8/

I won't lie Christmas was hard. There is something about family which I will never understand and it is perhaps this strange dynamic that fascinates me, to some degree. While I feel my family spent a large portion of our vacation together fighting, as I left yesterday morning, they each took a moment to mention that they would miss me. In their own way. My brother, teased me saying he would seen me soon enough. At eleven he has an odd sense of irony. My mother awoke at 5:00 am, despite saying she wouldn't to tell my grand parents that she and I see each other all the time and to make sure I'd left what I could not pack for her to bring home. So we could see each other again. My grandmother talked about the cheap rates on Jet Blue while she prepared a lunch I didn't ask for. My grandfather insisted on driving me to the airport, alone. Though I have been feeling this a lot lately, I learned a little life lesson. As each person baited me into seeing them, they were seeking my approval. I know, it sounds a little arrogant and basic, but bear with me. I have spent my entire life tring to pay my debt with these people. I have wanted nothing but to be validated and make good all the work they have put into me, but I found a humbling ideal in their goodbyes. The fact I exist is that validation. They have recieved their payment in being able to raise and be around me. They feel they have passed something on and because I am they vessel, they feel indebted to me. This I could not handle. How do you give approval to the one you seek it from?

My grandfather has a box marked DOD, for Destroy On Death. The idea behind this box is that my grandfather keeps things in it that are singularly important to him. They have, he argues, no value to anyone else. But the unspoken text behind this moniker is that he cannot part with them, so they are to be destroyed after his death. I cannot express the layered emotion this evokes in me, in ways beyond the role of a dutiful grandson. Here a man keeps his life's work in a box, certain it means nothing to anyone, even his family and closest friends. To him it is invaluable, but as he sees it, to others his life means very little. While on the surface, I do feel deeply sad about this, but moreover I am filled with admiration. In his seven decades, my grandfather has learned and passed on to me a simple lesson that has confounded me and rippled my life with strife: Though it will always seem that no one is interested in what you do, and that you honestly believe it may blink out of existance the moment you take your last breath, you must pursue it. From the way my grandfather talks there are acctually two reasons for this. The first is more poetic, that in between paying bills and desparately trying to stay alive in the society we inherited, what we do that we think doesn't matter bleeds into what we do everyday. Everything in that box is why my grandmother loves him, and in some ways why my mother is insecure. For me, my grandfather believed at most it held practicality that could advance me in life. The truely sad part is what he forgot; he forgot the life that happened to get it in there.

The second reason is more trite. No matter what you think, it will indeed mean something to someone when they find it. It is almost an arrogant statement to believe you could spend your life on something that means nothing. In fact, it can't. It is only a reflection of the shallowness of the viewer. This vacation, I saw what was in the box.

I finally found out what my grandfather spent the majority of his life doing. For years I have told all my friends that my grandfather worked on the first barcode. I still don't know if this is exactly true, but the real issue is that I could never pin down exactly what he did. I said he worked on it, but I could never say what he did. Now I know, he was a system analyst for IBM. What's funny about this is that what he did is very simliar to what I have found myself doing, and explains the spurs of inexplicable intrest I have in things such as web design. That's how I got him to open the box. My grandfather was awed that what he did could teach his grandson something. I am not sure I will ever get to experience this (as I have no intention of having children), but my grandfather swelled with a pride that belied his humility. As he pulled off the tape and trivialized the contents of the box, I could tell he was beside himself. He never believed he would get to see what was in there again as there would never be a reason to look at it. As he opened it he was able to relive the best part of his life, that as I mentioned, he thought he would never see and no one would be interested in. For that moment, I envied him

---

It's difficult for the left side of my brain to accept the myriad of ideas the right side constantly puts forth. I try desperately to solidify my emotions in to one identifiable block, not for others or to present a single identity to the public, but solely for myself.
While I know this is normal, I find it impossibly difficult.

---

I want to emulate those I love, and perhaps in this I lose my own voice. It seems I hate everything I say simply because I said it. It doesn't interest me. What I've found compels me to art, is that i can identify with it, that by having someone else say it, I feel vindicated, that I am not alone. Thus, when I reread my work, I do not feel that. I know what it has to say and unless I can contrive some amusement or find it particularly clever, there is no way to be vindicated, as enjoying my art still leaves me alone.

