Don’t Marry for Love

There’s something about being at the gym that makes me want to read fashion magazines. Perhaps it’s as encouragement, or some kind of masochism (me, covered in sweat, versus models, covered in bronzer) – or maybe it’s it’s because the other magazines my gym carries are financial exposés. Not that I dislike financial exposés, mind you – I even read them on purpose every now and then (I recommend the Motley Fool). Just not at the gym.

In any case: This evening. Gym. Fashion rag. In an interview, one woman says,

My (Comanche) mother taught me two things: One, always carry a gun. And two, don’t marry someone for love; marry someone you respect. Then love is guaranteed.

The gun, I can’t speak to (although I’ve always wanted a concealed weapons permit), but as far as love is concerned…

… Today, the New York Times ran an article titled “The Key to Wedded Bliss? Money Matters” – saying, at some level, the same thing; marriage (or, if you will, a committed/serious relationship) is about finding someone whose values you share, who – at the root level – you can respect.

So does respect always turn into love? No. Of course not. Can’t be.

But I suspect it happens a lot more often than love – or lust – turns into respect.

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So you have to look out for #1. You have to demand the same respect from your friends – and your significant others – that you give yourself, and that you give them.

If you can’t respect him (or her), and you think you’re feeling something (I’m not talking about with-benefits relationships here, clearly!) – then get out. Do it now. Don’t pass go, don’t wait to find out s/he’s sleeping with your best friend, don’t wait until you’re telling your coworkers you had an accident and fell down the stairs, don’t wait until s/he divorces you and takes your stock options, your sofa, and your self-respect. Get out, do it now, and don’t look back.

I’ve yet to regret walking away from anyone I couldn’t respect. It’ll be the same for you, I’m sure…

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Ah, and – from one closet romantic to another: Don’t forget to fall in love! ;)

All Quiet in my Head Tonight

Listening to: Armin Van Buuren, Kenny Burell.

In highschool I took French and Spanish at the same time. At the beginning, this was largely motivated – as I remember – by my mother and my sister throwing a (very) few French words around; I wasn’t going to get left out later on. So in 10th grade, I took French I and Spanish II, and just moved on from there.

It was difficult at first; I remember one quiz in particular – trying desperately to remember a French word and coming up with nothing but Spanish and English. Difficult, but certainly, not impossible.

It was, in many ways, my first experience with the labyrinthine complexities of the brain. Every now and then, I’d come to a plateau all at once – in French and Spanish, suddenly, I’d have a week where I couldn’t seem to remember anything, couldn’t seem to learn anything else. My language abilities would level off. Sometimes, the issue would even spread over into my English classes, or still further, into Calc or Physics, whatever it was. It’d last a week, even two – and then suddenly, my abilities would leap forward, all at once, and I’d be on the fast track again. It was as though my brain had reached some capacity, and stopped learning new things, in order to sort through the things it already had.

I feel as though that’s happening for me now, today. Just as in highschool, I feel as though I’ve reached a plateau. I can apply what I know, at work, but it’s hard to get ahold of new concepts. (Bugfinding, yes. Java learning… not so much). My dreams – again, just as in highschool – are intense, and very very strange.

… Incidentally, do any of you dream of metallic, ruined cities filled with holographic relics – or of zen gardens that go on forever – or enormous, purple, bloodwarm lakes, white cities rising on the horizon…? I do, and almost every night…

So, what’s the point of all this? I dunno. It’s not political, nor terifically scientific – but I feel I’ve reached a plateau. All’s quiet in my head tonight. I’m just reading, chilling, waiting for the path up to open for me again …

Chess with the masters

Woke this morning and tried to tame my hair into some semblance of normalcy before heading out. As the Mop is getting longer, it tends to stay down a little better, but i think i’ve yet to go more than about 3 days without some kindly stranger (usually with lip rings, tattoos, and a neon-shaded shag) complementing me on my “70’s haircut.” I have, on occasion, been tempted to ask one of these eclectic, electric strangers out, but have thus far restrained myself.

In any case, the Mop subdued for the time being, I headed out. Russian Hill, the neighborhood I’m staying in, is about as high as you can get in San Francisco and still be “in the city.” Pastel row houses, mini-terraces, every street leading up and over into the sky. The trolley cars’ chains clink and rustle against each other underground through the night, as though somewhere deep below, it’s raining, metal teardrops on the underside of the pavement. My dreams are full of this fluid, metallic sound, and then I wake in the mornings, half-disoriented, gray-white light seeping through the windows …

Russian Hill is something like Shadyside (in Pittsburgh), but on top of a hill, with more beautiful people, more variety. I’m finding San Francisco is really an understated city; every corner contains something beautiful, but very few of the people here seem predisposed to make a huge deal of it – as though living here says enough about you, without them needing (gauche, East Coast-fashion) to make a show of it.

I walked around a bit, talking on the phone (a good friend of mine is getting married. My cousin just turned 18. My sister’s grocery shopping in Chicago, where it’s some inhuman temperature far below freezing . . . ). Then took the #19 bus to see where it went, and wound up down near the civic center. Bought some dried cherries and a stalk of sugarcane at an outdoor market – remembering eating sugarcane in India at a village where they specialized in sugarcane, the sweet taste of sugar and the acrid smell of boiled dust . . .

