firsts

so 2010 was no "rollercoaster ride of emotions" (terrible, terrible) nor was it bland. all in all, my satisfaction with myself and the world has been pretty acceptable if not plain good except for a few blips. it says a lot about this year when i can say i would be perfectly happy if 2011 were more of the same. sadly, in the first time in a long time, i know that it won't and change is bound to happen as i transition to a new period in my life.

i guess what i mean to say is "happy new year," is all.

rooftoop concert 1969

there was a time (11-14ish) when i knew everything about the beatles, especially john lennon. i read every biography i could find, memorized every fact, listened to every beatles album, every solo album & yoko collab, watched every movie, even read his solo works of non-fiction/fiction (which i can say with some perspective was REALLY REALLY BAD).

11-14 yo me would probably give some kind of idolized description of john lennon. but now i think as hugely talented as he was, he was also a very real human being. an element of that comes through in this performance: in his humor, in his shambling inability to get lyrics right, in his raw passion when he does. his uncanny gift of sharing the experience of what it meant to be imperfectly human through his music has always stuck with me and even if my obsession has died down significantly, this is why he matters and why he'll always be remembered, at least, by me.

anyways, nostalgia aside: enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XW45IW6obJY&NR=1

so burnt out

no beating around the bush, i'm so burnt out. it's starting to get to me. i was sick for about a week and it was almost a relief because as miserable as i was it took my mind off of worrying and abstractions that i have no logical way of addressing. i've been kind of holed up in my apt in my free time, trying to get myself to be productive or leave and neither seems to get done. anyways, i realize this now and i figure i should do something about this. my options are that things can only get better or worse and i'm trying to push myself towards better.

but it's hard.

things only batman can say

quotes taken out of context (batman edition):

"see the thing by my belt? grab it and don't let go."

also this is from the first batman which i am watching on the classic cinema showcase on pbs. wtf?

imagined residency interview scenarios: take 1

Scene 1, fine institution on NE coast

INTERVIEWER: if you had to pick two words to describe yourself, what would they be?

ME: insufferable twat.

I: what?

M: i said "hard worker."

I: oh...excellent.

i feel like the pre-medicated zoloft ball.

pavement & other things

this is probably not the most efficient use of my time but hey...efficiency has never been my calling card.

pavement was wonderful. as i get older, i find that i no longer have the ability to create those crystallized concert moments that i used to: the pouring rain at malkmus over the line "i like wearing slippers when it's raining," the dimly lit bowery with charles bissel banging out the chords of "this is not what you had planned" followed by his guttural howl, the thunder of the cyclone as spoon played, the massive sing-along of les savy fav's love cover on nye ending the most emotionally unstable year of my life (so dramatic, so young). after pavement, what i had was a feeling-- giddy, light, but also tinged with sadness.

i'm glad that i went out last night even though i am tired and it makes the remainder of my week infinitely harder. being able to pick the moments i truly enjoy even when work is left undone is a hard task for me, and striving towards that is almost as important as being competent at all that medicine jazz that eats up so much of my time. in a way most of yesterday, felt very strongly like i was growing up and things were changing. pavement, i know, is a transient entity but it has shaped my life for ten years now. their temporary coming together feels almost like an ending of some epoch. if the universe liked symmetry i would be dead now but seeing that i'm still around, it feels like a sign that things are going to change.

this is too much armchair psychiatry over an indie rock concert. laterzz.

I'm all in favor of you pumping up your yearning and stoking the fires of your ambition and fantasizing in explicit detail about a fantastic dream—on one condition: The object of your craving has to be real and achievable. It can't be an impossible idol or remote delusion. The longing you feel must empower you, not demoralize you. The vision that gets you activated each morning must be something you can actually manifest by carrying out a detailed, step-by-step master plan. If you're willing to satisfy these provisions, you have my go-ahead to get more than a little wild with desire.

