I saw Green Day in East Rutherford, NJ last night and it was fucking amazing. Easily the best concert I've seen in years. Now, I'm not a big Green Day fan at all...I liked their hits in the early 90's, such as "Longview" and "Basket Case," but I found them to be a bit too derivative of 70's punk to be very interesting. They didn't seem all that innovative or original. Now, one of their more recent songs, "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" seemed a bit more introspective, and touched me, but I still felt no need to buy any of their albums. My cousin had an extra ticket and invited me to go to the concert with her last night, and because I needed to get my ass out of the house, and had no real distaste for Green Day, I agreed. Holy shit, was I not prepared for what happened. Their new material is truly, truly brilliant. The band is electrifying live. I never got the sex appeal of the lead singer, Billy Joe, but now I do...he simulated masturbation on stage (actually unbuckling his belt, slipping his hand down his pants, while moaning and gasping aloud), wiggled those teeny hips, charmed the crowd until we worshipped him as our king, and was sexy as all get-out. He was hilarious, sweet, charismatic, bitchy, rowdy, vulnerable, and openly political (about needing to get Bush the fuck out of the White House). The band was obviously having a blast, and so were we. I didn't even mind that my cousin, her friends, and I were much older than the teenage kids clad in pseudo-punk gear surrounding us, who pumped their little fists to each song. I felt my heart swell when they began to play the song "Wake Me Up When September Ends" off of their new album, and fell in love with it (I bought American Idiot and have listened to this song at least ten times today, without tiring). I danced like a maniac to "Longview" and shouted at the top of my lungs, "when masturbation's lost its fun you're fucking moving!" For one of their songs, they asked for a drummer, a bass player, and a lead guitarist from the crowd to take their places on stage...and it was so fucking incredible. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for those kids to get on stage and see an enormous crowd of people cheering for them. They looked scared shitless and orgasmically euphoric at the same time...and they actually did a pretty good job! Particularly the bass player. I had never seen a band do something like that before for their fans...it was very, very special. And when they ended with "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)"...yeah, I admit it. Tears pricked my eyes. I'm still pretty emotional over what happened last week, so of course those words would have an effect on me.
Some things which happened before the concert:
1) My cousin asked a gentleman (obviously a parent of one of the teenage kids) to take our picture with her camera. He reminded me a bit of Peter Falk with his slightly overgrown gray hair, easy going smile, and seen-it-all expression. Between sets, there was 80's music blasting from the speakers (perhaps to make things a little easier on us old folks), and when Devo's "Whip It" started to play, this gentlemen wiggled his hips suggestively to the opening chords. I was vaguely horrified.
2) We laughed until we cried at the TV ads for "Disney on Ice--Finding Nemo!" Who the hell designed those costumes so that the enormous white eye globes are placed in front of the skaters' breasts? They looked obscene.
3) There were a couple of young boys (dressed in all black, with their hair dyed black) to my right who acted like they were in a mosh pit, bouncing around and crashing into my side multiple times during the course of the evening. I had gotten some glow sticks from the guy at the Mobil gas station (for the kids to see in the dark on Halloween, he explained), and gave a stick to one of the boys. He looked pretty grateful, maybe because earlier when he tried to slap me five, I stared at him stonily and didn't lift my arm. My cousin whispered to me, "He's only fourteen at the most...You probably gave that boy his first glowstick." Which sounded a little dirty in a Mary Kay LeTourneau sort of way, but of course I was just trying to get rid of an extra stick...nothing more, nothing less.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Monday, October 25, 2004
Ah. Breakups. Well, as far as breakups go, it was as good as it could have possibly been. Well, no...I suppose a painless breakup would have been preferable. But for a breakup with someone I loved, it felt right and I got the answers I needed in order to move on. For this I am grateful. And I'm also lucky to have stumbled into a movie which helped me keep everything in perspective.
