Since I’m leaving for Europe tomorrow, I decided to see a doctor to make sure I’m all a-ok after getting slugged in the jaw.
Aside from the expected bruising and the related pain, I’m fine. And I got a flu shot and tetanus shot for good measure.
Since I’m leaving for Europe tomorrow, I decided to see a doctor to make sure I’m all a-ok after getting slugged in the jaw.
Aside from the expected bruising and the related pain, I’m fine. And I got a flu shot and tetanus shot for good measure.
I was assaulted tonight.
I’m angry. I’m confused. And I hurt, despite the ice and double dose of Aleve pills.
I was walking back to my car this evening after a really fun dance, and just as I turned the corner, a random group of guys approached me and one of them slugged me hard on the side of my face.
I went down hard on the cement. Tore up my new slacks. And I look like a lopsided chipmunk right now.
But more than anything, I’m just asking myself WHY. At the risk of sounding whiney, it’s just unfair. I had a great night. I was nice to people. They were nice to me. I didn’t do anything to provoke getting punched. I didn’t try to kiss anyone’s girlfriend, I didn’t cop an attitude to people passing by, nothing. It seems just so, well, random to turn a corner and BAM!
And then there’s the anger. I don’t want to kill these guys, but I’d enjoy practicing some of my kickboxing moves on them, one by one. I want to teach them a lesson. I want them to hurt. Even though I know this wouldn’t work, I want them to be sorry, dammit.
But at the bottom of it all, maybe I just want to ask them why. Was I just a random yuppie target-with-a-tie? Did I look too happy? Why did they feel the need to lash out like that?
And why do I care anyway? Why is WHY so important? Would I really feel that much better if I could piece together order and reason out of this violent mini-chaos? Would it make any difference in the way I live my life?
Perhaps this is merely a reminder that life is not only not ‘fair’… it’s not logical. I’m not sure if there’s a moral somewhere in that, but at least it’s good to know and take to heart.
So I was applying to work at Acme. Inc., a fitness-related company that specializes in stuff that is close to my heart (no pun intended). I checked out their Web site and while I didn’t find a current job opening that was appropriate for me, I decided to send a cover letter to the HR address listed to suggest some specific online community work I could do for them (and why it’d help their bottom line). I figured that even if my specific offer didn’t interest them, they could at least keep my info ‘on file,’ right?
“pcanthos@acme.com” was the e-mail address listed on their site, and being the enterprising soul I am, I decided to Google “pcanthos.” Up came several hits for “Paul Canthos” in a context that clearly demonstrated this was the same guy… with many forum posts dealing with triathalons and nutrition issues! Woo hoo! With such a (likely) rare name unmasked, I could now smartly write, “Dear Mr. Canthos,” instead of the more gender neutral, “To whom it may concern.”
And I did.
I wrote a passionate and extremely targeted note to Mr. Canthos, detailing how I could increase Acme’s profitability by extending their online community and creating valuable e-mail newsletters for them to send to their large and loyal customer base.
And I received a very curt two line reply.
Please check our website for currently open positions. When you find a position posted that you’d like to be considered for, please send your resume at that time.
And it was from a PAMELA Canthos.
Oops.
Did I mention that I hate job searching?
“Adam,” my mom enthused, “You know, I was just talking to Aunt Elli, and — remember her friends the Bronstiers? Well, their daughter Maura is now living in Oakland! I told Auntie to pass on your e-mail to her. Maybe you two can have lunch or whatever and…”
“Mom, please don’t” I politely protested. “I don’t need another friend right now. I need to be a better friend to the ones I’ve got.”
My mom, bless her soul, was neither enlightened nor convinced.
“How can you have too many friends?!” she argued, “We’re not talking marriage here, for Godsake, Adam, just lunch or coffee…”
I insisted more firmly: No. I felt guilty, but only a little bit.
Making friends is easy. Making GOOD friends is much harder. But maintaining or — even scarier — breaking off friendships? That’s the toughest.
Rewarding? Hopefully. Frustrating? Often that, too. And sometimes painful along the journey? Yes.
—
My parents have lived in the same city — actually, the same house! — for three decades, and have been members at the same temple for about the same length of time. They have pretty much the same (many!) friends now as they did when I was growing up at home, and I am thankful for this, though admittedly sometimes almost envious that their social life is currently more rockin’ than mine.
My folks clearly haven’t had the same transience of friendships as I’ve dealt with, though, at least not recently. In just the last 10 years, I’ve lived and made friends in Evanston (near Chicago), Bloomington (near Indianapolis), Mannheim (in Germany), Boston, and lastly San Francisco, where I live now. Then there are the friends I have who now live in Germany, Switzerland, Sweden, Costa Rica, and more than a dozen other countries. And no, I’m not counting “Internet friends.”
All in all, I count more than 500 contacts in my addressbook. All are ‘friends’ of various degrees… former work friends, gym buddies, MBA colleagues, that couple I met while kayaking, and so on. To put it in perspective, if I were to contact each of these folks just once a quarter and spend ten minutes in the process, that’s nearly an hour a day of just ‘keeping in touch’. And while some of these folks can be “hello’d” in under 10 minutes, perhaps, quite a few deserve far more of my time and, yes, my friendship.