---

I am very scared of the future. Yet all those around me have faith in me, which I don't understand, because try as I might, I can't have faith in me.

7/

I am breathing deeply. Patience is in short supply. I think I have decided to actively abolish Christmas. It is possibly the worst holiday ever invented. Now, I'm sure there are some soft hearts out there who will freak out to think that a holiday of love and giving should be removed. On the other hand I'd be willing to bet there are some cynic who believe they've found a member of their brethren. (And let's not discuss the religious freaks who are trying to reclaim the entire winter in the name of their god).

Nah, let's discuss them, because my thoughts on that sort of, in an abstract sense, reflect my thoughts on the rest of the problem: They can all go fuck themselves. For those of you in the other categories, that goes for you too. In fact, today I am of the volition that the whole damn world should be ridiculously ashamed of themselves for letting this shit continue as long as it has. Aren't wars, poverty, and the obesity caused by eating American-ease buffet style enough?[See note] No. We need Christmas, a soul sucking ideal that has become so intangible and amorphous it absorbs other religions and really means absolutely nothing but guaranteed travel problems.

But proponents of the holiday express, "It's a season to celebrate all that we believe in" (and the Born-Again really want that to be Jesus, so much so they have started boycotts and hyphenation campaigns {Christ-mas}). And they're right. We should have a time to bring out all the things that make us who we are. Unfortunately, we seem convinced that Christmas only brings out the good qualities. We cling to the idea that we can some how amplify the generosity of our behavior and shine a light on the subtle virtues that may otherwise seem hidden the rest of the year. This is where we're dead ass wrong. We are embarrassingly wrong. We forget that we cannot be only virtuous. This ideal, if so practical as Christmas implies, would should be applied all through the year. Yet, the idea of celebrating holiday itself seems to imply that we cannot be expected to split the bad stuff off, at least not permanently. That's why we have a holiday to celebrate what we can.

So instead of acknowledging the flaws in our behavior, we ignore them. Christmas becomes the time when, not only do we make an effort to see people otherwise not worth being near, but that we have to play nice with them. If, by some chance anything controversial arises, it must be put to bed immediately.

[To clarify, today, I was once again subjected to the family treat of eating at a Chinese buffet. However, today's conversation was bespeckled with an irony new to me. While we were eating my grandmother pointed out that this was nothing like the Chinese restaurants I took them to when they visited me. After mentioning that the other restaurants probably seemed different because they were in fact Malaysian, my mother piped up saying "Oh that's right they're authentic." The travesty in this is not the confusion of Asian cultures. I do that. Hell, I confuse American cultures and music cultures, things I care about. I'm sure the Asians even confuse some Asian cultures. The travesty was that they knew the place they were eating in was a farce. They knew that in fact it was not authentic and then proceeded to compare them to restaurants that were. They were actively remaining ignorant out of (a symptoms that plagues these places) laziness. They stood as embasaries to me that we as an American culture are willing to bastardize entire continents because we don't want to acknowledge we need macaroni and cheese next to out pork fried rice. And what I find particularly sad is that this seems like the perfect time to bring in those PC terms everyone hates and give them a good use. Hey, aren't wontons and hotdogs the diffinitive combination for "Asian-American"?]

--Side Note: This is entirely personal, but for some reason my grandparent wanted a copy of the EVVY Awards show where my team won best ad. For some other reason (i.e. I spend too much time drinking and talking about the importance of art instead of dreaming up great gifts for a holiday I abhor) I bought it for them. Now, they are in the other room, completely dumbfounded by the fact that I don't want to watch myself parade across a stage to accept an award. In fact, it makes me greatly uncomfortable to think that I would. But they keep asking. It's their gift. If I wanted it, I'd have one, which brings up my point: Isn't ist a little conceeded to sit and enjoy watching oneself recieve an award? Isn't it a tad weird that one could not be satisfied doing the work and getting the award? I understand why they would want the tape. They are proud of me and I don't mean to belittle them, the award, or the idea of keeping memeories. In fact, I keep the ad that won the award for that reason. But no matter how you cut it, it's fucking hubris to want to watch yourself get awards. It's weird. I may never get over it.--


Well, son of a bitch, it seems they also can't stand me being in the other room. Hopefully I'll pick this up later. Better yet, hopefully this feeling will die and I won't want to. Sorry this one was so disjointed. And not even spell checked.

