surgery I am supposed to have next month, and still pay my rent. I think it's rather odd that I'm an attorney and I have to worry myself with questions like this, and I'm still undecided about how I feel about the fact that I cannot deduct the interest I pay on my student loans every year, as I make just enough in gross income to meet the phase-out limitation, but still not enough to afford my medical bills, as half of my annual salary goes directly to student loans and rent.

It always reminds me of a message my friend's father had on his refrigerator when I was growing up, "Due to financial constraints the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off until further notice."

Nightly Outing

"The only place I want to be right now is in my bed, sleeping." You could feel the desire in her voice. Even more surprising than the party girl yearning for nothing more than sleep was that none of us could think of anything better than her recent suggestion and it was barely midnight. "God, we're getting old."

I have friends that still stay out to three or four in the morning every week, living the rock star lifestyle and forsaking sleep for the more important things in life, and I marvel at their resilience. This weekend, I had to drive home through the middle of nowhere at two in the morning and could barely keep my eyes from falling shut. I was convinced I was going to get into a car accident and die, but I thought that might not be so bad, as it would mean I wouldn't actually have to finish the drive and, more importantly, my eyes would likely not burn anymore. Fortunately, I was able to collapse in my bed before my eyes slammed shut, refusing to open for anything - even late night phone calls.

I remember in college, it would have been obscene to fall asleep before at least two in the morning, but even then there were always those that outdid me. My friends next door, drinking and playing Monopoly until the next morning. When I was just waking-up, they were just going to bed. However, I also remember more midday naps, and the ability to miss an occasional class without any real negative consequences.

I had felt fairly accomplished before I received the late night phone call the following night. "We just decided where we are going tonight. Are you coming?" I had gone shopping, seen a good movie, cooked a nice dinner, filled out a few Christmas cards, and had been researching charities online, as you can likely see in my bookmark sidebar. I even found a way to get youself removed from junkmail lists, not only sparing yourself the hassle of sorting through it but easing the strain such mailings put on the environment. I love it when doing the right thing is also the easy choice, unlike the decision her invitation now afforded me. If I said no to her request, it would mean I wouldn't get to see her. If I said yes, it would be more difficult for me to wakeup in time for church and spend the day with my little brother. There was really only once choice.

Clean, shaved, changed, invitational text messages sent to all the usual players, off I went to the swanky modern style restaurant/bar which would both begin and end our short outing. Our attempts to find more people and excitement would prove to be fruitless. You would think more folks would be drinking, given that it's the holidays. Alas, it is distinctly possible that while they are boozing it up, they are doing it in the privacy of their own homes and not providing entertainment to the likes of us, who really lacked the requisite energy to make a spectacle of ourselves or desire anything more than sleep.

Do You Understand

Recently, I was reviewing Presidential Tax Returns and I realized some people make an incomprehensible amount of money. For example, Dick Cheney, recently made $7,000,000.00 in one year. I don't even know if I'll make that much in my lifetime and he made that in just one year. I cannot even begin to comprehend what it must be like to make that much money. What was even more astounding was that even in the lean years he made one or two million. I tried to picture what my life would be like if I made that much money on an annual basis and I still can't get a clear picture. It's like trying to watch porn on cable without paying for it.

I suppose things can often be that way. It's hard to really understand what someone else experiences. I can't possibly understand what it's like to be Mike D., Wynton Marsalis, our president, Salma Hayek, Heidi Klum ... where was I? However, I also can't imagine what it would be like to be homeless for an extended period of time, not able to eat when I was hungry, or not able to wash my hands when they were dirty. I can't imagine not having running water. However, it's not just socioeconomic and class differences that puzzle me. I can't imagine killing anyone over my religious beliefs. It absolutely exceeds my grasp. The lifestyles of these people are probably, almost certainly, different from mine.

One does not, however, need to go to such extremes to find people to which they cannot relate. I recently heard a story about New York adopting the No Child Left Behind framework that we have adopted in Florida. Intellectuals have shown that the system doesn't work; that it's an utter failure cooked up by the politicians to show that progress is being made. Teachers have ridiculed it and talked about so much of teaching now is teaching students how to take a standardized test. We all know such things are faulty. You often will have a higher chance of success predicting the failure and success of students with the flip of a coin than with a standardized test. However, we use them. We use them because it makes tangible out of what is completely intangible - a learning and socialization process.

People sometimes think that they can relate. They are led to believe that they are involved. Most people think the death tax will affect them, but it won't. I have white friends that grew up with only other white people and they think they understand what's it's like to not be white, but they probably don't. I think it makes us feel better, though, to feel like we can relate and that we understand our world. That we understand what it's like to be the doctor, the attorney, the waitress, the grocery store bagger, the teacher ... but how illusory is this belief. How well do two people ever really know each other?

Last night, I received a phone call from one that I know well, and as the conversation unfolded aspects were revealed to show the complexities that make up the web of her life. I don't know if I fully understand her life, but I love the opportunity to see it a little more clearly with each passing day.

Pictures of Italy

I know, I know, it took me forever to finally put up any information about my infamous photos of Italy. Unfortunately, this was unavoidable for several reasons, not the least of which was my inability to plan for the logistics of sharing some photos from Italy with some people and not with others through Picasa. However, the wait, for all of you actually interested, is over.

Any of you that would like to see my pictures of Italy, need only follow the link. Enjoy.

Give Me, Give Me What I Cry For

I used to think she didn't care or that she was incapable of considering the thoughts, needs, wants, or desires of others when it came to shopping. I still remember one of the first gifts she got me. You could tell she loved it. It was quite possibly one of the best gifts anyone could have ever gotten her. I, unfortunately, did not share her taste with respect to that particular item and ended up giving it to her.

It was often upsetting to her that she never knew what to get me. I always seemed to have all of these wonderful little thoughtful gift ideas for her, but then she would bring her mind to bear on what to get me, it would come up blank. I often interpreted this as meaning that she really just didn't care or didn't know me. It seemed all of the ideas that she came up with often fell short of what I would want and were more in-line with her preferences. It would make her so frustrated, and I would be so frustrated because she was so upset.

All I really wanted, usually, was a gift card and a day of fun with her, but this didn't make sense to her. Where were the objects displaying our love? Where was the commericalism? How could we really love each other unless we bought lots of things for each other? Time wasn't really anything important?

Yet, it seemed she often seemed so much more considerate to others with whom she wasn't as close. Why did they generate more consideration and thoughtfulness from her than me? Wasn't I supposed to be just as, if not more, important than them. It just didn't make any sense. She just must not care for me.

Then today, I read about a study just released from The University of Chicago. It turns out that people are often worse at buying presents for their loved ones than complete strangers because they often feel that the other person's tastes must be similar to their own. "Not only do we feel overconfident that we’ll pick something they like, but our tendency to assume that we are extremely similar to the ones we love also motivates us to ignore cues that don’t support preconceived notions." Perhaps this year, more people would be better off pretending like they were still getting to know their loved ones when they go to pick that perfect gift, rather than believing that they already know them all too well. Or maybe everyone should just pick out their own gifts.

