sons of bitches

Yesterday I went to the Walgreen’s by the Westgate mall, a drug store I had not been to since I was in middle school. I remembered how one time I was outside of this store with my friends Troy and James. James had some packets of mustard and ketchup and he squirted them onto the handle of the pay phone, to piss of the next person who used it, I guess. I remembered thinking it was a stupid and petty gesture.

Today I was on a run in the old neighborhood and a fat, adolescent boy with a crew cut and glasses riding his bike called out something that sounded like ‘Dwight’ or even ‘blight’ or 'blike.' The first makes more sense but I’m not sure if people that age are watching The Office. I guess I have to check out the demographics. At any rate, I was more insulted than usual by this comment because I was in athletic gear, running—and I didn’t have weird glasses.

As I continued to run, I wondered, why are people at that age such sons of bitches? I can understand why they’re that way with each other, but I’m an adult to them. I could’ve tackled those motherfuckers, or even just yelled at them and scared them.

reflections

Last night, after having a drink with a group of students at Mr. Ups from the French school to celebrate Rosa’s birthday, I went to the Two Brothers to try and find some excitement, whatever that would mean. As I pushed myself through the crowd to get to the bathroom, spilling my beer several times over American strangers speaking in Spanish with bad accents, I realized that all I really wanted to do was smoke a cigarette, and that moreover, I wanted to smoke a cigarette with someone who could banter with me. Then I realized that this sentiment is, in fact, one I’ve felt quite often. That is to say, sometimes the best thing that can come out of a night of drinking is smoking a cigarette with some who can banter. I met with Ben later that night, and oddly enough we both saw Bachir, my film professor, returning from who knows where at 3 in the morning. I told him what had occurred to me, and he agreed.

Tonight, I went outside to try to find someone who would bum me a cigarette, thinking that perhaps I would find Bachir, who would probably make the 5 minutes or so it takes to smoke one down enjoyable. Instead I found my friend Clayton with a group of people I’d never met before. I bummed a cigarette. First, they wouldn’t admit who they really were or where they were from. I acted as if I was insulted that they would treat me with such an attitude, and eventually they did start to be a little more earnest, though I still didn’t take them seriously. The banter continued, me acting insulted and pointing out the inconsistencies in their story and the silly nature of their attempts at an ironic joke, and them accurately pointing out that I was guilting them so they would admit that they liked me, etc. Well, this continued for some time, until I decided to go back inside the student center. I admitted to them—though I’m not sure if they took it ironically or in earnest—that it had really been quite a pleasure bantering with them, probably one of the highlights of the evening. Later I saw Clayton inside and he told me that they had all thought I was very amusing, which flattered my ego to no end.

Have you ever gone back and looked at the old photos of yourself on fbook, or the photos of people from your past? It evokes a bit of melancholy in me.

Well, these are the two significant sentiments I felt tonight: the simply pleasure of bantering with people while smoking a cigarette, which goes a long way, and the mild sense of loss in seeing photos from one, two years ago.

coup de torchon

Today I was listening to Carl Orff’s short piece ‘Gassenhauer’ used in Badlands in a sequence that I posted a few months ago. This made me think of Betrand Tavernier’s Coup de torchon, which uses music in a very charged, kind of impressionistic way. Here is the opening sequence.

fragments from my past

A couple of days ago my old friend from middle school Dave Smith added me as a friend on facebook. We stopped being good friends because I thought that he stole my Magic cards. I lost track of him during high school.
On the left is Dave. On the right is a girl named Taylor. If I remember correctly, in the fourth grade I asked one of my friends to ask her out for me, whatever that would've entailed. She said no. Voilà the beginning of my tragic romantic life, filled with rejection and jealousy.

On the left is a girl named Erin who was in my eight grade science class. Our teacher Mr. Litner frequently became enraged with her because she perpetually chewed gum and generally expressed a glib attitude. If you can't tell from the photo, she is very small. Dave and I often harassed her from across the street while we walked home. Dave is there in the background, with the red shirt. Next to Erin is someone I don't know, but the caption indicates that his name is "Ballin J."

billiards

Today there was a billiards tournament at the grille and I watched a couple of the matches. There are at least three very good players in the languages schools who can clear the table in less than three turns. I found it discouraging to see how much better they are than me. I’d like to be good at billiards, I’d feel masculine and authoritative, etc. But when I set out to improve, I reach a point where I don’t care anymore (which seems to be a recurring theme in my life…). This sentiment was very keenly evoked while I watched the match between Anthony, the champion of the French school, and the Russian school champion. The guy from the Russian school was tall, well-built, and generally serious looking. He wore a special kind of glove, to help the cue slide more smoothly over his hand, I imagine. He looked to me like a seedy villain in a mediocre spy film, and I actually found him kind of scary, like he could kill a motherfucker in one stroke with one of his exclusive cues that he brought with him to the grille. If you end up like that when you get to be very good at billiards, then I’ll pass.

llorando

This afternoon I went into the town of Middlebury and searched in vain for a place where I could get an eggs benedict sandwich. I found it acutely disappointing that I couldn’t indulge in this exceptional breakfast sandwich that ranks among the finest pleasures of my life. It occurred to me that this is something that warrants chagrin and malaise, and not all the other stupid shit I write about. Anyway, I settled for a chicken salad sandwich and a coffee, which in the end wasn’t so bad, but all the same a certain empty feeling stuck with me.

While sitting outside, I realized how closely Middlebury resembles the town in Blue Velvet (obviously my entry from last night was in mind). If the parties were a little crazier and lasted a little longer and if people used obscure drugs, and most of all if some of the characters here sang Roy Orbison songs at the karaoke nights, it’d be really damn close. I wonder if there is a French version of “Crying”?

which david lynch character are you?

I admit that I often read the quiz results that appear on the fbook feed. What annoys me is that no matter what the answer is, it is always ultimately positive. For example, the model seems to be something along the lines of: “What Bill Murray character are you?” Let’s say you’re Bob, from What About Bob? “Perhaps you have some problems and you’ve been in therapy all you’re life, but at heart you know what counts and people respect that…essentially, you’re endearing and people love you…etc. etc.”

I want to see a quiz like, “Which David Lynch character are you?” Frank Booth—“you have lots of very serious issues and you probably should be in prison or a mental hospital. You fashion yourself to be a cool guy, but what that really entails is pushing other people around in an insecure way and using strange drugs and then performing weird sex acts. You’re fucked up.”

My point is, do people really take these quizs so seriously that they’d be offended if the result wasn’t overwhelmingly positive? I have some ideas for quizes: What kind of annoying person at a party are you? How much do you abuse alcohol? Which character are you in Caddyshack? Which Keanu Reeves character are you? Etc. etc.