--Robert Brezsny, Free Will Astrology (Aug 4-10)

for the first time in a long time, i feel really good about life.

hello new world

let me resort to psychiatric cliches, let me resort to the passive voice: this month feels like a breakthrough.

i need a drink and something sobering right after.

one year!

happy anniversary long island!

we've been together for a year now & to quote the immortal sheryl crow "you're my favorite mistake." and to paraphrase her ex-beau lance armstrong: "i will def leave you as soon as something hotter comes along."

kisses!

quotes taken out of context

in classic regression to college mode, i've decided to resurrect this in my life to bring you the following overheard statement by a forever 21 employee:

"my boyfriend & I always start at the same time but he's always done waaaaaay before i am."

(snarky aside by me: hahaha i bet!)

i was working on writing something that was supposed to be meaningful but then sort of lost momentum. i miss messy summers even though the heart of the reasons for having messy summers in the first place have always been depressing. i guess what i meant to write was just going to be a more contemplative way to say the latter (read: elliptical nonsensense). being a grown-up apparently means bearing the same hardships and sadness (if not more) as when you were younger with fewer opportunities to do stupid, fun shit to make you forget it.

so that explains it...

I am not the world's leading expert on emotional maturity. I find that PJ Harvey song about mutilating dudes to be emotionally useful, on a more or less continual basis. But I will tell you this: The moment you, the female listener, break up with your internal Rivers Cuomo, the moment you renounce this particular mode of male expression and declare it no longer desirable or cute, the moment you no longer confuse the feeling of wanting to take a boy home and make him soup and somehow fix all his problems via blow job with love, is the moment that you're free. Because, at that point, you no longer care so much about his feelings. You still care, of course, about those. But never more than you care about your own.

-From Sady Doyle's piece "Rivers Cuomo Messes you up Forever"

new orleans was just what i needed, a break from reality that i, arguably, deserved. i ate my personal weight in fried foods, pralines, and seafood. pants are now a struggle but that's ok. i love wandering around other cities and finding quiet moments when life seems simple and beautiful. i apologize that i can't find a better way to describe how i feel without resorting to personal ads-like platitudes. i miss the smell of honeysuckle with every breeze. i miss jazz on street corners, worn-down music halls, and men singing sam cooke songs at 2am on the uneven brick sidewalks. i even miss the dense humid air. how do i miss something i only knew for a little bit? this is a question i often ask myself in regards to various things in my life. i'm starting to think i need newer things to miss.

anyways, my break is over. tomorrow i start peds. last rotation of the year. soon 3rd year will be over and 4th year begins. it simultaneously feels like i want everything to be over but at the same time, i need more time to figure it out.

i think it's high time i figure out a way to move into the deep south and live out my scarlett o'hara fantasies in my iron lace, gingerbread trim dream mansion. velvet curtain dress optional.

killing me softly

in another incarnation, i would've waxed philosophical about my plants dying but shiiiitttt, i ain't got time for that now. this is my fourth (fifth?) set of dying bamboo plants. i don't think i'm cut out for this whole "caring for living things" fiasco.

staying up to worry about step 2s. why didn't i do this earlier? now i'm fucked. staying up to chain-smoke even though i have to pre-round in like 3 hours. ugh. why can't i even use this time to study? trying to parse out the remaining 2 hours i have for sleep between showering and skeletonizing this stupid note which i'll probably either be pimped on or ignored for. should probably fix my schedule or plan to. i'm not doing it. what is wrong with me?

i can't believe i've been here for almost a year. in the most literal sense, it used to seem darker at nights when i first moved here. i can't tell if it's light pollution or just due to the purplish hue of the sky from all the rain but it seems different. maybe it's just different.

bummer part II

they really should have taught me this shit like a year ago. oh wait...

also, i am no longer just losing my mind but also physical stuff. in the last month i have lost my pager (resurfaced), my watch (sadly probably gone for good), various papers, dozens of pencils & pens, abandoned books all over the hospital only to retrieve them hours later, and today, left five dollars at the supermarket.