Upkeep

I just wanted to draw everyone's attention to a couple of modifications I have made to my blog layout. Nothing huge.

I added a section that lists some of the most recent links from one of my del.ici.ous accounts. It will automatically update as more links are added. You can browse over and see the rest of my links at your leisure, if you'd like.

I have also updated my blog links section, and finally added links to other bloggers I had been meaning to add for months. This wasn't as easy as it looked, as my links section was brought over from an old blog and could not be modified. So I had to recreate the entire list through the Blogger template editor tool. Fun times.

Unfortunately, my blog looks a bit cluttered now, as I do not have the liberty and design capabilities I would ideally like, as I am limited by my feeble knowledge of CSS and HTML and Blogger. Perhaps one day this will change, but for now, this will have to do.

My Religious Experience

During the week of Thanksgiving, my friend invited me to attend his church. It seemed like an innocent enough idea. Go to my friend's church and see what he liked about it so much and see what type of message another church might have. So I accepted the invitation and decided to go yesterday. As luck would have it, my friend was even supposed to star in a small play they were holding during the children's ministry that day. So I would really be able to get a feel for various aspects of the church.

The service started with a call for tithing. This is not the practice of the church I usually attend, as the pastor there is a strong proponent of the notion that everyone has their own private relationship with God, and how much you donate is part of that relationship. Not everyone else will necessarily know the hardships you are experiencing or your ability to give and the giving should come from a sincere desire to give, not from guilt or a desire to boast about it later. As such, he feels such things are best kept private. This church, clearly, did not adhere to this same philosophy and exerted a sufficient amount of guilt upon the congregation to make me really wonder what was motivating their giving nature.

I found the children's ministry to accentuate giving even more, if that is possible, than the adult congregation did. As children would sit around showing how much they were giving and boasting about it subsequently. To further compound the competitive nature of it all, the class teacher - my friend's girlfriend - made a game out of it. The more you gave, the more pieces you got. Those pieces then went towards your team's score. You also received more "Bible Dollars" based on how much you gave. I have no idea what those dollars were to be used for, but the possibilities of what they represented truly conjured some interesting images in my mind.

However, nothing, and I mean nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed during the praise and worship portion of the service. (I missed the actual sermon portion, as it lasted all of fifteen minutes and I was at the children's play during that period.) Towards the end of one of the songs, which they elongated beyond all reasonable parameters, repeating the same two line refrain ten to twenty times, the singers suddenly started saying weird things and making very odd sounds. At first I thought perhaps someone had made a mistake, but I quickly noticed that the weird sounds and random chanting continued. People were moving in odd ways and it sounded a bit like a room full of possessed people, or possibly a room full of people with certain developmental defects. It was just about then I remembered hearing something about a church my friend used to go to that was Pentecostal. Apparently, he still attended.

The part that really got me, though, was when my friend's girlfriend's brother-in-law leaped from the stage in his suit and proceeded to circle the room at a full out run, chanting, yelping and spewing incomprehensible verbiage from his mouth. What really got me is no one leaped to summon the men in the white coats to carry this person away and put him somewhere that would prevent him from being a threat to himself or others. (Then again, he's a police officer and a pastor.) I no longer knew what to think, other than I wanted someone to get me the hell out of there. The entire scene had the feeling of a confused mob scene, and I worried that I was attending a cult ceremony where they were soon going to offer me, or someone else, for sacrifice.

(I know this post sounds fairly judgmental, but it is an adequate representation of how I felt, whether that's right or wrong.)

Where's My Ring?

"How can you say that you're committed when you haven't even bought me a ring?"

It made no logical sense. He had moved hundreds of miles for her, after tiring of driving the hundreds of miles to see her every week, forsaken any friends he had made for the move, spent an entire day making her family authentic Jewish food so that she could see her mother, and offered to enroll in couples therapy in an effort to allow them to communicate better. But all of that was easily ignored, as it did not equal a ring. Irrespective of the fact that they had not yet been dating a year. Apparently a ring would have made things different, even though it wouldn't.

Their lives were hopelessly intertwined, objects at one another's lodgings, shared friends, shared moments, shared memories. Laughs, fights, tears, joy and sorrow were all shared together and experiences that could easily be referenced to the other. For better or worse. "You never stand up for me with your friends or family," he would complain. "You never say how pretty I am anymore," she would lament. They both looked at each other as habits that now needed to be broken.

The twisting and twirling of her hair as she drove was no longer cute. His love for discussion, cooking, and sex were no longer appreciated. Each were being overshadowed by the other insurmountable issues causing distress in their lives, and neither was able to completely communicate what they were feeling to the person that was closest to them. The ties that bonded them were slowly unraveling and each stood helpless to stop it.

He would retreat and she would mourn. He felt terribly conflicted and she appeared resolute, while inwards she was equally conflicted. New jobs, new towns, new lifestyle, new dynamics, and illnesses. It all came at once. It all came with the force of a meteor crashing to the ground and darkening all of the area that once glowed so brightly. Where was the light and where was the answer. It couldn't all be contained in a ring. There had to be more. Love was a not a ring.

It all ended rather abruptly for them both. There was talk that they would remain friends but such a desire was rather unrealistic. Her idea of friendship involved occasional text messages and dating other people. He couldn't quite get the hang of all of that, and didn't see the point to it anyway. It would never be what he wanted, and what was the point in fighting the tide. She drifted away and found port in other harbors.

"Do you ever think of her?"

"Yes, but I think of many people, daily. It's just something I do. Each, however, elicit different reactions as they cross my mind."

"Do you miss her?"

"I miss what we were and I often ponder how it all went to pieces, and how shocked all my friends had been when I expressed how unhappy I had been for so long. I never shared all of that with them because I never wanted it to influence their opinion of her."

"Were you able to take anything from it?"

"Yes. There will always be doubts and that's ok. There will always be others that look at you with affection and desire and while it is tempting to view it as desirable, it is an inadequate comparison. For you are only comparing what you have with something different and something you don't know. There will always be temptations and life is a series of gut checks. It also changed the way I offer people advice in a particular way."

...

"When my friend recently asked me if she should break up with her boyfriend, I asked her if she was happy with the type of person that he was and whether she felt it was something the two of them could work on, noting it was not for me to decide whether or not she should be with him. It was up to her if she liked him enough to stay with him, as she was the person that would have to wake up with him every morning. Sometimes, I can be more direct with my advice, depending on the situation. I have found that friends often don't like the people that hurt us, but that this opinion can quickly change when the hurting stops."

And ... Cut

"It was more like a cliche."

"I hate cliches."