Walked by a set of chess boards set out on tables in the sun, near the Powell station (BART). Old men, sitting around playing chess, as I’ve seen all over the world – Argentina, Istanbul, Brazil – a group of old men, wrinkles and a sharp sense of humor. I suspect many of the great geniuses of the world are sitting on street corners, eyes wrinkled against the glare, contemplating their next move; it’s always seemed a good endpoint for me – at the end of a life, to spend time exercising the mind, talking with friends, drinking mate or coffee or tea, chewing gum, watching the world change around you.

And so i stood and watched for a while, and then I put my fifty cents in, and we played chess.

I’m not bad – and I can say that honestly, knowing that at the same time, i’m not terribly good. I’ve achieved the first level or two, see past the pieces to the moves, and past the moves to the forces, and even, sometimes, past the force to the game – but there are levels and levels up; questions of intent, not just possibility, strategy, forking moves. The hardest thing, I think, with chess, is to see the game as a fluid thing, as a war building in intensity as we talk about language and immigration, jobs and pronunciations, one guy’s three “or four” jealous girlfriends. “I play slowly,” said my opponent, smiling, “like lava flowing.” A friend of his sat down, and helped me a bit; he played like a desperate swordsman, feinting and parrying, accepting losses i’d've found too risky, and ultimately, making a win.

“You know the difference between the top and the bottom of these tables?” said my opponent.

I: “No. Tell me.”

He: “The top is for chess, and the bottom, for gum.” He stuck his, freshly chewed, on the underside, and pulled a fresh piece. I offered him a dried cherry, made another move.

The sun moved in its accustomed course. A group of young black men break danced, robot-like, on the sidewalk. A tourist couple passed, lost.

Union Square. A woman, sleek and self-satisfied as a greyhound, sat in boots, long dark jeans, blue shirt, blue hat, long dark shiny hair, reading a book. I pass a gay couple – men, black and white, like opposing sides of a coin – arguing about the best angle for a photo they wanted to take. Tourists from Europe are everywhere, especially in department stores. The city feels quiet to me, often deserted (compared to Buenos Aires). People obey traffic laws. The light is different. Perhaps it’s the Bay that muffles so much of the city sound, or perhaps there are simply less cars in this city. Maybe it’s the hills.

Whatever it is, I keep feeling I’m in some other USA, apart from the East coast, something different and unique. Another vision of what and who we could be. The rest of the world keeps saying we don’t have any culture – but I dare them to come here and say it again. I can think of far worse national fates than the US of A becoming more like San Francisco, California . . .

The Author is Moving to San Francisco

A short update on Things: No, I don’t have a place to live past January 20th.

Yes, I’m aware that’s this Sunday, as in, the day before I start work, as in, five days from today.

Yes, I expect to find a place!

No, I haven’t turned in that big final project.

Or finished packing.

Or finished basically anything else I wanted to finish before Wednesday, when I leave.

But I’m working on it.

And, Yes, J, I love being “The Author” :P

Amazing how the holidays promote indolence

I’m working on a post, and I’ll hopefully have it up tomorrow sometime :)

The author has returned (once more)

… and writing shall resume.

Today, outside my office,
the clouds hang so low, they might as well be fog.
I’m less impressed by clouds and rain
than by those who carry hot pink umbrellas
just to spite the elements …

The author has gone to Chicago …

… and will return Sunday evening. Provided the plane gets off the ground this afternoon! It’s snowing like crazy here…

(cell phone pix…)

The Author has gone to Istanbul

I am leaving Wednesday, November 14th, and will return on the 20th.

DJ Tiesto is playing in Istanbul on Friday.

In the meantime, I’ve a couple other posts in the works. I’ll try and add one more before leave :) … Wish me luck :)

My Life

I’ve just returned from San Francisco – beautiful weather, 80 and sunny. Napa in the fall is incredible, wished I’d had more time. The vineyards turn rust-colored in the fall, slowly from the tops of the hills down, and the trees pale to gold. Road rolling away beneath the car …

Today is going well so far, and it’s only noon …

So a real, personal post!

For those of you who’ve been following my ongoing Fulbright grant application saga, you’ll be happy to know that IT’S ALL FINISHED!!!!!!

The application was deceptively simple; a form, two essays, one about the project I wanted to do (Venezuela, Higher Educational studies), and one about me, about who I am, what drives me. Then there were three letters of recommendation (standard) and this, the kicker, a “letter of affiliation” from someone in the host country. That’s the one you want to visit.

So, this is me making lots of (futile, sometimes frantic) phone calls to Venezuela. This is me panicking. This is me sending email after email, contacting organizations as far away as California, on and on … I finally found someone – we emailed, spoke on the phone, he agreed to help me, wrote and sent a letter … and then he sent me his complete bio – he basically invented the field I want to study. I was (and still am) blown away that he’d be willing to have some random student come down and be willing to look over my shoulder while I do this huge research project …

So I’m thrilled. And it’s out of my way. And so now I can move on to the next enormous project (huzzah?) :)

I’m currently working on my application for the Foreign Service (this is an exam, and then interviews, and then background checks, yadda yadda … ), I’ll be doing another fellowship/scholarship/grant application or two … and then there are job applications!

ah, yes, and then the ongoing research.

Feel like I’m living my life inside a computer these days … at least it’s a big box. And I have windows. The windows are amazing :)