That’s a lot of dedication per day. That’s a lot of dedication in my life. And it’s dedication that I have sadly failed in carrying out.
So, unsurprisingly, I’ve lost friends. Some got married and we seemed to have less and less in common, as we cross-talked about babies and babes, mortgages and job searching. Distance, too, has been a definite issue. Out of sight out of mind may be grossly clich?d, but no less a factor.
But marriage and distance account for only a part of the lost friendship tally. Sometimes people — or their interests or needs or circumstances — simply change, and, well, the friendship no longer applies as it once did. In these cases, sometimes it seems preferable to ‘pull the plug’ rather than watch the friendship slowly, painfully wither… with plodding uncomfortableness hidden under strained and feigned interest: “So, what’s new?”
But who can bear to tell someone, “I don’t think we should be friends anymore”? With similar wording, romantic relationships can be at least theoretically ‘cut clean’. Employers can (and oh so frequently DO) nowadays sever increasingly dysfunctional work ‘relationships’ at the drop of a hat without even having to bluster through much of a rationale much less an apology. But saying goodbye to a friend for the last time? Who can do that?
“Let’s keep in touch,” we tell each other. Perhaps we mean it, perhaps we don’t. More likely, we simply don’t know where we’ll be or how we’ll feel in 5 years or even 5 months.
Thus, with faded friendships too often experienced and understandably feared, the challenge then becomes more effectively managing the remaining (500+!) friendships.
“Managing.” So businesslike. Outlook entries, IM lists, Christmas-cards-or-not, form letters, ad naseum. Oh, for the days of the small village, tighter boundaries, and simpler world!
The answer, then, becomes one constrained by practicalities and too removed from idealism, but nonetheless clear. Prioritize, organize, and balance frequency of contacts with Quality Time. Remember birthdays, if nothing else.
Or better yet, call. In this age of D.I. (Digital Instantaneousness), the phone may seem so anachronistic, especially for us Geek Guys. But it conveys a warmth that cannot be duplicated by anything other than looking into someone’s eyes and smiling.
Of equal importance is the concept of letting go. With direct goodbyes not a pallatable option, at least we should drift gracefully, honestly. As tempting as it is to promise future contact (“I’ll write!”), ’tis better to follow our hearts before succumbing to conventional politeness.
—
No, Mom, I don’t need a new friend. I have too many friends that need my friendship, and they’ve been waiting too long already.
I finally got my ticket ($249 roundtrip San FranciscoFrankfurt with a very special special!), and I’ll once again be spending Christmastime with wonderful friends in Germany.
Of course, I can be a little cranky, and moan about the icky cold I’ll be facing, the insane hassles of peak-time holiday air travel (in coach, no less), and so on. But aside from getting to spend time with great people, I’ll also come back, once again, with a suitcase full of chocolate goodies.
Disadvantage: This makes me (literally) fat every year.
Advantage: This makes my friends fat, too, but they love me anyway.
And on a slightly deeper level, my twice-yearly trips to Europe remind me how much I miss about Europe (universally decent public transit, awesomely long and lingering meals…) and also how appreciative I am for the silly little niceties of America (like drinking fountains, non-smoking clubs, and so on).
Ah, if only there were a way to make an AdamCountry, taking the best of all the places I’ve visited and rolling it all up into one place that’s warm but still with snow at Christmas, with delicious but non-fattening food, with people who are kind but also helpfully blunt when you have spinach in your teeth, and so on.
Yes, Christmastime is a time for dreaming, no matter what your faith, I think. 🙂
A very attractive acquaintance of mine, who once had beautiful flowing long hair, got her tresses cut, well, awful short 🙁
So short, in fact, that I wasn’t sure it was her when she was in my arms tonight while dancing. “Hi, I’m Adam” I hesitatingly introduced myself, to which she replied with mock exasperation, “Uh, I’m [so-and-so], remember?”
She realized, of course, that I didn’t recognize her because of her major crop job. And certainly, my expected response would have been “You look great.”
But I didn’t think that was true, so I just smiled and apologized for my doofish inability to recognize her.
She smiled back, but I’m wondering whether she was hurt that I didn’t compliment her on her new doo.
I might even have considered saying something nice, but I’m a lousy liar.
This, indeed, also explains why I never became a lawyer.
Don’t you love it when stuff just clicks?
I take Lindy Hop lessons every Thursday from two of the world’s top swing dancers, and afterwards, I generally stay for their three hour dance party. Sometimes I stay because I just don’t want to go home, not because I’m having a particularly stellar night.
But last night, my dancing just seemed to click into place. I was having fun. My partners were enthusiastic. And I was feeling MUSICAL!
It didn’t hurt that I got very high compliments from two respectable follows, either.
One of them was shocked to hear that I had been dancing for just a bit over a year. “It seems like you’ve been dancing, well, maybe three years!” she gushed. When I told her at the end of the dance that it had been (honestly) a pleasure dancing with her, she responded, “Please ask me again!”