"They really do suck until one of them actually comes true and then they can be profound. No longer is it happening in some silky sweet scene of flashing lights upon an expansive screen. Now you are suddenly the player and as amazing and intense as it feels, no one is really experiencing it with you, and if they are, they probably aren't partaking of popcorn and Coke as the scene unfolds."

"Oh, please, let me experience it with you. My heart is all a flutter."

"Your Ben Stein impressions are completely lost on me."

"That is most unfortunate. Maybe we should just go see a movie. That new James Bond flick is out. Eva Green is hot and I bet there will even be some daring cliffhangers."

"So there I was, in the middle of absolute chaos. I felt like the whole world was coming in on me at once. Phone calls, deadlines, demands on my time and everyone wanted everything immediately. And suddenly she appeared, melting everything and everyone else away and I knew it would be ok."

"You make me sick."

"It was like one of those scenes where the whole room is teaming with people as they swirl past the hero until suddenly his eyes land upon the woman across the room, and immediately nothing else is in focus or even matters."

"No wonder why I always feel sick after chic flicks. Couldn't you be simple and feel that way about a car?"

"It might get better mileage."

"Definitely more than you will out of that story. You don't share that one in mixed company, do you?"

Be Yourself

Despite what you might think, there was actually a point to my previous post. Other than it being one of my favorite mental pictures, it illustrates a point that I was trying to express to someone the other night. We were discussing dating and getting to know other people in general. Her position was that we should all be who we really are from the outset, which I think is a great ideal but one that I feel is rarely ever achieved. You simply are not going to know that other person through two dates or ten dates. It's going to be a process and this results from so many factors.

Some people are exceptionally private, like the friend I was driving to the airport. She wasn't going to tell me what was wrong until it suddenly struck her that it was now ok and safe to tell me. Sometimes it's because the situation doesn't arise. I wouldn't have known she was afraid of flying unless I had driven her to the airport that day, or some other event triggered such a conversation. Other times, we just don't know the other person well enough yet. I'm not necessarily going to get into a huge religious or political discussion with someone on the first or second date because I don't even know if I like them yet and what's the point of wasting all of that effort and time. Besides, why discuss inherently controversial things. Often beginnings of relationships are calm because it's still easy not to rock the boat. We can let more things slide because we aren't even sure we'll talk to the other person again.

Again, this is all grey because it all depends on the two people in the situation. There's nothing that says the person sitting across from you on that first date won't be that soul that you just feel completely comfortable confiding every facet of your life to right then and there, but I would say the odds of that are fairly low - I can only be so many places, people. Secondly, even if you did all of that on the first night, where are you really? You're just two people that hung out one night that still might never talk again. The conditions that you met under may never replicate again. What if the next time you meet, you're stressed or tired or some other variation of your normal self. You can't be all of the subtle variations of yourself all at once.

Being yourself is not as easy as it often sounds because while we are who we are, we are not always who we are. "Though we share so many secrets, there are some we never tell."

Flying

She sat in the car and began adjusting the stereo. The music, quite obviously, did not suit her mood. However, the next selection only suited her briefly. In the interim, she began moving objects in my car, thoroughly distracting me from driving. I started to wonder if I had ever ridden in the same car with her before, as such constant fidgeting would normally have been punishable by death or at least avoidance of the same vehicle. Suddenly I realized that I had known her for a year; we went lots of places together; of course, I had ridden with her before, but she had never been like this. What the heck was wrong with her?

One cannot ask these questions of her because not only will you not get a response, you'll make it less likely that you'll ever actually find the answer you ultimately seek. No, with her it is much more like fishing, where you wait in the bitter, bitter cold, and hope that something bites. (In Florida the fishing is comparably warmer, but not at all what I am used to.)

Traffic was quite a nuisance and we were late as it was. Her flight was leaving in a couple of hours and I needed to get her there in time for check-in. In my world, check-in is merely a guideline and not a rule, as I've sailed through security in as little as ten minutes as the airport crew rush me through all the procedures. However, the hour minimum to her was mandatory and not to be deviated from. I had arrived to her house on-time but she, of course, was late. The story of her life, late for everything but always moving like a small tornado. Truly a marvel to watch.

She picked up my iPod. The nice thing about an iPod is that even if you have never touched one before in your life, you quickly figure out how to access everything on it without much direction. The cooing sounds of Norah Jones seemed to be calming her down, or maybe I had just gotten used to her colorful animation. No, she was slowing. Something was about to come out of her; she was getting to that stage where lucid communication was possible.

"I'm afraid of flying."

"What?"

...

"Well I guess that explains things."

The Results Are In

After I had finished my first round of physical therapy yesterday morning, I saw my doctor who reviewed my report and my MRI scans and informed me that I had not one, but two torn tendons. Yes, that's right, boys and girls. I don't do anything halfway. Actually, it is my belief that one of the tears occurred during college, which would explain the pain I have experienced ever since then with certain shoulder movements. However, I have no way of knowing for sure.

One of the tears is a complete tear and the other is a partial tear. However, because the pain has been lessening with time and because the tendons are in my shoulder, my doctor would like to try physical therapy through Christmas time to see if my shoulder improves. If it does then I don't need surgery. If it doesn't or if it worsens then he has to cut me. I'm not really looking forward to getting cut open, which is probably what will have to happen - at least for the complete tear, and I doubt my shoulder will ever really be the same again. However, I am happy that I don't work at Wal*Mart and at least have insurance that covers a portion of the cost of all of this.

As I'm injured and am involved in too many activities again, I haven't been able to work out as much and have devoted the marginal amount of time I do have to both cooking and discovering new and wonderful Websites to share with you. (I cooked, and surprised my friend who was just in the car accident with, a pumpkin pie from scratch (even the crust) because one of the last things she asked me to do before the accident was make her a pumpkin pie.)

One of the Websites I found is for a smallish nonprofit organization that provides a free phone number and voice mail for people that really need it. For example, a homeless person that's looking for a job - so that they can receive messages from potential employers and actually schedule interviews, or a woman with no money who is leaving a domestic violence situation and who needs a way to stay in contact with the people that actually care about her. It's a really cool organization, in my opinion, and Cisco seems to like them too, as they gave them a $2.5 million grant in 2003.

The other site was just too cool not to write about: Ever wanted to have an extramarital affair but couldn't figure out how to pull it off? Can't find that 'seminar' to attend so that you can sneak away and get the sweet lovin' you need? Well, these folks are here to help. (Note: the company's Website is down so you may need to visit Google's cached version).

Personal Injuries

In the not so distant past, I inflicted myself with two injuries, but only one of which is relevant for this post today. I went to the gym, and didn't even get the weight for my first set over my head before I felt excruciating pain in my shoulder. I had hoped that it would subside, that it was merely a strain, but the pain wouldn't go away. Even when I was in Italy, it was hurting. So I scheduled an appointment with a good orthopedic surgeon over here.

