All My Gettings

I usually don't spend much time thinking about my body. Well, thinking about it in a sort of aesthetic way. I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering why it doesn't work like it should. Particularly when not working like it should involves some confusing inability to consume food or inexplicable pains in very inconvenient locations. However, of late, I've been forced more to think about my body as something else.

The first suggestion of this is the number of people who have mentioned my weight. Over the past months, it's true that I've lost some heft. Nothing major, about fifteen pounds or so. And everybody, it seems, is noticing. Which is good, I suppose (even if I wasn't really working on losing weight). I totally get the impulse to compliment someone on this. But, the flip side is that it makes me wonder how fat they must have thought I was before. So, it's sort of a double-edged thing to point out, non?

Also, this morning, I got up early to renew my drivers license. Things went smoothly, until I went to sit for my picture. There were a few others in front of me, so I got to hear the guy taking them ask politely if the person would like another photo taken. He seemed willing and friendly about it. But it was a quick question that almost everyone brushed off and he let drop. Then, my turn came. And here's what happened:

"How does that look?"
"Oh, yeah, that'll work."
"Really? Are you sure? I can take another one."
"Oh, no, no, we're good."
"It's really no big deal. It'll just take a second. You sure?"
"No, I'm fi-"
"Seriously, let's just do another one, shall we?"

The gentle, amicable questioning had turned into a bullying. A sort of "man, that is a terrible picture. And trust me, I work at the DMV, I know bad pictures." So, he took another one. One that looked almost identical to me but, thankfully, was acceptable to him. Maybe, though, he just realized it wasn't going to get any better.

I'm uncomfortable having these sorts of things brought to my attention. I suppose I could always just really let myself go and then dare people to comment on it. It's one solution, at least. Or, alternatively, I could just learn to take compliments or not overthink. But, c'mon, we all know that's never going to happen.

I recently took a little bit of umbrage when my friend informed me that she can't, for all my talk, imagine me being much of a jerk. At least, to someone's face. I know, this isn't the sort of thing most people spend time fretting about. After all, being told, basically, that you're nice isn't an insult. Plus, I seem to do a pretty bang up job of making people mad at me, so the "compliment" seems disingenuous at best. Plus, there's the whole issue of my being nice without its elusive complement of goodness.

I think it struck me so much, though, because there are two things I've been trying to deal with recently in my life. The first is my knack for compartmentalizing various aspects. Giving this one a room over here, shoving that one in a box, being person A at location Y and person B at site Z, etc. Which, I'm clearly not solving very rapidly, as I'll going to just ignore it to move on to the other. The second is my complaisance.^*

Part of me thinks this is a virtue. It's a good thing to be willing to bend, to be flexible, to allow room for the needs and desires of others. It's a positive, not being difficult or put out when things don't go your way. Another part of me, though, the slightly more cynical part (read, most of me), is worried that I'm setting myself up for a pretty spectacular failure. Or maybe I'm already there, which would explain a lot of the collapsing in the interpersonal arena I've seen of late.

There's times and places where one should stick up for themselves, should be willing to put their desires and feelings first. It's self-preservation at its most basic level. And, apparently, I lack the drive for that.^** Fortunately, most situations my pleasing nature has landed me in have diffused and defused without an inordinate amount of suffering. And, I'd like to think that when it becomes more than just a slick, sick feeling my stomach, I'd be willing to post boundaries and stop trying to please anybody else but me.

Ideally, I suppose, there'd be a balance. But I'm no good at half-measures. I'm an all-or-nothing kind of guy. Or rather, I haven't the foggiest of how one goes about making oneself less tied to the fickle whims of others with still interacting with anybody. It's so much easier, also, to just become the person that someone else is looking for. There are few things messier than finding out something about someone that makes you wonder if you should hate them for it. So, see, my not being myself means I'm saving all you that unpleasantness. Isn't that thoughtful of me? Don't you love that about me? (See, I can't help myself!)

I still need to process all this and decides where my lines should be drawn. It's a pretty major overhaul I'm considering right here. And I'm not sure the benefits outweigh the costs. But, (to crib some clichés) at the end of the day, I'll never know till I try, right? So, if I suddenly seem to be fighting really bizarre territorial and alpha dog battles with you, now you'll have a guess as to why. I probably don't mean most of it. Except when I do. The new me, I suppose, is just going to be a bit more difficult to get along with. Please advise.

*True story: I've been a bit addicted to the use of the word complaisant recently. I've replaced my usual "I'm easy" with a casual "I'm complaisant" when asked opinions. Part of it is sort of a litmus test to see if the person I'm writing to knows that I don't actually mean complacent. Most people have failed. It's like Derrida's différence v. différance, but much less clever. And, y'know, in English.

**Not too surprising, given the fact that, come the Apocalypse, I'm turning my face the wall and dying. I'm no mink, what with their exceeding tenacity of life.

Hey, alea, what's this map here?