The movie is called The Motorcycle Diaries. It's a film about Che (then Ernesto) Guevara and his buddy Alberto Granado in their youth, when they took a massive roadtrip throughout South America. Since I am woefully ignorant of South American history and politics, I knew nothing of Che Guevara other than the fact that he was a Communist revolutionary who supported Castro and was killed. I didn't know that Guevara had been a medical student, and felt a pang of recognition when in the movie, he expressed boredom and lack of fulfillment with medical school and medical exams, and yearned to explore and travel and see what else the world could teach him. The movie wasn't particularly fantastic...Salles is a competent and enthusiastic, if not brilliant, director. The two lead actors did very subtle and moving work, but the structure and the pacing were a bit irritating (particularly in the beginning), and much of the humor failed. The black and white snapshot motif felt a little too cheezy for me, and took me out of the movie whenever it occurred. The first third of the film felt like an inferior retread of another movie (one of my favorites), Y Tu Mama Tambien. However, once the subject matter got more serious, and Ernesto and Alberto learn about the plight of their poor and powerless countrymen and countrywomyn, the movie became much more interesting. The scenes at the leper colony, where Ernesto and Alberto ignore the rules established by the nuns (forbidding any of the healthy workers to touch the lepers with their bare hands), were particularly moving.
When I saw DR at about 6 pm and asked him if we could meet after he finished work at 8 pm, and to my surprise he had filled his evening with a rugby practice and couldn't see me until 11 pm, I had to figure out how to spend those five hours without going insane with anxiety over the likely impending breakup. So I drove to an adjacent town to get some ice cream (which is my usual drug of choice for anxiety) and try to study at my favorite cafe. I happened to see that The Motorcycle Diaries was playing at the movie theater, scheduled to start right when I arrived, and I hopped into the building to watch it. I expected it to be a total escape--how much could I identify with two randy boys on a road trip through South America back in the 1950's? And apart from Ernesto's dissatisfaction with medical school and his desire to break free of expectations, I didn't find much there. But then there was a brief scene where he visits his girlfriend at her house, and they have a lovely time together. She begs him to stay with her; he regretfully is unable to grant her request. She tells him that she would wait for him, but not forever. She gives him $15 (in U.S. dollars) to buy her a bikini if the boys ever made it to the U.S. on their trip. After Ernesto and Alberto leave, no matter how many scrapes they get into, no matter how broke they are, he refuses to spend those $15, despite Alberto's begging and pleading. Then, at one of their stops, Ernesto receives a letter from his girlfriend. We never find out exactly what it says, but from his anguished reaction, we know that this girl is no longer his. Ernesto spends the day staring at the ocean and touching the letter, grieving his loss, as his buddy Alberto tries desperately but fails to cheer him up. And then Ernesto leaves the letter behind, gives his buddy a grin, and they move on. Afterwards, Ernesto finds something so much more important and meaningful than this silly girlfriend--a connection to the native peoples of South America, a sympathy with their plight, and a determination to do what he can in order to make their lives better. He gives those $15 to a destitute Communist couple who are desperate for work and risk their lives to work in the mines.
And so, after viewing this movie, I felt a strange peace, and kept it as I drove to his house for the inevitable confrontation. The breakup was excruciatingly painful; I sobbed, my chest shuddering violently, snot mingling with tears on my face, while he sat on his couch and stared at me helplessly, making sure not to touch me. But I knew that while it hurt, and while I lost something lovely and valuable, there was so much more in the world to worry about, to think about. Since I can no longer love him, I can redirect whatever love, whatever passion I have, into something more productive and more appreciated. Guevara found this to be true, and while I suspect that I will not become a Communist revolutionary, I think I can find this truth as well. In the large scheme of things, what is a romance anyway? Sure, it's the centerpiece of so many books and movies and television shows and songs, and it can be all-consuming for those who are involved in it...but in the end I don't think that romance alone would give my life meaning, would make me feel whole. Since the romance part of my life is obviously shot at the moment, I need to work on the rest of my life. To find some sort of life path, like Guevara himself found. Funny...I had been hard at work at figuring that stuff out until I met DR; then most of my energy went to my relationship with him, and I largely neglected the task of understanding what the hell I should do with my life, and how to cobble together a spiritual construct.