The meeting went a little like this. "You have damaged the bicep muscle that runs up into your shoulder. However, I cannot determine the severity. You don't appear to have extensive pain so it is possibly only frayed or has a small tear, in which case physical therapy will heal it. Alternately, you might have really ripped it, in which case you'll need surgery and physical therapy. Given that you don't appear to have extensive pain, I think we should try physical therapy first."

"It's popping too."

"Ok, MRI it is."

"But you just said 'physical therapy'."

"You just said 'popping'."

He had me there. I had just said 'popping'. Why had I said popping? Why, oh why? I did not like the thought of an MRI. I liked it even less when he told me I needed a special MRI where they would have to inject me first, as I hate needles, and I absolutely hated the concept of it when I learned that the injection fluid will make me burn inside. At this point, I really wondered why the hell I hadn't kept the whole popping business to myself, and why couldn't they give me a solution that wouldn't burn.

The MRI was scheduled for last week, but the night before I went, I received a phone call. The MRI room had sprung a leak that day during a ferocious rain storm we were experiencing and the machine was damaged. So my scan was delayed ... until today. In a couple of hours, I'll be going in, popping a Valium and preparing for something that I'm really not looking forward to. I was doing pretty well at feeling sorry for myself until I received a phone call yesterday from my friend, who informed me that our mutual friend had just been a really bad car accident. Now it's hard for me to feel squeamish and not feel guilty.

Italy Days 6 through 8 (Florence, Sienna, and Rome)

Because I just cannot take drawing this out any longer and because the last few days all sort of bunch together in my brain, with lots of interesting isolated events, but nothing I feel like really focusing on here, I will try to cover the final days of my trip in a more fast and loose, cursory style.

My remaining days in Italy went fairly smoothly, as I attempted to spend as little time as possible with my companion and as much time as I could doing my own thing. This really only worked in Florence, but once I was on my way to Sienna, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel and truly felt there was no challenge I could not face.

The day I spent on my own in Florence was rather uneventful. I went and found the post office, via the British Embassy (don't ask) and mailed the one post card I had been requested to send. Although, upon my return I was informed that I was supposed to send a magnet (not a post card) and that they had never actually received either. This was really irritating to me - not because I had someone complaining to me about what I hadn't given them, but more because I had spent so much time finding the darn post office and given up a visit to the palace gardens and the darn thing still hadn't gotten to where it was directed.

I visited another couple of museums and found what was allegedly the best gelato in Italy. It isn't, though. The best gelato I found in Italy is at a place called Gelato de Medici in Florence and it is tasty. It is also outside of the city proper and would not be easily located by most tourists. However, if you happen to get lost and stumble upon it in the northeastern area of the city, I highly recommend that you just stop whatever you are doing and eat because you will likely never have the opportunity to experience that flavor again. (Although, there are many other good gelato places in Italy.)

That night, we all went out to a bar where you would buy a single drink and then eat from this buffet for free until there was nothing left to eat. This was my kind of place. Although, there still wasn't very much meat to be had and I mostly ate pasta and risotto. We then wandered around for a bit and climbed to a summit located a little outside of the main city and admired the night view of the city below. I attempted to take a decent picture of the view, but my camera does not seem to be well suited for night photography and I was eventually forced to give up.

Once we got back down, the women were tired and went off to journey home, but the rest of us went to a local pub. It was pretty cool because almost everyone here were college students and they all spoke English. The majority of them seemed to be much younger than me and I didn't really have very much to discuss with them, but I at least understood the bulk of the words coming out of their mouths. It was nice to not feel so isolated and alone.

On our way up the road, away from the pub, the sole remaining girl in our group let out a shout. It appears some stranger behind me had taken his date's head and slammed it against the stone wall a couple of times. One of the guys in our group was already going after the attacker so the three other guys joined in. This seemed to be probably the coolest thing ever. I was about to get into my first Italian street brawl and I had three other chaps backing me up. It was foolproof. I remember thinking that I was never going to get back to the States and that I'd have to call the American Embassy before the night was over, but still feeling that it was totally worth it. I was also fairly sure that the guy might be able to take at least two of us.

The fight never actually happened, and all we really did was distract him long enough to allow her to retreat back down the road, where there were more people. This, however, seemed to be an acceptable solution to us, as he wasn't likely going to be allowed to beat her up in front of even more people. So our work was done, even though two of us still wanted to go kick his ass. Half of me just wanted to do it to see how it would all work out.

The next day (day seven), we boarded our train to Sienna and bid adieu to all of the wonders and delights of Florence.

We arrived and upon learning our first choice hotel was full, proceeded to the nearest convent. I felt we had to stay with the nuns for our last stop in Italy. After all, had it not been a nun that had helped us so much in Assisi? Plus, it was close and had forty rooms. They couldn't possibly all be filled we figured. Fortunately, our logic appeared to be correct and a room was acquired. Once in our room, we learned that the showers here didn't even have doors, which we felt should make showering even more exciting the next morning.

We then set out to explore the main attractions of the city, which included a large bell tower (with approximately 500 steps). The city was a really pretty place, but kind of an annoying one to walk around in because you could not really go anywhere without walking up and down enormous hills. It was like Assisi in that respect, but not as scenic (in my opinion) and was more eclectic in its elevations. However, we were able to quickly cover the main sites in a very short amount of time in our first and second (day eight) days there. After a little sightseeing on day eight, I finished the rest of my shopping and we found our way back to the train station and to Rome. My companion had used her frequent flier miles (she accrues through work) to book us a room at the Hilton adjacent to the airport in Rome so that we wouldn't have to wake up too early to get to our early morning flight the next day. It wouldn't have matter, though, as I could not sleep at all that night and was up and ready to go well before any alarm was set to go off.

We met some cool Americans for our flight home (day nine) and helped the teenager with them get her passport stamped and get through security. It was pretty cool to be able to socialize with random people again. We landed, made it through security twice (once in Rome and once in Paris because somehow even though you never leave the secured area, they have to check you again), caught our connecting flight, which departed an hour late, and flew home. I dropped my companion off at her apartment and haven't spoken to her since.

Italy Day 5 (Florence)

We arrived at the Florence train station and set out to locate the people that would be letting us stay with them. My traveling companion's father had some folks he knew (around our age) that had offered to let us stay with them. I would be staying with a guy and she would be staying with a woman. I thought this was owing to our sexual orientations, but learned upon our arrival that they had been expecting two women.

Locating our hosts proved to be a little difficult, and my companion became irritated that I had decided to exit on the left side of the train station, when the parking lot was located on the right. Note that there was no way for either of us to know which side of the station the parking lot was on, and we didn't actually need the lot to meet our hosts anyway, as they parked away from the station anyway. This did not keep her from becoming irate and lecturing me on the art of meeting people. In retrospect, I'm still surprised that I never lost my temper with her the entire time I was on the trip.