6/Christmas Eve

I have come to the realization, that I have too many realizations. That, in fact, I waste a large protion of my day making discoveries; so much so, that I can barely remember them all and, I think, that leads to an increase in discoveries the following day. I have requested a voice recorder for Christmas/Wicked-late-graduation-present to try and battle this difficulty, but for now, in the spirit of my meta-realization and the holidays/reflectiveness/life-standing/all the other stuff that fits here but don't want to type, this one's a little fragmented, but somehow in the last few days, I think I got them. I'd try to explain why except:

1) It is often not why but how that matters. I don't exactly know why the world seems to dwell on why's, or why I specifically dwell on them, but if I am ever to reconcile to the existential with the tangible, I'm going to have to let it go. Existentialism doesn't give a shit about why, even if that's all the rational part of me wants to know. Though I hate to say it, it's very zen not to ask why, because it doesn't really matter. Why you ask, because it just doesn't and neither does that why. What I've found that matters is How. Further, it seems that the How will determine the why without acctually being it. The How implies the Why in a way that prevents you from ever really having to explain it. If it's done in a nice way, no one really cares why. Sounds extreme right? I'm sure there is some unlucky soul who has stumbled across this by accident and is thinking "My God. No matter how you kill the Jews, the Holocaut is still wrong." No. That's not true. If Hitler wanted all the Jews to die of old age and dedicate his army to eradicating diseases that would stop them from reaching this death-by-natureal-causes, he would have been applauded. It's the how. But that's just an example and I can bend it to my whim. In a sort of existential-postmodern way, it is perhaps more appropriate to talk about How I came to this realization. It's so simple it's sad: I quit my job. Yes, as if I hadn't focused on this enough, I did. But the catch here is that put me in an interesting quandry. You see, I really hated what my boss was doing, but I couldn't really convince anyone of importance that he was filled with some sort of pitiful evil. So instead, I left. However, I had really, really, really wanted to make this marketing thing work and let's face it I'm not one for second chances. I was hoping I could make good for my mother and grandparents in one stab, as it's not really in me to wait this one out. Now, having failed, I had to tell my grandparents. They would want to know Why and I can't say I blame them. It's my first real job and it's over in less than 6 months. Fuck. But when I told them, they were right behind me. Of course, many would point out that's what good friends and family do. Not true. My family is of the tough love variety and would tell me if they thought I was wrong on something so simple as the sandwich I selected. I must have said something good. Better yet, I must have said something well. It was not what I told them, it was How. It was not why I told them, it was how. It was not why I left, but how. It was the How. I don't honestly believe the why mattered at all. Perhaps one could argue the better the why the easier the how, but I'm taking it one step at a time. This opens up a bunch of ideas for me. I don't have to worry about What I'm going to do with my life and Why I should do it, I just have to focus on How. The tangible creates the existential. Pretty deep for midnight before the big X day.

2) Democracy sucks. I will right an essay about this soon. There really is no excuse for letting the unwashed masses decide what's good for everyone. To me this seems to be the equivalent of deciding the best American food by what sold the most. I think we all know the fast-food hamburger would win and already is what America is known for. This makes me ill. That's it? That's the great world leader? Done in a matter of minutes? Mmmm... a nation of speed. Sounds like a great philosophy. I can here American men shouting it in the bedroom "I'm not lousy, I'm patriotic!"

3) It is okay to masturbate on Christmas Eve in a bathroom while your family eats shrimp thinking of an irritating woman you met only hours earlier. In fact, it's a huge stress relief. On that note: a true realization, I need to have sex. Especially if it's frequent and meaningless. On that note: I like breasts. God bless 'em. On that note: I really shouldn't over share too much, some day this will come back to haunt me. I can only hope that...

