Brood. Self-Destruct. Rebuild.

Rinse and repeat.

I have my phases; the waxing and waning of my fits. We all do. No one is immune to the blues, but we all handle them differently. Not counting legitimate chemical imbalances, the coping mechanisms we each employ, I think, determine our individual dispositions and demeanors. Or perhaps, conversely, our demeanors determine our coping mechanisms.

Either way, I don't think “Compartmentalize, Sulk, Reboot” is necessarily indicative of a healthy disposition. But that's how I cope, and it's a pretty effective mechanism for me.

My troubles are minor. MINOR. I classify them under 'disenchantment' rather than 'hardship'. My mood rises and falls on the out-of-phase sine waves of personal life, career, love life, creativity, etc. For the most part, the cumulative negatives and positives of these graphs cancel each other out and maintain my typically-even keel. Occasionally, however, the frequencies of those graphs align at one extreme or the other and throw my boat in to a tizzy.

I think it is vastly important for one to understand the storm they're in. For some, drastic, evasive measures might be required to save themselves. For me, typically, my 'problems' can be solved with a couple days of brooding plus either a bottle of Scotch or a few good movies (or both).

(EH – please accept this post as my sincerest apology)

Four months later - not much to report

Work, a couple trips down to the Carolinas, work, hangin' out with friends.

I've been writing a lot of essays for grad school applications, which means I've been avoiding doing much writing for anything else. I have, however, been posting some beer reviews for SevenPack, so pop in, take a look around, and feel free to comment.

I started making some changes to my actual smoothlikebutter.com webpage (though none of the changes are showing up yet). I'll have more on that soon. Maybe I'll blog again soon. Who knows.

(actually, I suppose it's really only been three months since my last post)

Not Again...

Today, when I left work at the reasonable time at 5:30, it was dark. Not sun-setting, not dusk, dark. Maybe I'll get to see the sun again in February. Goodbye, old friend.

sigh

Delusions of Fame, Delusions of Wealth: The Pleasures of Entourage

This weekend, the twisting of my rubber arm caused me to watch tons of old episodes of Entourage. I love the show, but I find it to be dangerous -- and not just dangerous because it’s so addictive and one half-hour episode can easily turn into ten half-hour episodes and five nonrefundable hours of my life -- dangerous because I get sucked in to forgetting that I’m neither rich nor famous; nor is there any reasonable potential for me to become so.

I find myself thinking, even long after I’ve left the glamorous glow of the TV, that there’s really no reason I shouldn’t drive a Maserati, date A-list actresses, and indulge in the ritzy pleasures of Hollywood. Is the life of a civil engineer really that different from the life of a movie star? Sigh.

A man doesn't say "Autumn," a man says "Fall"

There’s the hint of a chill in the air these days. It’s only in the first breath I take when I walk outside in the morning. In another month New York will be cold, but for now the weather is satisfyingly pleasant. Outdoor seating at cafes is at a premium again as the heat and humidity have finished vacationing in the City. The sun still has a few more weeks of leisured sightseeing before it flies south for the winter -- no more late nights and early mornings trying to fit a full day. The new relaxed schedule and relaxed weather suit me just fine.

Yesterday on 57th Street I passed Carson ‘Queer Eye’ Kressley. He was dressed to the nines in cufflinks and pinstripes. He had a cell phone glued to his ear and he marched importantly down the sidewalk. In a related story I think I also passed an Olsen twin on Hudson Street. She looked rough. Rough.

My Mind's Eye

I realized as I was typing that last post that I'm only able to think about career/life paths metaphorically any more. I actually conjure these images of roads, paths, or streams complete with bends and curves, forks and bridges, trees and signs. I seem to have lost the ability to approach this subject analytically without the use of mental visual aides.

I tend to be a visual thinker, so maybe seeing these metaphors is the easiest way for me get my head around something. Or maybe I'm just losing my mind. I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Sequitur

I've finally changed the name of my website and this blog. Smooth like Butter was never intended to be the title per se, just a fun non-sequitur. Mostly I was just surprised to find that the domain name was still available and that I could have an at-smooth-like-butter-dot-com email address.