Once we were settled in, we set out for some lunch and then visited the Duomo and Medici Chapel. They were both very impressive. We even hiked up the over 400 stairs to the top of the Duomo to gaze upon the city below. The view was beautiful, and a cold front had just pushed through the day before, forcing all of the haze out of the atmosphere and making the view absolutely crystal clear. Finally, we eventually wandered back to where were to meet our hosts and found a cool souvenir shop where I was able to acquire nearly all of my gift souvenirs for the folks at home.

At this point, I was fairly sure that I really couldn't take any more sacred art. In my opinion, there were only so many different ways you could paint the cross and various scenes from the Bible, and I was fairly sure that I had seen them all, or at least as many as I could take. This seems somewhat understandable, after I had spent five days doing practically nothing but staring at sacred art and architecture. My companion was driving me a little crazy and I was getting pretty tired of eating starch every day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It wasn't that I didn't like it. I just wanted more (or any) meat for my money.

Our hosts came home and we eventually walked to dinner. The person leading us (the woman my companion was to stay with) had a fairly terrible sense of direction and we got lost for at least an hour. My companion never complained once, but I knew it was driving her absolutely nuts. I thought it was somehow fitting that she was to be staying, and led home, by this directionless woman.

My companion informed me that she was going to Pisa the next day, but I had opted to forgo this city, as I was told by many that the only real item of note there was the Leaning Tower and I didn't want to spend a bunch of Euros and time on a train with my travelling mate to go see a silly tower that I knew would be leaning.

Dinner was really good. We ate with a few other Italians that worked with our hosts and I had one of the largest calzones I had ever had in my life. It was really good and then we spent the remainder of the night playing soccer and volleyball in the middle of the square outside. It had a ton of other locals there and they were all singing (I distinctly remember Pearl Jam) and drinking until after we went home at about 1am. Bear in mind that this was in the middle of the week. Those Italians sure do know how to have fun.

Italy Day 4 (Assisi)

After our rude awakening and after my traveling companion had given the bathroom a good washing, we set off to explore the city that is Assisi. (Incidentally, I have pictures of the entire trip posted with captions online, but some of the photos are personal and I've been trying to decide how to handle this. At some point, I will transfer over the personal ones to a private album and only leave the public ones up and post a link here. However, until that day comes, I have to know you and you have to email me and request the link.)

Assisi is commonly associated with St. Francis, who believed that the church should be more interested in simplicity and not so pretentious in its displays. The city itself, is really rather hilly and you can't get much of anywhere without walking up or down, and it remains basically unchanged from more ancient times. It even still have the wall to the city intact. For me, this was much more like the Italy I had wanted to see, much less touristy and far more authentic feeling.

One thing we learned was that after doing Rome in three days, doing any other city was a piece of cake, more or less. We were able to walk the entire span of the city in very little time and the number of sights to see was far less compared to the ancient Roman city. This afforded me the time to take a long secluded three mile uphill walk (and hike) to St. Francis' private sanctuary. (They even still hold Mass in the woods up there.) Most people take a taxi to the Sanctuary, but my feeling was that if St. Francis could do it, I could do it.

The sanctuary is really an amazing area for nature lovers and they have hiking and biking trails that you could likely explore for many hours. Unfortunately, by the time I got there, I no longer had many hours. However, the journey up was a bit humorous to me, as lots of people making the walk up have hiking shoes and gear. I had basketball sneakers and a pair of cargo shorts, with my trusty iPod. I'd get to a resting point and take a two minute break and see a few hikers (usually from Germany) come up with their big packs and they'd look at me - this strange little fellow with none of the required gear.

Hours later, I returned (going down was so much easier than going up - except for the falling rocks) and we went to dinner, which was good because I had neglected to eat the whole day and had built up a bit of an appetite. The restaurant we chose was really cool. There were no other patrons there when we arrived and it was definitely off the beaten path. I had pasta and Italian sausage and my companion had rabbit, which she wanted me to try, but after having the sausage, there was simply no way I could do it. I simply could not bring myself to blemish the delightful flavor that was still swirling in my mouth. I have never had sausage that good. (Minor caveat - when I go to an Italian restaurant in America, I am always served bread and there is olive oil on the side with herbs in it. I was never served this way the entire time I was in Italy.)

The next morning, we left for Florence - the city that I awaited with great anticipation, after so many people (not the least of which being Jill) told me what an amazing city it is.

Italy (Night 3/Morning 4) Assisi

After exploring Rome for the third day, we boarded a train and headed to Assisi. For those of you that have no idea where I'm talking about, you can read more about it. Basically, it's a small city located in Umbria, but that probably doesn't tell many of you very much more than when I said we headed to Assisi. However, if you take a gander at this map, you can more easily see where I went. One thing I have to say about traveling is it sure will help you learn your geography.

So the train ride was basically uneventful. My traveling companion looked at me with raised eyebrow upon learning that I wrote in my journal everyday. Apparently, this somehow conflicted with the very serious reading she was doing across for me, or somehow didn't comport with what she felt a journal was meant to be. Perhaps a journal, in her mind, is only met to be updated with significant events - like meeting the Pope or witnessing a bank robbery - I'm not sure. All I know is that it clearly did not meet her approval that I was updating my journal again. I mean, it had only been a day.

So the train ride was mostly uneventful. We did meet a young Albanian girl traveling with her family who desperately wanted to make friends with us and talk, but there was quite a language barrier. This did not dissuade her from trying as hard as possible to teach us and I have to say it was immensely entertaining. It also helped keep my traveling companion from absolutely stressing out that we had missed our stop or were going the wrong way or some other ridiculous thing. As soon as we went through a stop that wasn't in her little book, there was no calming her down, and despite her professions that she was calm and it wasn't a "big deal", you could tell from her inability to sit still and her constantly looking everywhere from some sort of direction that she was immediately stressed. Enter the Albanian girl to set things right. (We had just been to the Vatican and St. Peter's Cathedral that day so I was pretty much feeling God was at work.) Now if you don't think that was divine, wait for what comes next.

There we are, waiting at our bus stop, outside the train station in the cold. (OK, it was probably 50, but for me and the other Italians there that's pretty darn cold.) And in walks the nun. Now seeing nuns, priests, and monks in Italy is not rare. I think they are about as prolific as ancient monuments in Rome, but I had never seen one waiting for a bus. She walked up to me and asked me what time it was. Upon figuring out that I didn't speak Italian and she barely spoke English, she stared at my watch with me and figured out whether she had understood what I had tried to tell her. My traveling companion came over a few minutes later and was able to communicate a little better with the nun and explained to her where we were trying to stay for the night. (We had no hotel reservations after Rome, so we were totally winging it.) Upon boarding the bus, the locals and the bus driver burst into a spirited discussion about where we should get let off for our hotel. They ended up letting us off one stop early, which was good because our planned stop would have involved walking down a whole lot stairs, and the nun walked us to our hotel. How cool is that? I decided God was totally on our side at that point, and we got to the hotel and got a room. We had to get a triple, which was a little bit more than the double we had planned on, but it was worth it.

