feeling playful

in the mental sense.

there are times when i forcibly shut out the coaxes of humanity and simply observe everything: the people, the cars, the birds, the sky. and all the motion that envelops them and sends them on their ways. and being silent, intentionally close-mouthed and attentive, purposefully distant: all this makes me smile. it gives me a kind of happiness that faces inward, is crouched and tight, hardly able to contain itself, bubbling and effervescent.

i am happy because, when this particular feeling comes over me, i like to think of myself as separate, as unique. and i do not believe this is solely an effect of my american upbringing. for as american culture is primarily defined by its leaning to reward individuality and self-expression, us humans have not yet evolved out of our propensity towards societal mimicry for the self-defense and safety of our egos. and what is the ego but an advanced extension of survival instinct?

but there are some of us who intentionally distance ourselves, and actually gain pleasure from this remove. those for whom this feeling occupies much of their time will become hermits, outcasts, exiles. i don't believe i have yet reached the point where i will desire to flee to the woods. and the roots of my pleasure are not so simple. i require others to surround me in order to feel its highest order of jubilation. at the risk of sounding like an extraterrestrial, or perhaps simply an anthropologist, i enjoy observing humans just doing what they do, operating in a natural way. i am by no means documenting any of this meticulously; it is a transient pleasure, a fleeting joy that requires no record, to study these behaviors that i may be guilty of performing in a new light, in the light of the observer.

in other news, i currently harbor two distinct and mostly valid worries: one, that i have wasted an entire year, and two, that i may waste still more. but flanking these worries is that force which demands strict definition. what does "waste" mean?

many people i have known have expressed to me their dissatisfaction with their jobs, their relationships, their lives in general. they spend not just one, but often two, three, or more years in regret, in silent suffering, in helplessness. however, they may be making significant career-related progress, or they may buy a house, or they may get married, or they may do any number of things that are on the checklist for "progress in life". i believe that my use of "waste" may well fall under the definition set in this checklist. i suffer because i am careerless. i suffer because i am alone. i suffer because i have no 401k plan. but please. this is not real suffering.

additionally, to lend support to the argument that i am still somehow mentally sound and optimistic despite innumerable odds, i still know how to be happy. some people may never learn this skill, and they will be forever tormented with the question of how to pass the time. i am thankful for this skill, and it shall ultimately lead to my salvation from my present condition. and i may be dramatizing.

indecision

choices are what ruin a man.

1. stay in nyc and find a relatively mediocre job in an organization related to environmentalism that provides some promise of mobility. buy a new monthly unlimited metrocard.

2. move to california, where exists the promise of jobs more related to my degree. enjoy the nice weather and eat some fresh produce. lament the lack of good public transportation.

3. move to japan and possibly stay in the spare room of a colleague from grad school in tokyo. possibly get a job with his japanese environmental consulting firm. teach english for cold hard cash. possibly recognize my dream of achieving something close to fluency. eat lots of soba.

4. move into an abandoned train car out in a meadow and sleep with a family of raccoons. train the small ones to groom my body and catch me river fish. enjoy the good life.

night on the town, or, my esophagus burns

i had an 8.30 phone interview this morning. i was hanging out with friends last night, but i assured myself i would go home early, get some sleep, and wake up refreshed for my interview. and now, the tale of what actually happened:

i had dinner plans with haeri, yutaka, and kouhei. haeri is my japanese-speaking korean friend, and yutaka and kouhei are two cool japanese guys i met through the grandmaster of expensive lounging sessions at the izakaya, my friend from osaka, tsuyoshi. first we went to eat ethiopian food in the lower east side. i managed to impress them by seizing the first scoop of lentils with a fistful of injera. everyone but me was startled at the lack of tableware, and all enjoyed the honey wine. the food was mediocre compared to other places i've been to, but we all managed to have a great time thanks to yutaka's attention deficiency, kouhei's kyoto-dialect antics, haeri's penchant for commenting frequently on both, and my desire to try and explain topics ranging from ethiopian cuisine to racial discrimination in the u.s. we also had a blast talking about the waitress in japanese, especially when she kept bothering us and asking rhetorical questions like: "how's the food?" i mean, i know it's her job and all, but really.

we then sojourned to a really mellow and dimly-lit bar slash lounge i like to go to, the musical box in alphabet city. they play a good mix of indie and hard rock, and the lounge in the back has awesome vintage couches and a billiard table, albeit one that requires a deposit of a buck fifty. as i type this i realize this place is sounding more and more like a premium hipster venue, but i can assure my readers that if just one hipster were to have stuck his feathered derby into the bar, i would've left on protest.

after spending some quality time and taking some silly photos (what is it with east asians and silly photos), haeri demanded we all go to k-town and drink soju.

now, usually when this is suggested it is only after everyone has drunken a reasonable amount, because no one goes drinking in k-town sober. and everyone knows that soju is an extremely reactive substance that, when mixed with stomach juices and resident alcohol, has been known to result in EVIL, and sometimes DEATH.

also, a little-known fact: although soju tastes like watered-down methanol, koreans insist that once the drinking of it has been undertaken, it shall not cease until everyone is horribly drunk. we played all sorts of drinking games: japanese favorites like gyuutan (the cow tongue game), and korean ones like flick-the-twisty-thing-off-the-soju-bottle-cap game (the korean expression escapes me). as the night wore on, yutaka's attempts at speaking korean to the waitress became more and more successful, and kouhei became more and more hesitant to drink more soju, often offering us his flailing arms as defense. unfortunately for me, i put up no such defense.

and then the glorious ride home on my old friend the f train. i suddenly woke up while still somewhere in manhattan and felt the soju rumbling in my stomach, screaming for its release. i had no choice but to abide. the man sitting in front of me sprang up like clockwork and dashed to the other side of the car, as if he'd been trained to respond to such emergencies. the next time i woke up i was at sutphin blvd, and just in time for my interview. i gave myself a quick tour of that part of jamaica, got a deli coffee, and retired to the quietest spot available: a collective driveway strip nestled in the middle of a block of houses.

i was surprisingly talkative on the phone, despite my unsightly condition and questionable body chemistry. not to mention my sore esophagus. but lucky for me my tongue was working just fine, and i managed to dish out lots of impressive expressions, like: "oh, i see" and "and as for the salary and benefits?".

and thus ended my adventure. i just hope everyone else got home okay.