In each of us I think there's a person who is focused, motoring compass-in-hand down a clearly marked road. There's also the companion wanderer, staring off deep into the weeds for some other path less traveled by, ever skeptical that this one is the right trail. Sometimes these two internal guides work well together, taking turns at the helm when it's most advantageous for the team. Other times, though, one takes control and the other feels ignored and shunned, adding doubt and strife to the mix.

I think The Wayside is a much more appropriate title for what I want this website and blog to be, namely a place where our conflicting sides can get together for a bit, have a friendly drink, and share a laugh at each other's expense.

If you were hoping for some instructions on how to be smooth, you're definitely in the wrong place. Sorry to mislead or disappoint, but I think it's obvious at this point that I'm not qualified to give advice on anything except wandering about aimlessly.

Changes are in progress on the actual smoothlikebutter.com website, and I hope to have everything updated soon (noticed how I used the ultra-vague "soon" instead of coming up with a legitimate time frame). Happy wandering, everyone.

A Rich Tapestry of Profanities

Janey, here's a radar image of the profanities which are still largely intact and floating above the interstate. I remembered it being much more of a solid mass, but I guess it has dissipated over the course of the week. For some reason it shows up as being pink on the radar, but it's actually more of a bilious green-gray color.

Stupid Adventures in Moving

I just drove a truck full of my stuff from my parents’ house in North Carolina to my new apartment in New York. I knew it wouldn’t be fun, but I couldn’t have predicted what a painfully annoying ordeal it turned out to be. Thank god it’s over.

The drive, composed of stretches of Interstates 77, 81, and 78, is about 675 miles, which should take around 11 hours. Everything was progressing swimmingly through NC, Virginia, and in to West Virginia when I hit a 20-mile wall of traffic. It seems there was a car fire earlier that blocked the road. I’m sure if I had left on time I would have missed it. As the game played out, though, I arrived in Brooklyn at midnight, a solid 14 hours after leaving NC. There were also torrential downpours though Pennsylvania.

Gas is expensive: $130 for the trip, and that’s with stumbling upon an unheard of $2.50 per gallon in Virginia.

The toll for a truck through the Lincoln Tunnel is $12; not to mention not being able to take the infinitely-more-convenient Holland Tunnel due to commercial vehicle restrictions.

Parking in Brooklyn is neither fun, nor easy, nor convenient; especially parking a big-ass 15-foot truck.

Unloading a truck in the rain is also not fun.

While trying to return the truck this morning to the depot in Brooklyn I endured extreme grogginess, traffic, congestion around the depot, and long lines, only to be met with “The tank’s not full” from the attendant. I had driven probably 15 miles since filling up. I think I replied with “You’re effing kidding me” before snatching the keys, driving a half mile (literally 30 minutes), and putting ONE AND A HALF GALLONS of gas (out of a 30-gallon tank) in the truck. I was irate, and very late for work.

--

An inspection of my wares revealed that I had lost some wing nuts and washers necessary for attaching legs to my coffee table. I went to the local hardware store and was informed that I need metric wing nuts which they – of course – don’t carry. The salesman suggested a few very out-of-the-way places that might carry metric hardware like that. Since I had originally bought the table from IKEA a couple years ago, I went to the IKEA website hoping to find a place to buy replacement parts. A quick search of the site yielded nothing, so I clicked the Ask Anna link for the IKEA help center, a little ray of automated customer service sunshine!

Me: where can i buy replacement hardware?

Anna: If you are missing anything from your purchase, all you need to do is return to your local IKEA store. Just go to the "Returns and Exchanges" desk with your original purchase receipt and a friendly co-worker will be happy to assist you.

Me: it’s not missing, it's lost.

Anna: It's not always possible for me to fully understand what it is you mean. This is one of those times.

Me: i want to buy some wing nuts.

Anna: Find here a quick guide to help you maximize your IKEA experience.

Me: where's the quick guide?

Anna: I can't really say, to be honest. Maybe you should consult a map.

Anna from IKEA combines the effectiveness of reasoning with a toddler, the satisfaction of having your hand slammed in a door, and the pleasantness of a condescending, jaded telemarketer - and all of this in one little pop-up window!

The good news is that I'm sure I'll get to go through all of this again next year!

I Want One!

Dear Santa,

Yeah.

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Since mere words fail to capture the sheer magnificence of the above picture, please go to the source for more pictures and read all about it, straight from the man himself. And thanks to the kind folks at SevenPack for pointing this out.

