Faking It

I have a problem. I keep pretending to fit in by trying to understand references that I don't fully know.

Here is an annotated list of things I've made jokes about that I haven't read, watched, played, or listened to:

- Kanye West
- LOST
- Game of Thrones
- Mario Kart
- Bollywood films

Many of my friends are avid gamers, and yet I have never played video games. Many of my friends are addicted to shows such as Game of Thrones, Community, Doctor Who, House of Cards, Mad Men, and Downton Abbey. I have watched these shows only sparingly or not at all. I want to watch them, but I don't have the time.

I have this constantly nagging sensation that I don't belong. There's a pit in my stomach, as I agonize over my lack of cultural knowledge. Because I have a photographic memory and a ridiculously good sense for small details, I can read comments that people make about their favorite shows, books, and movies, and get a pretty good sense of what people like about their entertainment and what they find memorable - I don't typically know enough to have an in-depth conversation but I'll remember enough to laugh at inside jokes that only fans usually get and to deduce what happens next in shows without getting the spoilers first.

I am alternately dismayed and amused by my talents.

I've never been a primarily self-guided person - I've always been heavily influenced by other people, whether it's been my parents, my former church, my fellow Scouts, my school mates, my coworkers, or my college theater friends. When I was in school, I always found it annoying when teachers asked me to answer questions for them before being instructed in how to solve them.

While I now realize that these teachers were often teaching me how to think, I often felt at a disadvantage because these teachers were trying to get me to think in a way that is more difficult for me. My best thinking happens when I reconfigure things I hear and learn from other people and imaginatively rearrange them. Among the first CDs I ever got as gifts were Weird Al Yankovic's Running With Scissors and Allan Sherman's Greatest Hits. I respect the work of these parody artists, who substitute their own words in popular songs to produce jaw-droppingly awkward and subversively hilarious new interpretations.

I'd much rather learn what people believe is best and why they believe that, and then try to make the connections myself. Perhaps that is why I added a philosophy major when I was a college student. I've long been fascinated by how people construct their own realities. That leads me to ask whether my own efforts to construct reality are, in fact, a parody. That's a difficult question to tackle; let's agree to defer the follow-up question, asking if my parodies are genuine or ironic?

For me, claiming to be an individual has never been a natural or a self-evident act. I can see the fault lines where I added or subtracted various habits and fandoms to become who I am today, and I recognize the role of luck and contingency in my life so far. It just doesn't matter that much to me whether I'm riding the crest of a wave of popularity or favoring obscure pursuits that most people ignore or impugn.

Nevertheless, I'm eager to see how far I can push. How inventive can I be spurning the social boundaries of my generation, sparring with the popular imagination, and spurring strange new vistas of awareness? Or am I just rationalizing my own laziness to sound pretentious? The answer, of course, is in the act - in the knowledge of the act - and in the knowledge that, despite our best efforts, we are all actors in our own way.

Leap Into Song: "Rococo" by Arcade Fire

This is the third installment of my recurring "Leap Into Song" series, where I examine my thoughts about different songs and artists that have influenced me. Previously I have covered songs by Muse and Lady GaGa.

I've been getting more and more interested in Arcade Fire recently. I particularly enjoy their songs "Culture War", "Modern Man", and "Wake Up", but "Rococo" most of all strikes a chord with me.

As a philosophy and political science buff, I appreciate the implied digs at postmodernism and cynicism in the lyrics. The "modern kids" downtown are "using great big words they don't understand". Many times I have listened to this song and sympathetically exclaimed, "F*$% Derrida!". But that's just the first level of resonance I have with this song.

As a person with Asperger's Syndrome, I am often prone to fits of echolalia. To avoid being hypocritical by using a complex word without explaining myself, echolalia is "an automatic repetition of vocalizations" (according to Wikipedia). Further information about echolalia and other symptoms of autism can be found here and here. In my own life, I often repeat thoughts or sentences that I have just said - to myself or to people around me - or I'll keep returning to the same ideas over and over.

In "Rococo", Arcade Fire repeats variations of the word "rococo" over and over again, but they vary the notes, the length of the word, and the melodies behind the words. It's a very tasteful and affirmative similarity to echolalia. The way the saying of the word "rococo" becomes bolder and more confident throughout the song, the way that the music swells to a peak of assurance...it's a wonderful synchronicity.