Somewhat inspired by the film, I agreed to go to Pennsylvania to go Kerry canvassing with a friend of mine. Pennsylvania is considered a swing state for this current election, and people from all over the East Coast have been driving to Pennsylvania in order to talk to voters there. My friend (MF) and I went door to door with people who were targeted as likely Democrats through previous surveys. We asked them about their thoughts on voting, and whether they wanted more information about particular issues in order to aid their decision, and whether they knew where the local polling place was located. The neighborhood we roamed through was located in inner city Harrisburg; it was run down with many abandoned and crumbling buildings. Most of the people we met were black or Hispanic. It was fun to see the strong Kerry support in the neighborhood; passersby were excited to see us and quickly divested us of Kerry signs and bumper stickers, lightening our load considerably. MF and I got lost and asked an elderly gentleman where we could find "Reh-jeen-a" (Regina) Street; he quickly corrected us and said that it was "Reh-jeye-na" Street and directed us to it. As MF and I left him, I joked that he was a dirty old man and changed the pronunciation of every possible word to resemble "vagina." So angina would be pronounced "an-jeye-na" and so on.
We encountered one gentleman who stared at us silently through his open doorway as we cheerfully announced that we were part of the Kerry/Edwards campaign. He then shouted that he was not voting for anyone, because "Both of them are liars!" We asked him to explain this, and he said that both Bush and Kerry were one-sided in their support of Israelis over the Palestinians. He urged us to enter his house, and although at first we weakly protested, citing the need to see many more houses that day, we ultimately complied. I saw green arabic letters streaming down his computer in columns, like the numbers on computer screens in The Matrix. He had an enormous television which showcased the Al Jazeera station. MF stayed standing while the man insisted that I sit on his couch, which I did. I was a little nervous because there was a beautiful white crocheted covering on his couch, and I suspected that my unpredictable period might be imminent and was using no barrier. The man said that he was a Lebanese Christian, and that if the Palestinians and the Israelis each had their own state, then there would be no more war. MF admitted that he was Jewish, and then the man said that he was in the food industry, and Jewish people came into his store all the time, and he still spoke his opinion to them. MF bristled when the man shouted that Israelis thrived on the conflict between themselves and the Palestinians, and that if there was peace, then Israel would no longer have any purpose. The man insisted that the middle Eastern Muslims and Arabs will never stop fighting until the Palestinians had their own state, and agreed that things had gotten worse under Bush. MF said something about the civil war in Lebanon, and the man laughed and said that Henry Kissinger had told the Palestinians to take over Lebanon (which had a 3.5 million population, about 1 million of which was Palestinian) since they would never have a land of their own otherwise, and thus sparked the civil war. Eventually we made our graceful exit, and the man profusely thanked us, shaking our hands and calling us "son" and "daughter." He was an odd mix of warm hospitality and aggressive tirades. MF and I wondered afterwards whether he had been waiting all day for someone to come into his house, so that he could talk about his opinions with them. He seemed energized by the debate.
We met a heavyset black man who was sitting on the steps in front of his house while his three young sons rode on their bikes on the sidewalk in front of him. He said that he wasn't going to vote for Bush or Kerry, but would instead vote for a third party candidate, possibly Nader. We asked him why he disliked Kerry, and he admitted that he didn't think that Kerry would do anything to help him. His main concern was day care for single parents; after losing his job a year ago which paid $20 an hour, he hadn't been able to find a job which paid more than $7-8/hour. On that salary he was unable to afford day care for his kids, so he was stuck. He decided to start his own business and has been scraping by, but was utterly pessimistic about the possibility that either presidential candidate would improve his situation. As we started spouting our rhetoric, he told us that he had read plenty of information on the internet, and was indeed well-informed as he expertly described Bush's failures as president, particularly concerning the dubiously conceived war in Iraq, as well as Kerry's weaknesses. He felt that Bush would steal the election with all of the tools at his disposal, and that Kerry would not have a chance. MF and I remained resolutely optimistic about Kerry. In any case, we didn't change his mind regarding his vote, but we wished him the best.