View Larger Map

Why, that's the trip my friend ke and I are planning. Sure, some people might think it's a little bit crazy to try to to visit Yellowstone (just glancingly), Little Bighorn, Devil's Tower and Mount Rushmore on one trip. But, don't worry, we've got a whole three days to make it happen in.

Um, this may kill us. I'm not too soothed by the fact that google maps clocks the driving in at 1 day, 2 hours, either. Good thing we're young and hearty, right?

So, a couple of days ago, I sort of stumbled onto Ivri Lider, an Israeli pop star. What I like about him (apart from the fact that he writes about breakups and if there's a better language for sounding ugly and hateful towards someone than Hebrew, I've not heard it), is how his music seems to be entirely at odds with itself stylistically. That is the lyrics and the tone of the music are mismatched.

For example, I give you Beyaxad Mipaxad:



So, it sounds nice and peppy, right? Well, as you see, the title translates to "Together from Fear".

And the lyrics are:

We're together from fear
the mother of night below
we got out to the big garden
that your father waters before sleeping

We're together from fear
there's pictures of kids in our well-kept apartment
Two people together alone
That your mother cleaned for Shabat

We grow up and resemble our parents a little bit more
We buy a television and don't speak about everything
If only I could
Tell you about all the things you regret
And how much I wanted to give a tad more of myself
Like the kid who slept next to me

We're together from fear
What your father bought and your mother analyzed
We go traveling in Europe
We try not to fight automatic love

We're together from fear
In morning, mother puts
an empty plate on the kitchen table

We grow up and resemble our parents a little bit more
We buy a television and don't speak about everything
If only I could
Tell you about all the things I regret
And how much I wanted to give a tad more of myself
Like the kid who slept next to me

So, yeah, not exactly all that happy.

If you want more, check out this music video. Kind of beautiful, sort of haunting, and also more than a little bizarre.

If somebody loved me, they could so easily show it to me.

Just buy me this.

It meets almost all my standards for kitchen gear. Firstly, it miniaturizes something. Secondly, it turns soemthing round into something square (I'm actually a touch suspicious of square tart shells. Wouldn't there be seam issues?). And, lastly, it's distinctive, which is to say completely and totally unnecessary but charming nonetheless.

Besides, I'm sure my mini-loaf pan, my tiny silicone bundt jello molds and my madeleines pan could use some more company...

Yesterday was one of those days where I just felt thwarted. Sort of a collapsing of every aspect of my life all at once. My work in the morning was sluggish and unproductive. Then I taught in the afternoon, only to be ridiculously unengaging. And, for various reasons, I had a slick, sick feeling most of the day.
But then, a sister invited me over to have what may be the best cookies in the world. And a friend invited me to see Up, which was practically perfect in every way. And another friend stayed on the phone for over an hour with me, cheerleading and commiserating and planning a dinner party that includes miniature felafel. It's weird, and deeply reassuring to me, that my calls for compassion, either broadcasted loudy or sort of quiet and sideways get answered so immediately.

I was thinking yesterday a lot about this quote from Children of Men in which Theo, the main character, is being told he didn't mean for the old woman whose car he stole to die:

No, he almost groaned, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to be a selfish son, an unloving father, a bad husband. When have I ever meant anything? Christ, what harm couldn't I do if I actually started to mean it!

And yeah, while that's true, it's also amazing to sit back and think about all the good that can be done by people who mean it, too. And today's much better. I've got a to-do list and some recipe research to undertake and a reason to buy teeny tiny tart shells. All in all, I think I'm for today.

problem: life as a grown-up is relentlessly disappointing.

solution: candy for dinner!

In two days, my little brother will be dropped off, rather hastily, in Provo. Because the MTC is the only place more concerned about pandemic influenza than I am, his family won’t be allowed to come in. This is a plus and a minus, given the fact that Called To Serve may or may not have been crafted specifically as a kind of tear-inducing emotional torture. On the other hand, having some sort of ceremony seems almost necessary for the reality of it all to hit.

Since watching him open his mission call, I’ve been cycling through a whole series of emotions. But now, I’ve finally settled on the fact that, above all else, I’m sad. I’m really going to miss him. It’s not that I don’t realize that he’s doing a good thing. Or that serving the people of Thailand will be invaluable for him. I’m just being selfish and petty that I won’t have anybody to ask me if I’ve already watered the cats.

Or anybody to fully appreciate when the ground sloth makes his appearance in Kentucky in a couple of weeks. I’ll miss getting random texts about dulcimers and books preparing people to die. I’ll miss being reminded that I’m twenty-five years old when I act particularly childish. I’ll also miss seeing his brain implode, rapidly, when I try to explain some theological position I hold. Like all good brothers, he amuses me and infuriates me in pretty equal measure. He’s a good guy, too, something that’s become more apparent the more adult-y he’s become. It’s weird to try and imagine holidays and even weekends where he’ll be only a thought and not a physical presence.

I’m sure the two years will fly by. I mean, I’ve been out of library school for two years now and I cannot believe how short his stay at BYU felt. But still, it’s hard to think of him leaving and me having such little contact with him. He'll be missed, probably much more than he realizes.