We hadn't eaten dinner so we went to try and find somewhere still open. In Rome or Florence this would not have been much of an issue, as Italians generally eat pretty late anyway and 8 or 9 at night is just about the time they show up for dinner. However, in Assisi, getting food at 10PM was not going to be easily accomplished. We settled for whatever was open, and I think I had some sort of pizza. We had planned to sleep in the next morning. However, we quickly learned that was so not going to happen, as you could hear absolutely all of the outdoor sounds perfectly from our room - the car driving past, the people walking, the churches bells (oh, I said churches) - and all of them conspired against us sleeping anywhere past 7. So I got up to take our shower, which ended up being tricky.

Our shower didn't really have walls. It sort of had doors that were to act as walls, but if you were in the shower too long and the water was too high, you'd quickly overflow into the remainder of the bathroom. I quickly realized this before even getting into the shower and was very strategic in my water usage and showering. I came out and warned my companion. She came out a while later and informed me that she had more or less flooded the bathroom. Convinced that it had to be a problem with the drain, she later complained to the hotel folks, who sent a young Peruvian goddess over to mop up my companion's mess and provide us with new towels. (The next morning pretty much went the same way for my companion. She just couldn't quite seem to get a handle on using less water pressure or something.)

Clean and awake, off we went to explore the splendors of Assisi.

Rome (Days 2 & 3)

My second two days in Rome were mostly spent looking at really old things. That's the thing about Rome, you can't really go anywhere without stumbling over some ancient building or monument, or something else equally impressive. This is the reason Rome has been having such a hard time creating a third subway line - every time they go digging, they find something historical. Those Romans sure did like to build.

We went to the Colosseum and Palatine Hill, which is where a huge ancient castle stood for many, many years. Most or all of the marble from these two immense structures was taken for the Vatican. Apparently, while it's good to be the king, it is sometimes better to be the Pope. It is also a "little known fact" that the Vatican never paid for most of the marble that was quarried for it. I guess it was hard to collect from the person that was supposed to be the representation of God.

We also went to the Vatican and St. Peter's Cathedral and a few places in-between. It is not easy to get into the Vatican and we had to wait in-line for almost three hours, which brings me to an interesting caveat. Lines mean nothing in Italy. I don't care if it's the line to get into the Vatican or the line in the grocery store. If you aren't cutting in line, you aren't Italian. The other interesting thing was that I wasn't allowed to take pictures inside most of the places I went to. So while I went there, I can't really prove it. I saw the Sistine Chapel, however, and was duly impressed. Although, I believe I might have been more impressed by the Raphael Rooms for their amazing use of light.

I am not a huge fan of sacred art and, to an extent, I think a lot of it is pretty ridiculous. However, while I was there, I gained a new appreciation for much of what these artists were doing and attempting to convey. I saw the progression of the positioning of people and the way light is reflected and represented. I saw the importance that the artists attached to certain sections of biblical text and their tireless devotion to achieving a finished product that was often simply amazing. At the same time, I was often struck with all the adornments that decorated these places of God and was left to puzzle over whether all of the money used on these things might not have been better spent on feeding the poor. However, I learned that I was not alone in this question and there were many spiritual leaders even back then that thought along these same lines.

Each day, we walked for about ten hours and tried to see as much as possible. The food was always good, but it was far more starchy than I had expected. The thing I had to remind myself of was that Italians were poor and often Italian food was peasant food. So they cooked mostly what was cheap and in great supply, bread, pasta, and other various starches are easy to come by - as is really good cheese. However, if you're looking for meat, you're looking to spend an awful lot to get it, and usually the two do not mix. If there is any meat added to a starch, it is often a very small amount. For example, a panini will often have a single slice of prosciutto. Pizza will have a hunk or two of sausage or ham if you ask for it. Pasta might have a few hunks of meat in its meat sauce. However, more often than not, you're usually eating a lot of starch and drinking wine, which is cheaper or about as expensive as water.

Rome still remains an amazing city and I would say that if you are only ever going to see one city in Italy, Rome would have to be at the top of the list. There is just so much to see in it.

Rome (Day 1)

Just to start out, I want to make clear that I'm not sure I will be giving a day by day account of my trip, but I thought the first day of it deserved a little something special. I am still working on the photos.

We arrived in Rome the day after we left. For those of you playing at home, I got on a plane at about 5:30 in the afternoon on a Friday, but didn't arrive in Rome until about midday Saturday. Fortunately, our hotel was near the central train station in Rome (Termini). So after taking the express shuttle from the main airport to Rome (11 Euros poorer - the rate has gone up since the tour books were published - and about a half hour later) we completed our brief walk to our hotel. Of course, it being midday and all (even though I hadn't really slept), we showered and immediately set off to take in some of the sights, sounds, and smells that are Italy.

Our journey began at the Spanish Steps. All great journeys begin with a single step they say, or in this case, several. I think it was as soon as I got to there that I felt Rome was like Disney World. Just the amazing amount of tourists and folks crowding around both The Steps and every other major sight I saw in Rome made me feel that I could have had the same experience going to Epcot, and it would have been cheaper, dammit.

Rome has some amazing architecture, however, and is truly a splendor to behold. You really cannot go anywhere without seeing something impressive, even if it's just the pizza in the window of a local eatery or the gelato that flows like water. Something is bound to impress. My travelling companion was lured in by a painting in one of the squares that she decided she simply had to have. So after looking at all of the others, and really considering it for a while, she gave in and spent the 100 Euros necessary to acquire it. (100 Euros was half price, but really everything was half price unless you were really dumb like this one girl we saw who quickly expressed her love for everything to the kiosk folks).

Pictures taken and painting in hand, it was time for dinner. I had mapped out all of our food destinations in every city we were going to before we arrived. So off we went to a place that even had red and white checked table clothes and of course, house wine (Chianti). (For those of you that don't know, the house wines come in unmarked containers. I say containers because sometimes it came in bottles, sometimes in carafes, and other times in pitches.) The food was so good, I decided I needed to have two meals - a pizza and then a full plate of pasta with Italian sausage. While I know German sausage is supposed to be a marvel to behold, I have always been somewhat partial to the Italian variety.

Afterwards, we meandered home and I took a Tylenol sleeping pill and passed out by ten (Italy time), 4PM (US).

Travelling Companions

"We only ever do what I want to do!"

Are you kidding? Were we really going to argue about this. This type of argument could only ever possibly occur with a woman. (Why can't a woman be more like a man?) But there it was, we were in a hotel room in a distant part of the world and she was challenging me to, I guess, force her to do something she didn't want to do(?). It really made no sense.

I attempted to explain to her that the central focus of my trip was food and drink and not the many other sights and splendors that surrounded us. So really my only priority was where we ate and drank and I had always been good at vocalizing these desires to her. Otherwise, I was more than happy to see the sights she felt were most important.