i can't seem to keep track of anything anymore. it actually goes above and beyond my usual forgetfulness. this is the part where i remind myself, for the love of god, if nothing else, please REMEMBER TO SIGN UP FOR YOUR STEP EXAMS BEFORE YOU GO TO NEW ORLEANS. i need to get out of med school as fast as possible even if residency is worse. all this idling around and pseudo-responsibility is driving me crazy. i wish i had become a food chemist.

on the bright side, i am soooooooo looking forward to spring break.

bummer

i fell asleep at 9/10 last night with the TV on some shitty reality show. i briefly woke up at 3 then 6 but didn't really wake up til 2. from 11 to 2 i had that restless sleep where you don't want to get out of bed but you're only half sleeping. i had some weird dream during the night, possibly about a boy that doesn't exist with some odd romantic undertones. it mostly made me uneasy.

when i finally got out of bed i had this weird flank pain and ab pain like i've been working out but obviously i haven't done so. i also had a headache which i thought was from caffeine withdrawal but coffee didn't help. i still have body pain and a headache. i took a long walk which was nice now that the weather is so lovely. along the way, i found some immigrant enclaves to hide out in in the future.

then i came back to my apt and had this intense feeling of hawk fear. now i'm struggling to study. life is not bad per se but i have this funny feeling.

nyc

being 16 and walking along 1st ave trying to catch the breeze which always seems wayward.

the smell of shisha, the scent of alcohol that seems to drip out of every sweat pore. i hiccup, i absorb every drop of grease and oil from the railings of air conditioners and all the grime off the lower east side concrete.

i don't know how i end up here. all i know is this pile of leaves and soft dirt makes for a nice place to rest my head. it doesn't matter that the next day every passing dog will need to stop here too. every star is oscillating in tiny circles now and the edge of the moon is a parameter i cannot measure.

before this, there is twilight, made beautiful by memory, spires and the sharpness of arabic ingrained into the baritone notes of prayer.

before i forget

time seems to move faster these days so every now and again i feel the need to stop and commit some things to memory.

last week, during the snowstorm, two blue jays rested on some branches right outside my window. it was beautiful to see the two spots of blue amidst the grey sky and blur of white. they stopped for a second and flew away. i think about this now every time i hear birds chirping. it makes this winter feel a little less bleak.

okay

i am trying to work outside my comfort zone lately which is very difficult because the older i get the more i just want to be by myself all the time. i realize that one of the recurring mistakes i have made in my life has been hiding both my attributes and my weaknesses from everyone. i was painfully shy as a child, tried to get over this when i was a little older by being a showy bastard, but now that i'm even older than that, i realize that that doesn't work either, and have returned to being painfully shy in my early 20's.

life brings some lessons though: one of the few things i took away from my psychiatry rotation is that having social phobia and generalized anxiety can be a crippling way to live day to day. while sometimes it may be unavoidable, i should at least do whatever little i can to try to overcome my own anxiety when functioning in public. half the battle is accepting that i am competent at what i do and the other half is accepting that there are many things that i struggle with and need to work on.

it's a handful and there is in a way, a deadline. it is both too little and too much time to amend everything.

heart cold as assassins, i got no passion
i got no patience and I hate waitin'
ho get your ass in

bad?

there is a direct correlation between my enthusiasm and how much caffeine i've had so far in the day.

sunset park circa 1990's

we were still living in the old railroad-style house on 57th St in the early 90's: mom, dad, sister, me, grandparents, and a steady stream of miscellaneous relatives and temporary renters. the street was a mix of new immigrants and the nordic elderly. it was girded by a mexican bakery on one end and a telecommunications shop on the other.

the aging whites on the block hated seeing their neighborhood slipping away. the onslaught of puerto rican flags and chinese dim sum parlors threatened the careful lower-middle class balance. times were different then. nyc was desperate enough to let millions of the foreign and impoverished terrorize the marginally less poor. there was no fear of the gentrifying class but an ever present fear of who would tear down whom first. but at least everyone still waved as you passed them by on your bike.