4) I can really make every situation acceptable, and here's how: Check Out. My grandparents have demonstrated to me that listening to the entirely of a conversation, or even sentance, is not only pointless, it's downright stupid. You can save hours of precious life by simply not paying any fucking attention to what is going on. Not doing anything? Check out. Not talking or directly engaged in the conversation? Day dream. Though cold, I have noted the amount of stress and argument this avoids. Granted, you will not save the world with this method, but if you're looking to save the world you should not be realizing this and you're off to a bad start (saving the world, that is) having read this far. But anyway, I don't intend to sound condicending and by all means I fall in to the category of those who should be ignored, but we really need to treat each other a little more like children. I don't think anyone could argue that we treat children poorly. We should extend that kindness to ourselves. Let us make our own mistakes and figure them out. Let us ramble. Let us dream. Worse, encourage our misguided dreams and play along. Worse, follow them and fail. Miserably. Cry about it. But most importantly, we should expect each other to fuck up pretty bad and ignore it, just like we do kids. While we're at it, we should stop having kids. Simply because I don't like them.

[Now, I know some witty bastard might read this and think "Wait, doesn't this go against your last realization about democracy ? Weren't you implying that we shouldn't lower our standards to accomadate everyone? Okay, I hear this, but think more. Kids, in acctuality, have very high standards. A large portion of them want to be presidents, astronaughts, celebrities, athletes, their parents (usually in the more admirable way), or other great things. As an adept commercial campaign pointed out im my youth: No one say they want to be on drugs when they grow up. But funny, lots of adults do. Worse, are.]

5) I will find my voice, I will do my work, it will seem to take for-fucking-ever. Oh well. In the mean time, I will work a shit job, goof off with my friends, and not worry about being a success. I hate people like that anyway.

6) I do not even begin to know how to cope with my family. I am afraid, I have out grown them. For the first time today, my grandparnets sought my approval. I think the worlda has switched its equinox. Though I'm still not comfort around all of my family and may never be, I really can do anything. It's a matter of how.

Okay that's enoguh for now. I hope anyone who reads this has had a happy holiday season. Thanks for reading and I leave you with this:

Yesterday, I touched the man who writes the Jumbles. The Jumbles, man, the Jumbles. I think I can die now.

5/

Unemployment clock reads: 71 hours 47 minutes, and I'm still not sorry.

It was funny. The 20th of December was approximately 6 months away from Christmas, while the 21 brought me within hours, and now here in the not-so-sunny land of Florida all I can think of is how much I hate sleeping in my underwear. For this reason alone I hope the ethical demise of my career doesn't result in homelessness because I will have to unleash my nudity on the world. Seven days of this out of courtesy to my grandparents will be plenty.

4/

Everyone in the world should at least try and read Sex, Drugs, and Coco Puffs. Just try.

It seems to me if Generation X was disenfranchised and angry, my generation is a bunch of escapist sissies. Being one of them, I feel I can say that without prejudice, but I don't know a single person without a dream. Not your typical American dream, nor your hope-and-aspiration type dream (and not your nocturnal vision type dream for all those of you too witty for your own good), but rather a scheme. We've all got a plan. Yet in the same sense, ours plans are catastrophically impractical, and only plausible enough to believe. For example, take mine. When life shits on me, I'm moving to a cabin in the woods. It doesn't matter that I loathe bugs and the very idea of country bumpkins gives me the shivers, it's the romance of the idea. I want solitude. I want to believe that I can live so deep in the woods that horrible things can't happen. Along those lines, most of my friends (and I occasionally) know exactly how we're going to get rich. We lay it out, it always makes sense, but in our genuine love for the sheer idea of it, we sabotage any chance of its success. Or more appropriately, chicken out.

I'm not sure if this has deeper implications and in all fairness I haven't thought about it that long, but the reason I mention generations is that it seems to me we as an age-class have befallen an ageless stereotype: We're Lenny. That's right, from Of Mice and Men. And this make me wonder if our predecessors will try and kill us for our ignorance, or if it's the naivete itself that's going to get us in the end.