"It can't be all about food and drink."

"It can't?"

"That just doesn't make sense to me."

"We're just different people with different priorities. You shouldn't trouble yourself so much about it. You won't find me doing things that I don't want to do." (Other than being on this trip with you, you crazy chic.)

The funny part was that I could tell, over the course of living and being with this person for a little over a week, that she and I could have been great friends for hanging out and just being regular friends. However, we were not built to travel and live together. Such things can sometimes be a difficult thing to gauge before the situation is at hand. You have to make sure you are with the right type of person for trips such as these, or risk spoiling the bulk of the experience. I had not taken the time and care necessary to make this selection.

My trip to Italy, to be sure, was really amazing. I saw artwork and scenery that was simply breathtaking. I went on nature hikes and met locals and tasted foods that were so incredibly delicious. However, it would have been a much more pleasurable trip and my experiences would have been more enjoyable if I had been travelling with someone else. I would say, however, that the fact that I was still able to eek out a good overall experience is simply a testament to the splendidness that is Italy.

Euro -J

I had attempted to post this through an outside program, but it - for whatever reason - did not seem to actually appear after it reflected completion. In any event, this is simply a post to notify you all that I am indeed back. I have even posted pictures into an online account for your viewing pleasure, but I have not been able to isolate the private photos from the public ones, as of yet. So, even though it pains me, you will have to wait to see more until I have had more time to organize.

The Swing of Things

Everything within me is a bit of a tangled mess, at present. I have much to write, but all of it winds up elsewhere, as I feel that most of my thoughts and expressions are simply not presently suitable for this forum. So I end up with much written but this is poorly reflected here. As such, I've been searching my brain trying to find a way out of this mess, and trying to think of a new direction I can take with my writing here.

Part of me wishes this blog was political because then I truly would not be wanting for writing material. What with a Congressman caught in a homosexual sex scandal, the war in Iraq being linked to increased levels of terrorist threats, George Bush being George Bush, McCain flip flopping like a champ, the Democrats not able to find a single coherent candidate, a new Bill that is to become law that allows my government to wiretap my phone and read all of my emails if they don't like me one week, and the Bill that allows Bush to interpret the Geneva Conventions. I think I could write for days, and that was just within the past two weeks. However, I leave such things to the far more capable hands of people like Thomas.

My best friend has complained that she would like to see more of my daily events and happenings on my blog. I tend not to put so much of that on here, though, because I don't know how many people I want to have access to this information. It's fine if only my friends read this blog, but I have people I've never even talked to reading this thing. Somehow it just feels ... inappropriate. However, perhaps a little taste of this will do for now. I'm open to other topic ideas, should any of you (the collective masses) have any.

I had a girl ask me to help her cheat last night. I'm not sure if it would actually be considered cheating, but it definitely walked the line. She wanted me to do all the research for a paper that she is writing. See, this is a very good reason to be dumber than your friends, no one will ever ask you to do their work for them. For example, I would never ask George Bush to interpret ... but I digress.

I still haven't packed for my trip. To be honest, until Monday, I wasn't even really excited about my trip. However, I chose Monday as the day to sit down and prepare my eating itinerary, or at least map out all the places I wanted to eat at while in the various Italian cities I'll be touring. It was during this planning phase, as I read about the various delicacies I would be experiencing that I became quite excited. For me, most of traveling comes down to company and food. Scenery is nice, of course. However, as Mark Twain once said, "Go to heaven for the climate, but to hell for the company." (This could lead to a discussion of the religious happenings in my life, but won't.)

I always forget how much I love baseball games until I go to them again. I went to one on Sunday with my little brother. We had such an awesome time. Baseball cheerleaders are fantastic because they actually look like women you could really date. In fact, they look an awful lot like one of my ex-girlfriends, but that's an entirely different story. However, cheerleaders alone are not my reason for loving baseball. You just get an entirely different fan base at baseball games, usually, and most of the people are so cool. I have to say, though, that there aren't as many hot women that attend Florida Marlins (baseball) games as attend Florida Panthers (hockey) games. I could make my blog all about baseball, but I think such a task would be best left to the writing talents of Jill and Rachel.

Upcoming Excitement

I have been very far removed from the land of blog, as I have been fully consumed with thoughts and events that are wholly inappropriate for this forum. Make no mistake, posts have been drafted and journal entries have been made, but all of it still involves work and private reflection. When I haven't been preoccupied with these thoughts and events, I have been preparing for upcoming trip, which brings me the most peace I seem to be able to find as of late.

Somehow it is incredibly reassuring to know that next week I will be in Rome, spending time with a woman I barely know, but who I will likely know much better after a week alone in one of the most romantic spots in the world together. However, before I get there a lot of work has to be accomplished. Case files need to be placed in reasonable order, and somehow I need to find the time to do all the cleaning, organizing, packing, and reading I still have to do for the trip itself.

I can't wait to be able to look out my window and see the splendors and sights of Italy.

Fatigue

"I don't like him."

His friend stared at him, silently pained. "But I love him. He is such an amazing guy. Besides, you've never met him; you don't even know him. All my other friends like him."

"I don't have to meet him to know that I don't like him. He's insecure, possessive, and dangerous. Be careful."

Today he received a phone call from his friend. Listening to her, his heart skipped a couple of beats, as she told him she was moving halfway across the country to escape her lover. He had just beaten her up the night before, and was, presently, in jail. You could hear the pangs of sorrow and regret in her voice. She had tried to defend him to the police - begging them not to arrest him, swearing that he hadn't really hurt her, but they were unpersuaded as they stared at the black and blue marks formed on her body.

You could hear that hope in her voice. You could feel that desire welling up within her to be close to him again. To be back with this man and hold him close again - the emotion fighting to break free from the grasp of her reason and logic.

"I need to move. I'm leaving tomorrow."

"I know. It's ok. You're going to be alright."

As he spoke to her, he felt a sense of pain, anger, and sadness wash over him. Somewhere there was that little person in his head - that person that had predicted all of this so many months ago. He had seen it all unfold before it had begun and had tried desperately to warn his friend before the incident occurred. This miniature man had no desire to condemn with reproaches or any statements of I told you so. He simply wanted to give up and sulk, as he whispered quietly to himself, "I'm so tired of being right."

Detour

"I don't understand why you aren't following your own advice."

"I'm worried I'll be making a mistake."

"You'll be alright, as long as you go with your gut. How often has your gut been wrong?"

"Never. Well there was that one night that I insisted I wanted a third helping ..."

"That's quite a track record. You're always complaining about others not listening to your advice. I think you should seriously consider giving yourself a good stern talking to and follow the path that you know is best for you."

"I don't like that path. It looks rather daunting, scary, and sad."

"No one ever said the right path would look nice and attractive at the outset. It's the right path because of where it leads. Sometimes the paths that are easiest and most inviting are the paths to our own pain and destruction."