Another follow asked me for a third dance during the course of the evening, and apologized humbly saying, “I don’t mean to monopolize you, but you’re so much fun!”
That, indeed, is one of the top compliments you can get from a follow in Lindy Hop… anything with the word “fun” in it. That, and being asked for additional dances 🙂
* * *
It’s only recently that I’ve been finally reaching that point where I can play with the music, move my body a bit more gracefully, and lead with more assertiveness and confidence. In fact, it was merely a few months ago when I mercifully crossed over a particular line… when Lindy Hop became filled with more regular joy than regular stress… stress over whom I could ask to dance, stress about whether my partner was enjoying spending a three minute eternity with me, and so on. Now I’m finding more things to smile about… compliments, achievements (wow that double spin was smooth!), and an increase in the number of love affairs, at least on the dance floor.
Yes, it’s about loving each other for those three minutes… connecting with your partner… forgetting about everyone else (well, aside from watching out for collisions ;-)… and just sensing your partner, their movements, and how you balance and move together. It really is a kind of love that’s hard to describe unless you experience it.
It’s also about loving yourself, as crude as that may sound out of context. Earlier in the evening last night, I had actually made peace with the realization that I was never going to be a Lindy Rockstar.
“And that’s okay!” I told myself. And I think for one of the first times in my life, I really believed it. I could still enjoy dancing, and — of equal importance — women could still enjoy dancing with me with all my special nuances and quirks and foibles and “special” moves and all. I could still be somebody on the dance floor — myself — and be happy with that.
Sure, I had grown used to being a “Rockstar” in academics when I was younger… a Rockstar in music… and in many other things I set my mind to.
I just didn’t — and don’t — have a natural brilliance in dance. It’s not me. But I can accept that.
I wonder if it’s perhaps more than irony that I had some of the best dancing in my life when I finally learned to accept my dancing for what it is and what I’m capable of.
Of course, I don’t plan to just rest on my laurels. I will continue to practice, to improve, to push myself. But the goal will be to better myself… not in comparison with others (because they will get better, too, and always be ahead of me), not in comparison with an official yardstick (can I win competitions? can I do four spins in a row?) but rather, what can I learn that makes me happy?
Because once dance stops making me happy, that’s when I’ll stop dancing.
But as I wrote in a journal entry perhaps half a year ago, I just hope that day never comes. Music and movement… beget some of the greatest joys one can hope to have 🙂
I decided to add myself to the “Am I Hot or Not?” site, as seen here.
I have no idea what possessed me. Go inflate my score anyway 😀

As I noted in an earlier entry, I’m sick. Not horrible on-my-death-bed-sick, just an annoying cold, but it’s enough to have thrown my body out of whack with regards to eating and sleeping habits.
Anyway, so I went to bed at 4am last night, got up at 1:30pm, worked on some stuff for a bit, and then realized that I was exhausted… laid back down, and slept until around 5:30pm.
But during that sleep time, I had a very odd Strange Practical Fleeting Dream.
I was in bed with Anna Nicole Smith and an acquaintance of mine.
Purely in a non-sexual sense. I mean it! And, oddly enough, I never saw Anna Nicole nor touched her. I just somehow knew the identity of that (big) lump to my left.
So the acquaintance (“J”) is enthusiastically going on and on about some Lindy Hop Luminary Lady, which induces me to dream (within a dream) of this woman teaching me some Lindy Hop steps.
These turned out to be honest-to-goodness steps I learned a few months ago, but had forgotten I knew! This was my Lindy Angel!
And then I wake up. J’s just as excited as I am, and gets a jazz history book (one which I don’t own) off my shelf (which does exist), and points out that this Lindy Luminary is indeed historically famous. I marvel that this woman knew “my” moves! I’m also honored that J is sitting in my bed and helping me out (Anna Nicole still doesn’t quite register as anything more than a, ahem, large but unimportant presence; she’s still mute and moot).
And then I really wake up. I’m still confused but honored that J was in my dream, and I can’t wait to add those moves back to my repetoire and also write about the intricacies of this strange dream of a dream.
It’s 5:30pm, though, and I haven’t eaten anything since 4am the night before, when I pretty much emptied an entire tin of mixed nuts into my stomach. Sure, I couldn’t smell them, but how important is that with nuts anyway?
I made myself some spaghetti from leftover pasta and canned sauce plus bunches of extra dried red pepper flakes for that extra nose-clearing kick.
I ate. I reflected. I came back here to my computer.
And then I realized that I forgot 98.6% of the dream. My description above just scratches the surface of the strangeness that was involved in the layerdness, the significance, and the practical brilliance of the dream.
I’ve also pretty much forgotten those kick-ass Lindy moves that that Lindy Luminary (re)taught me. I remember, in fact, just enough to be frustrated about what I’ve remembered and forgotten.
And lastly, I don’t think I’m going to tell J about him being in bed with me, platonic or not, and it’s probably wisest not to let Anna Nicole know of this either.
Oh well. Back to the real world. Let me know if you find my dream, please.
Sometimes everything goes wrong. But sometimes everything goes right. 🙂