Maybe I should have been a mechanical engineer. Or maybe I just should have been smart.

Worthless

I always suspected this might be the case:

My blog is worth $0.00.
How much is your blog worth?

*sigh*

All for Naught

I had been so good! Resist temptation left and right, but one quick lapse is all it takes for that hard work to come crashing down like a house of cards.

I had been in some book stores and record stores to kill some time, bask in the air conditioning, and see what had been popping up on the new music, movie, and book fronts. I was just browsing, though. I carried a few books around the stores while debating a purchase, but in the end I decided I didn’t really need them and was proud of myself for putting them back on the shelves. This scene had repeated itself a few times in the past week or so with clothes, DVDs, CDs, and groceries; each time my better judgment prevailing to leave the unnecessary items behind.

But then I cracked. I was having a bad day. Nothing dramatic, just a long day and I wanted some fiction to read (see below). I went to the Strand Bookstore (18 miles of books!!) near Union Square, found a cheap used copy of the book I wanted, paid, and started back toward the subway.

But the slope had been slipperied, and as I passed Virgin Records I remembered an album had just come out that I wanted to hear. I went in, listened, and decided to that if buying a book had made me feel better some new music would definitely help my mood. I ignored the CD sale racks on the way back to the register, but strategically situated next to the checkout line was a rack of $10 DVDs and I of course saw several movies that I had been meaning to watch. At this point I really had no choice but to pick at least one up. Movies in the theatre are $11 in New York, so a $10 DVD is a bargain, really.

I did well to go home with only one book, one album, and one movie, but I was shocked to see with what speed and ease the swipe of a Check Card annuls the efforts of the discerning consumer.

Making the Most of the 5 to 8

One would think that someone who has been living in a constant state of flux for the past several years (changing careers, changing countries, never living in the same apartment for more than a year, etc.) would eventually get used to shifting gears, could adapt to the varied routines and transitions, might even enjoy the changes in scenery and perspective. I guess I’m getting there... I do really like the variations that bouncing around affords me and I even like the transitions pretty well, but I just can’t get a handle on the pre-transition stages. If “On your mark” and “Get set” were followed by five to ten minutes of silent waiting before “GO!” we might read a lot more stories about high levels of hypertension in sprinters (and fans).

I’m not saying it’s time to plant myself. The ebb and flow for me is preferable to backwater any day. I need the change, but I would prefer the change without having to wait around for the all clear.

I only bring this up because while 90% of my career, education, and life-in-general prospects have been firmed up for the near future, I can’t really do anything on a lot of other fronts until the last 10% of those prospects are more concrete. I’ll have a full update as soon as I have everything solidified enough to share. Just getting a little restless again, that’s all.

--

The daily grind has been taking its toll on me. Actually it’s not so much trudging though the 8-5 that I find taxing, but rather trying to balance sleep and the huge mix of things I really want to do between 5 and 8.

I’ve also been feeling a little lost lately, especially regarding careers and what might be considered contributions to the greater good. I’m ultimately very happy with where I’ve ended up and how I’ve been spending my time, but it’s hard to feel like I’m pulling my weight when I look at friends who are doing humanitarian work in Sudan, taking the bar exam, embarking on an album release tour, and so on and so on. There are really too many friends for me to list whose education, careers, goodwill, and determination I’m in awe of. Keep up the great work, guys.

--

I’ve had the book Principle-Centered Leadership in my reading queue for quite some time now. It came highly recommended by my uncle – I figure Army Generals probably know a thing or two about leadership – and I’ve wanted to dive in for a while. Well I finally got around to picking it up, reading the first five pages, retaining 0% of what I had just read, and putting it right back down again. With everything that’s going on in real life, I just don’t have the stomach or the mind for a book on leadership. My on-train and pre-sleep reading blocks are currently reserved for escaping reality – not for self-improvement – so I went out today and bought another Murakami book: Kafka on the Shore. I can’t wait! Soon I’ll have the right mindset for becoming a principle-centered leader and I’ll give non-fiction another try.

Sorry for the ramble. I’m trying to get my head around a lot of stuff.

I Guess the Beard is OK, but the Pointy Hat?