"Like the gingerbread house in the fairy tales?"

"Yes, Goldie Locks. Like the gingerbread house."

Getting Personal

"You said what?!"

"Well she was annoying me."

"Man, remind me never to bug you."

"I knew there was no potential of her holding my interest for longer than the conversation anyway."

"The worst part is I know you did it completely matter of factly. You never even lost your composure for a moment. You carried on the whole discussion in a surgical like fashion. The entire experience was almost like a meditation for you."

"Would it be preferable if I lost my temper?"

"Oh, now that would have been exciting. That serene calmness that spreads across you when you're mad can be so unnerving. I swear, it takes an act of God sometimes to get that passionate anger to come out of you anymore. The day you find the woman that raise your ire will be the day I rejoice."

"Oh no you don't. We're not walking down that road this evening."

"Hmmm ... not so impassive on that subject are you?"

"We are so not talking about this."

"Wow. I'm intrigued."

Italy Bound

"I'll go to Europe with you if we can go to Italy."

And thus my trip, with a woman I barely know, was born.

In just a few weeks, I will be enjoying the beauty and splendor that is Italy. That's right, Florence, Venice, Rome, Tuscany, etc. I'll be there. Watch out Italy. I'm going on an extremely limited budget so I'm not entirely sure how much I'll be able to do while I'm there, but I intend to do as many people things as possible.

Of course the unwritten rule applies - what happens in Italy, stays in Italy. Unless, of course, I somehow have sex with a gorgeous supermodel. Then it will stay completely confined to my blog, email, journal, and any other person that will possibly listen.

Playing It Safe

"I don't get it."

"You're not necessarily supposed to.

"When you truly fall in love it will often be the scariest and most exciting times of your life because you are actually risking everything.'"

"Why would one be afraid of falling in love?"

"Well I'm sure everyone, to one extent or another, has certain fears when they get involved with the person they think might be their one true lifelong love - what if they are the wrong one, what if we aren't a good match, will I stay happy, etc. Doubts and fears are natural, to an extent, but they can easily become debilitating. For example, some people have additionally strong fears, which can be brought on by the divorce of the person's parents, abandonment by a parent (or two), hurt in prior relationships, past abuse, etc. For these people, the stakes seem higher because they're short stacked."

"... I sense a metaphor coming."

"It's often easier for people to play the five dollar tables in gambling - stay with the person that could never possibly leave you, get into fundamentally flawed relationships that are doomed to fail, or something that has the net effect of allowing them to avoid the truly intimate relationship that has the most potential of hurting them. Everyone copes with this fear in their own way - everyone has their own tolerance for risk at the casino. Some can play the low stakes tables for the remainder of their days and find true joy and comfort in such an arrangement. However, they will never have as big of a payout (or as big of a loss) as the person playing at the high stakes no limit table where they bet big and they take they house."

"So dating is equivalent to gambling or a slightly absurd version of Ocean's 11?"

"Well ... it is a numbers game."

"So what about the people that confine themselves to the low stakes tables or the cycles of slightly worse than ideal matches in an attempt to 'play it safe', are they confined to that pattern forever?"

"It's all emotion based. Emotions are inherently irrational and when you have a negative developmental history - abuse, abandonment, low self-esteem, etc. - your emotions will often not lead you to the healthy outcomes that your rational side truly craves. Moreover, your emotional side will play tricks on your rational side and convince it that it really is getting what it wants. Psychotherapy is often the process of figuring out why you do what you do and then applying rationality to emotion and allowing your rational side a more powerful position in the choices you make. However, the person actually has to want to do this, and it's usually very rare to find people willing to put forth the effort to make the change. After all, safe is ... well, safe."

"Even if it doesn't lead to the most fulfilling relationship?"

"Emotion is attracted to what it knows. Hence, if you grew up being abused, you will often be attracted to either others you can abuse or people that will abuse you. The person with an overbearing parent may, in turn, become overbearing to their significant other or children or both. (We are often products of our parents.) The dynamic that is created will be what the person is used to, and so will be felt as familiar and safe. (This all occurs on an unconscious level and the person is usually never aware of what they are doing.) No one ever said emotions made sense."

"That's crazy."

"Yes, I suppose it is. The interesting thing about psychology is that no matter what you think of your actions and your behavior, you are right. The alcoholic that believes their drinking isn't a problem, the person in the hopelessly flawed relationship who sees it as love, the abusive person that sees nothing wrong with the three scars he just left, they are all right. It is rare that anyone can ever tell you what you are doing is wrong because the emotions will defend you against all rationality. This is why the adage exists that 'admission is the first step'. For without it, all you really have are avoidance and denial."

Catching Up

I know. I know. I haven't been posting. My life has just been rather ... intense, as of late. I've been changing cell phones and, consequently, updating everyone in my address book on my new number. I've been fretting over some of my friends and enjoying as much time as possible with them. I've been attempting to plan a trip for next month to Scottsdale, Arizona and the Grand Canyon, and I believe I have finally located at least one other person to accompany me to Europe. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, I've been spending time with my little brother, continuing to learn salsa, and working. You remember, I have a job.

I know, it's really no excuse for not writing. However, I really have been writing. It's just everything I have had to say as of late has belonged in my private journal, password protected and hidden away. The thoughts swirling through my head are simply not for public consumption. So instead, I will now attempt to talk about some random topic that's been kicking around in my head for over a week now with no real direction.

It has recently become apparent to me that I do not update my friendship designations very frequently. For example, if I form a best friend at one point in my life, in my mind, they remain my best friend indefinitely, unless and until they at some point cease to be my friend at all. Some have suggested that this causes immense confusion, as I always seem to have ten best friends at any given moment, which seems a little ludicrous. Even I don't think I have the time that would need to be invested in that many close relationships. I think part of the "problem" is that I tend to form very close and intimate relationships with people in my life. I end up knowing a couple hundred, but become close to just a few. The few that I remain close to are always very special.

The people I consider my best friends are still there for me whenever I need them. I have few friends that won't call me back the same day. Even the ones that live in foreign countries and are sometimes in isolated areas, lacking such luxuries as running water, will usually get back to me within a week. I think that commitment is part of what makes us all friends - we are all fully committed to the friendship and will always be there whenever the other one needs something. However, there is no denying that over time, mostly as a result of people scattering to different regions of the globe, I have grown apart from some of my closest friends. We no longer get to speak every day, or even every month. However, I know if I am ever in need they will be there, and we all try to keep up on one another's lives as much as possible.

How does one classify people like that? I can't just call them "friends" because I have many "friends" that I could never count on that way. Perhaps I need to invent a new classification system. Adding such designations as "close friend" and "acquaintance", but then I'll just be confusing myself, and potentially everyone else. Every day I would need to remind myself of what I had classified this certain person as the week before. Perhaps one should just classify such people as "true friends".

"People say that friends hold hands, but true friends don't need to, because they know that the other hand is always there."