In a world where people are "moving towards you with their colors all the same", it's a positive thought to embrace many kinds of diversity, including neurodiversity. While I'm not at all sure that Arcade Fire is intentionally delivering this message, I have chosen to interpret "Rococo" in such a way that I find personally fulfilling and affirming.

I encourage all people to live their lives in a way that reflects strongly upon their own strengths, no matter what other obstacles they may face. I am thankful for the ability to imagine a positive vision of my life, including my unique features such as my occasional echolalia. These things that make me who I am are neither good nor bad, but they are something I want to celebrate, and I will continue to find ways to see the positive aspects of my personality. I am grateful, lastly, to Arcade Fire for making such great music which has helped me stay optimistic and feel more capable as a person.

Autism Awareness Day

Earlier, I read on Facebook that today - April 2nd - was Autism Awareness Day, which I had completely forgotten. I was excited to hear, though, that people are wearing the color blue to raise awareness since I was already wearing a blue dress shirt.

It can still be difficult for me to tell other people that I am on the autism spectrum, although I have been more open about my condition...condition? Is that the word I want to use?

While living as a person on the autism spectrum definitely isn't a "lifestyle choice" (relax, this is a joke)*, it does seem quite absurd for me to use such impersonal, almost dehumanizing language like "condition" to describe something that has had such an impact on my life so far.

*Would I have to say that so explicitly if I were someone else? (I don't even say "normal", because no one really is "normal", but everyone has problems and quirks that change who they are.)

On that note, I choose to describe myself as a "professional human being". I've spent an often disconcerting amount of time parsing the nuances of the behavior of other people, not to mention my own actions.

When I was younger, I knew less about the world and felt far more sensitive to my own shortcomings. When I had difficult interactions with others, I always assumed that it was my fault, because I was the one who stuck out from the crowd.

Yes, I do make my fair share of mistakes -- but so does everyone else. No one has a monopoly on making or not making a social faux pas.

In some ways, having so much trouble with understanding certain things about the world for so long has helped me. I have more patience for uncertainty, more tolerance of ambiguity, and a greater willingness to see things from the perspectives of other people.

From ignorance, wisdom. And the last shall be among the first.

So that's something. Everywhere I go, people still insistently ask me "where I'm from" because "I have an accent". I usually don't tell them that I probably sound unusual to them because I have Asperger's Syndrome. I want people to believe that I'm really a male counterpart to Anna Chapman, sent as a representative of a foreign country to live undercover in the United States of America, and that my apparent accent and pedestrian background betray my ulterior motives. At least, I hope that's what people think, because that's cool as hell.

Now I just need to practice a Russian accent:

"My name is Teleprompter. I am a professional human being. I am from suburbia, USA, from somewhere you've never heard of, like a good American..."

Leaving the Scene of a Crash

I may have slain one of my computers, a laptop my parents gave me the summer before I entered my freshman year of college. If this is the end, perhaps it is a fitting time for that machine to go. I've finally received a physical copy of my diploma in the last few weeks, and I'm interviewing for what would be my first paying job after graduation tomorrow. A symbol of my late adolescence may have chosen to exit stage left.

This is the computer that helped me become an atheist, helped me win and lose my first girlfriend, find and secure several jobs and internships, and stored countless memories.

It would be easy to feel that I am burning down part of my past, but that's not how I choose to see the situation. I am leaving a part of my life behind me, where it belongs, to embrace new adventures. That's not just about the computer, by the way.

***

I've finished my interview, and it went well enough. The job is in telemarketing, so it's probably not going to be super challenging and the hours aren't that great -- but I need the money. I got great news today that I got an interview for another job - this time, one in advocacy that is ideal for me. It's something I can do at the same time as my Hill internship, which is really neat.

I'm feeling especially adult today. I've been incredibly productive. I wrote several people to ask where they're living after the spring, and soon I hope that I'll have arrangements for where I'm living after my current lease expires.

If I manage to land a paying job, even a part-time one, and I can find another good place to live for awhile, I'll feel pretty set for the time being. I still have a lot of leads, and I'm really feeling good about my life. I feel very proactive.