From an (edited) email from Mom:

Sammy asked Quin what he had on his leg. It was a tattoo of a wizard - long flowing beard, robe with stars, hands outstretched. He's now attending the Church of God and feels that it is blasphemous to have this wizard on his leg. He said he has asked for forgiveness and has been forgiven. Then he said he thought he'd have a little more work done on the tattoo and turn it into Jesus. :) Couldn't have made up a better line!! He said his minister told him that the tattoo just enables him to be a witness to a different kind of people. See, aren't you sorry you missed the reunion?!

I long for the day when the religious and magic communities can embrace one another, put their bickerings aside, and live in peace with each other’s symbology of bearded men.

Great Minds

me: how about i email it to you for now?

J: just email it to me
J: wow great minds think a lot

me: a lot?

J: LoL
J: yeah
J: that's what makes them great

Cooler by Material Association

Weee! MacBook! Weee!

Engineering Offices

Engineering offices are strange places, primarily because they are inhabited predominantly by engineers. I suppose every profession has its quirks, but math and science fields seem to appeal to the quirkiest among us. Perhaps a gathering of TV meteorologists or college professors could boast a greater per capita count of quirks, but it would be a close contest.

Working late one night this week I was able to walk around the office and see what it was like without people. I’ve been in the office alone before, but I’d never really looked to see what the work spaces revealed about their inhabitants. Some cubes are neat and organized, others complete disaster areas. The young guys all have their computer screens turned away from the aisles, but the older guys’ screens face directly into the aisle (so their backs are turned to any potential distraction, or so I’m told). I think it is possible to determine someone’s age by the angle of their computer screen to the aisle.

A lot of work spaces have pictures of significant others and kids. There are quite a few work-related pictures, like a guy climbing on a bridge. Most of it is standard fare: tons of books, blueprints, and office supplies. But then there are the quirks, the sides of people you really don’t get to see in office life but that is hinted at by clues they (knowingly or unknowingly) leave.

One guy, amid stacks and shelves of design manuals and specifications has a calendar with crop circles on it. His neighbor has a small, framed picture of Betty Boop. His neighbor has pictures of what appear to be an outdoor Jacuzzi and a little garden in his yard. In another cube hang team pictures from every company softball game over the past several years. One guy has an unusually high number of hanging plants. Another has tons of pictures and paintings of Italy (his home).

How much can you know about someone by what they have on their desk? What does my work space say about me? I hurried back to my desk to inventory the clues I leave for my coworkers to find and make assumptions about the real me.

At first I didn’t find anything too quirky or revealing. Mostly just papers and blueprints from the project I’m working on, a couple of design books, tons on highlighters, pens, and pencils. On the cube walls hang a company phone directory and a magazine clipping about my project that my boss gave to me and I hung up out of diligence. No pictures or real decorations. Granted I’ve only been here for two months and came to NY with a very light load of things I might use to ‘decorate’ an office space. Some other – possibly revealing – clues I did find were a copy of The Economist I had bought earlier that day, a little black notebook/journal I keep in my bag, and a half-finished bottle of Vitamin Water. Mostly a very plain, non-descript, even boring cube. Maybe the lack of quirky paraphernalia is revealing as well…

Me? Bitter?

I recently went back and read over some of the things I had written while traveling through Asia at the end of my year in Korea. A few comments:

*SO sorry for all the spelling mistakes and bad grammar. I was mostly in internet cafes and trying to type quickly. It has nothing to do with being a terrible speller and not having had an English class since high school (or a grammar class since middle school). Honest.

**Pictures would have been nice. I’ll work on that.

***Man, I sound bitter in a lot of those stories. Sure there were fits of frustration and plenty of short-fuse days, but those were the exceptions rather than being the overall themes of the trip. What I love about traveling are the unexpected annoyances, abrupt changes, think-on-the-feet reactions, and interesting (yes, sometimes annoying) people. It is life magnified, fast-forward, set in exotic locales, and with a very different set of responsibilities and worries. That’s why I travel. Plus, I like to complain about stuff.

Wound-Up

I’m currently reading Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, which is a delightful change of pace from the engineering safety manuals (for work) and books on US foreign policy (for “fun”) I’ve been reading lately.