i had been thinking about that old house over the holidays. the cream white facade, its red steps, unkempt backyard and old boiler lying in the dirt, the blackberry tree next door, and the molasses-thick blanket of fruit on the ground each fall. all vacation long i had been hording details, thinking back to times that, if not brighter, were at least more distinct in color and vibrancy than so much of my immediate past.

in the process of this obsessive memory collecting, i thought back to another house in sunset park. its location escapes me (was it on 60th st? 61st? between 5th ave & 6th ave? maybe 7th & 8th?). a man, middle-aged or older, white, retired or working minimally at the time, would decorate his house and front yard in colorful, wondrous knick-knacks.

every season brought pinwheels and streamers. stuffed animals in holiday-appropriate dress, some recognizable (is that tweety in a santa suit?), some not (where does one purchase a strange mouse-like creature dressed as a leprechaun?). lights were strewn about haphazardly on the bushes.

the aim was not theme and orderliness. instead he opted for an all-or-nothing approach. halloween goblins were not placed in the garden one by one but instead, piled on top of one another or suspended from string tied from tree to tree. some were tacked to the ground or tied to branches. others spun and waved their ghostly fingers in the breeze. out of every inch of free space, styrofoam coffins, plastic daggers, and cut-out flames shot out until it seemed like everything was pouring out of the mouth of hell itself.

the house was amazing. i was probably 5 or 6 at the time and everything i saw overwhelmed my senses. the man himself became a bit of a local celebrity. in p.s. 314, our teachers would take us on mini-field trips to see what he had out. shortly before thanksgiving, he showed off a bevy of turkeys, pilgrims, and indians arrayed on a pedestal like a nativity scene where tender poultry took the place of the newborn babe. for presidents' day, he had pictures of abraham lincoln and george washington on particle board, american flags, artificial lights that looked like sparklers, and patriotic banners on display. he talked to us about "the great president kennedy" and his sad death. it was just a name to me then but the whole class and i nodded and paid our silent respects. each year, he added more and more. the older decorations were never abandoned just pushed further to the back so the new ones could have their time in the spotlight.

my family moved out a year or two later. too crowded and too loud, my parents said about the house on 57th. it was time for us to become our own family.

my grandparents and uncle continued to live in the old house and for awhile, i would go back often. sunset park was burgeoning on both the latino and asian fronts. in the summer i came to expect shaved ices from stolen shopping carts near the corner bodegas and cues of fish balls from the 8th ave storefronts. i would pass by that man's house and see the swell of rainbow colors engulfing the entire front. like the seasons themselves, the house was forever changing--rapidly yet subtly. it was like the sudden realization of autumnal leaves surrounding you when you could have sworn the summer heat was still beating down on your neck. i had never seen him out of his house physically replacing the scenery yet it always happened. somehow the pink explosion of hearts gave way seamlessly to shamrock sculptures without one ever taking note of the effort.

but years passed. my uncle married and decided the old house was too small. my grandfather died and my uncle convinced my grandmother to let him sell the house and moved them all to queens. i went to sunset park for groceries every now and again but little else. for a long time, i forgot about what it was like living in that part of brooklyn.

it all came back though. a sudden realization of all the things i have kept, the obsessive-compulsive nature that colors my life, drove me back to it. i used to believe that being obsessive-compulsive meant being anal and neat but as i trudge through medical school, i realize it is an odd diagnosis of sorts. it is a need for control that runs the risk of throwing you off track completely, a need to keep and arrange things in whatever arbitrary order that you have created and cannot deviate from.

like my ramshackle life, i think. the piles of objects, papers, and materials i constantly surround myself with. the piles of emotion and thought that rest uneasily on my mind at all times. all this made me think of sunset park, my old house, and in turn, the piles of color and objects of that man's home--that grandiose disorder in his front yard.

so much i have tried to keep, holding onto whatever i could when what i really cared about was no longer mine. but more than anything, more than the analogy, more than the history, i thought about that house itself. i wonder if those decorations are still out.

resolved

1. if you can't take it with you then you should probably leave it behind.
2. if someone has to cry, try not to let it be you.
3. be more decisive.