Every time I go to the grocery store and get food to eat instead of going out or ordering, every time I pick up dry cleaning and put it away instead of leaving it out, every time I write someone back quickly instead of dilly-dallying and forgetting to contact them...I feel progressively better about my life and what I'm accomplishing.

I'm not doing anything monumental yet, but I am seeking to become a master of small details that should add up to a larger picture. I'm taking time to establish a good, well-ordered life for myself as best I can, and I'm trying to manage the chaos and enjoy what I'm doing in the meantime.

I realize that today and yesterday are parts of the days where I don't feel like I have anything interesting to say. Still, I'm not writing this blog only to be interesting. I need to write, and I don't particularly care whether I say interesting things or not. I need to be persistent. I can't let the perfect become the enemy of the good, because goodness knows I've done that often enough in my life already.

Poetry Digest: #5

From time to time, I hope to publish a collection of a few of my recent poems. I will refer to this series of posts as my "Poetry Digest". This is Poetry Digest #5.



The Escalator's Speech

The careful plucking of strings resonates
Between awful, desperate groans and gasps,
Straining mechanical encumbrance -
All the pride and fury of Beethoven:
Symphony seven, allegretto - two.
Thumping guttural hums and pipsqueak sighs;
An escalator for an orchestra,
Seething underneath to find the right pitch.
My pride peaks as my height rises to time
In swelling triumph with trumpets and flutes.
This raspy, tired...contrivance confounds me:
Moving people without stirring their souls?
I feel the agonies of wonder lost.
I resolve to share its humble thunder:
Wailing without end, in stale baritone --
Let us all thrust our songs into the world!


The Syntax of Things

Order is the absurdity of repetition -
the inability to see, singularly,
in the necessity of the individual moment.

Necessity is the order of the individual -
the inability to see repetition
is in the moment singularly, of absurdity.

The inability to see order is repetition -
the moment of necessity is singularly,
in the absurdity of the individual.


inside-out

brush
the dust
off your coat
fix your collar
redo the buttons
don mismatched gloves
no mirror
applies
here


siphon

blow
your breath
in focus
gazing within
the ephemeral
both in and out
together
either
way

twang
buzzes
underneath
smooth melodies
reverberating
past the effect
unaware
weaving
tones

track
hollow
wobbling
just passing through
empty stereo
between spaces
composing
what is
gone


transfer

use
swagger
expertise
your best bull rush
briefcase bludgeoning
with the stiff arm
swinging by
swarming
hives


Running for My Life

world class expert in banana triage
ripened owner of clementines
steward of much yogurt
dawn champion
I rise

ready
daylight beckons
just before my alarm
I leap into a buzzing burst
underdog of the drowsiness relay

I win one pants leg, and also the next
I have earned the title black belt
defend my crown daily
no atrophy
no ties

but ties
I am training
I surmount obstacles
each routine is my next event
I'll finish first place on the Metro stand


In Statuary Hall, A Proud Hoosier

Oliver Hazard Perry Throck Morton --
I'd commandeer that, commodore!
Oliver P. Morton.
Among Hoosiers,
First-rate

Leader
In civil war,
Staunch ally of Lincoln:
"Perhaps the shrewdest man I know".
Two men from my state who don't hesitate.

"Filled with the most Southerners in the North".
Confederate flag bumper stickers
Common in my hometown
Still testify - -
Too true.

Things change
Yet are the same:
Lead a state to acclaim -
You won't be lampooned in the East -
Which lasts longer...humor, or prejudice?


We're Borg Again in Indiana
*(to the tune of "Back Home Again in Indiana)

We're Borg again, in Indiana -
Where it seems that we can see
The growing of our might
Our crushing might
Burn the sycamores for me
So you will pay
Give us our tribute
Or we will burn down your home
And when we form a hive mind army on the Wabash
All the world will call Indiana home

Existential Sonatas in Pacific Time

I almost forgot to write a blog post for today - then I realized that even though it is technically early Saturday morning...for me...that my blog publishes my date-line according to Pacific time. So it will appear that I did write an entry for Friday! Muahaha! Of course, that I'm telling you about this insight does undercut my point, but I'm still happy to attain the technical accomplishment of keeping my promise alive for one more day.