I’m in love with Murakami’s style and captivated by his story. I find myself devouring page after page on the train to and from work, completely lost in his cadence and imagery. I have to force myself to stop reading at night. I like that the story envelops me as I’m turning pages; that I’ve been able to develop such a deep relationship with the characters in such a short time, but it’s starting to haunt my non-reading hours as well. Yesterday on the train to work Toru (main character) and I began to suspect that his wife had left him. As evidence confirming our suspicions began to amass, I felt increasingly lonely; increasingly betrayed. I spent the rest of the day at work feeling utterly empty, like whatever part of me that’s capable of trust and feeling had been ripped from my chest and left a hollowed out shell where I used to be. This book should come with a warning label.

--

PS – wound is a funny word to say over and over

Hurricanes, Hipsters, and Freebies

One again I have a little backlog of half-finished stories I’ve been starting and stopping for the past week or so. I really need a job that allows more time for putting around on the internet and typing up little stories of banal minutia.

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Hurricanes win 1st Stanley Cup
Carolina comes through in Game 7 with a 3-1 win over Edmonton, bringing the trophy to land of NASCAR.

That was a headline and teaser from USAToday. First of all, congratulations are certainly in order to the Carolina Hurricanes (pronounced Herr-i-cuns if you’re from the NC coast) for winning the Stanley Cup. I’m mostly a fair-weather sports fan, and even though I appreciate hockey I rarely follow it except for the odd playoff series/ excuse to go to a sports bar. I definitely love to see Carolina teams do well for themselves, though, and I’ll back any team from NC in competition against any team from any other state*.

*Not binding. Certain restrictions may apply.

But the ‘Land of NASCAR?' Come on. Surely the Tar Heel State has contributed more to our union than just advancing the pursuit of driving REAL fast in a circle. The Wright Brothers, Great Smokey Mountains, Carolina Panthers, Outer Banks, a hornet’s nest of rebellion, Duke Lacrosse! I would have even accepted “Bible Belt” for half credit.

A few more gems from the USAToday article:

“Defensemen Aaron Ward scored … and that seemed to ignite the loud Carolina fans, many of whom had been out tailgating before the game. Carolina fans tailgate like they are going to a college football game.”

“One sign in the crowd simply said: ‘Redneck hockey.’”

Way to reinforce the stereotypes, sports fans (although I must admit the tailgating quote makes me rather proud of my fellow statesmen).

On the other hand, the Carolinas and the Southeast in general seem like natural hockey markets, if only in their similarities to Canada. Carolinians and Canadians each have bizarre accents, like driving pickup trucks, love drinking beer, and are especially fond of mullets. Hockey has found its home away from home.

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So hip…ster.

I live on the fringe of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the heart of which is the New York hipster Mecca. For those of you new to the hipster scene, I suggest this article from Wikipedia for a quick, if somewhat brusque, intro.

Sometimes I love the area. Galleries, music, cafes. It can be a very lively, stimulating place full of Ars Gratia Artis and interesting characters. I’m finding it’s also a very easy to place to become disillusioned with the whole scene. In social settings where hipsters herd I'm often struck by the superficiality of it all. The conversations seem to focus on how great it is to like independent art and music, not how great independent art and music actually are. Hipster Gratia Hipstis.

I’m taking guitar lessons from a guy in Williamsburg who is also a newbie in the area, though he blends more hipsterishly with the patchwork than I. He was looking for an apartment (then renting couch space from a friend) and asked about the area where I live, which is, again, out on the fringe.

“Are there a lot of…” He paused ever so slightly, digging for the right word. “…artists?”

I had to keep from laughing. It seemed too much like how Liberals started adopting the new moniker “Progressive” once the former became such an effective tool of vilification and derision during the 2004 presidential campaign.

To be fair I think he genuinely wants to be surrounded by artists of all walks, immersed in a place where new ideas and artistic creations abound; where there’s a communal rising tide of ART! Maybe it’s just the skeptic in me, but I don’t think he’ll find his Eden here.

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I’m excited about all the upcoming free stuff that New York offers in the summer. I’ve made a big calendar of events I want to attend and have even penciled in a few really expensive concerts or shows (just in case). Free movies in Bryant Park! Free concerts in Central Park! Free movies at Hoboken Pier A! Free outdoor drama all over the city! Free book readings and poetry classes! Free museum days! So much culture and entertainment for shoestring budgeteers! Or $35 for Ani DiFranco in Central Park? $55 for Fiona Apple and Damien Rice? Hmmm….