I've been paying more attention to my experiences of time since I started my most recent internship. I've had days where I feel that I just arrived for the office opening at 9 am ten minutes ago -- when it's already past 6 pm. Some parts of my day feel especially fast or slow.

Lunch, overall, moves very quickly but each moment passes meaningfully. I am aware that I am running out of time - I know if I'm outside the office longer than I want to be - I can feel the moments expiring as they happen, individually and in sequence. But then what feels like ten minutes, when I look at my phone, was actually half an hour.

After work today, I met several of my close friends. One of these friends is a physics major. He told me that he gets aggravated by his quantum physics class which starts at 8:55 am. Or, as I told him, "you get mad about your 8:55 am quantum physics class that starts at 3 pm?"

I feel no fear when I'm with my closest friends. I say absolutely preposterous things. I utter words that would be reckless for me to say anywhere else. I am greatly fortunate to have such wonderful friends in my life. I've felt awkward and apprehensive around other people so often before now, that making and keeping friends has eluded me for some longer stretches of my life than I care to admit. (For instance, pretty much my entire freshman year of college.)

I have zero shame when I am with my friends. Even when I do something that I legitimately regret, I am able to move on and not hold onto the guilt as I would in other circumstances. My friends tolerate my quirks and don't judge me negatively.

It is now so late that I don't feel like writing any more words. I heavily resist the impulse to write further, yet I still feel incomplete. Tonight, I am thankful for my friends, my internship, my family, my senses, my learning, my home, and my creativity. I am thankful for time and change and entropy. I'm thankful that when I got really hot water from the cooler at work, that eventually it was only lukewarm so I could drink it before I left.

Everything ends, even days that you measure in Pacific time. But the most important thing is to make the most of the time you have, and that's what I'm trying to do. I am, again, exceedingly appreciative of the time I have, and to those who are sharing that time with me as we all journey into the unknown future.

That Loveless Feeling

I worry about the first impressions I make. I'm stressed that I'm the sort of person that people like more as they get to know me better, but I'm anxious that people won't take the time to let me reveal myself to them in a way that makes me feel comfortable. I also worry that people aren't that interested in my personality. I just feel extremely vulnerable.

I work so much, and I try to deal with my uncertain work and living situations, that I don't want to put in the effort to reach out to other people. I feel like every time I try, I get burned. Maybe I'm waiting for the right moment. I don't believe in fate, though, so what am I waiting for?

I believe that I have to make my own opportunities if I want to be successful in anything...maybe that doesn't sound romantic, but why isn't it? Effort is hot. If you work hard to encourage other people to see you at your best, if you're not counting on true love that falls down from heaven, that's an even truer love. That's a love that takes everything. What's more romantic than giving everything to a lover?

I hate dating, I hate being lonely, and I hate feeling uninspired. It's a chain of negative emotions. I'm trying to remain an optimist. I don't count all the times I have failed, all the awkward encounters I have had, or all the people who haven't called or written me back. I'm an optimist, not a masochist. But, somehow, I still manage to put myself through a lot of pain in the name of pleasure.

Dating feels very superficial to me. Of course, I'm no less superficial than anyone else in a lot of important ways. Physical attraction is very important to me. I know from my experiences, though, that it's more difficult for me to feel more than a passing physical attraction for someone unless I feel emotionally and intellectually compatible.

The beginning of dating never seems to involve this element much, so I'm stuck gasping for air more often than not. I don't want to get to know someone by being glib. I'm not going to waste my time. I don't feel comfortable being real with people I'm just meeting, but I don't feel comfortable being someone I'm not. I feel genuine when I can say or act in ways that I feel other people will not understand. Their judgment is looming over me.

You like Netflix? You work? You like this food, and those movies, and these songs? This kind of small talk is like warm piss: the words are beyond use, have become stale, and are going to smell worse the longer they sit outside -- until someone acknowledges the mess and flushes it where it belongs. I'm not sure what I want instead. I really want to have someone in my life who isn't afraid to risk everything for me, but how can I earn that trust? How can I earn the love of someone as crazy and curmudgeonly as I am?

I don't know how to fix this problem. I'm not sure if there is a solution. Maybe I'll just stay home and dance uncomfortably in my apartment while no one's looking.