So, while my experiences are not nearly as profound as Guevara's on his roadtrip, I did feel (perhaps misguidedly) that I did something good to help out the Kerry campaign, and in the process got a glimpse into the lives of people I would have never encountered otherwise. While several of the people we met, particularly the two I just mentioned, were cynical about U.S. politics and the potential for improvement, I still have enough naive optimism to think that people can make the world better.
One nice side effect of the breakup is how I've found solace in nature. While I was in the relationship, so much of my attention was focused on him and myself that I lost much interest in the world around me. But autumn imagery, although it's usually considered sad and mournful (as a metaphor for the end of life), has soothed me greatly. I find myself sighing with pleasure at the fluttering yellow leaves of the Japanese maple tree outside my window, the multicolored patches of fallen leaves on the rocks in the Eno River, the smudges of orange and red and green ahd brown and yellow which fly by as MF and I drove along the Washington-Baltimore Parkway, the brisk cool air which lends a solemnity to the pastel-streaked skies during sunset. It's even better than ice cream. Seriously.
The movie is called The Motorcycle Diaries. It's a film about Che (then Ernesto) Guevara and his buddy Alberto Granado in their youth, when they took a massive roadtrip throughout South America. Since I am woefully ignorant of South American history and politics, I knew nothing of Che Guevara other than the fact that he was a Communist revolutionary who supported Castro and was killed. I didn't know that Guevara had been a medical student, and felt a pang of recognition when in the movie, he expressed boredom and lack of fulfillment with medical school and medical exams, and yearned to explore and travel and see what else the world could teach him. The movie wasn't particularly fantastic...Salles is a competent and enthusiastic, if not brilliant, director. The two lead actors did very subtle and moving work, but the structure and the pacing were a bit irritating (particularly in the beginning), and much of the humor failed. The black and white snapshot motif felt a little too cheezy for me, and took me out of the movie whenever it occurred. The first third of the film felt like an inferior retread of another movie (one of my favorites), Y Tu Mama Tambien. However, once the subject matter got more serious, and Ernesto and Alberto learn about the plight of their poor and powerless countrymen and countrywomyn, the movie became much more interesting. The scenes at the leper colony, where Ernesto and Alberto ignore the rules established by the nuns (forbidding any of the healthy workers to touch the lepers with their bare hands), were particularly moving.
When I saw DR at about 6 pm and asked him if we could meet after he finished work at 8 pm, and to my surprise he had filled his evening with a rugby practice and couldn't see me until 11 pm, I had to figure out how to spend those five hours without going insane with anxiety over the likely impending breakup. So I drove to an adjacent town to get some ice cream (which is my usual drug of choice for anxiety) and try to study at my favorite cafe. I happened to see that The Motorcycle Diaries was playing at the movie theater, scheduled to start right when I arrived, and I hopped into the building to watch it. I expected it to be a total escape--how much could I identify with two randy boys on a road trip through South America back in the 1950's? And apart from Ernesto's dissatisfaction with medical school and his desire to break free of expectations, I didn't find much there. But then there was a brief scene where he visits his girlfriend at her house, and they have a lovely time together. She begs him to stay with her; he regretfully is unable to grant her request. She tells him that she would wait for him, but not forever. She gives him $15 (in U.S. dollars) to buy her a bikini if the boys ever made it to the U.S. on their trip. After Ernesto and Alberto leave, no matter how many scrapes they get into, no matter how broke they are, he refuses to spend those $15, despite Alberto's begging and pleading. Then, at one of their stops, Ernesto receives a letter from his girlfriend. We never find out exactly what it says, but from his anguished reaction, we know that this girl is no longer his. Ernesto spends the day staring at the ocean and touching the letter, grieving his loss, as his buddy Alberto tries desperately but fails to cheer him up. And then Ernesto leaves the letter behind, gives his buddy a grin, and they move on. Afterwards, Ernesto finds something so much more important and meaningful than this silly girlfriend--a connection to the native peoples of South America, a sympathy with their plight, and a determination to do what he can in order to make their lives better. He gives those $15 to a destitute Communist couple who are desperate for work and risk their lives to work in the mines.
And so, after viewing this movie, I felt a strange peace, and kept it as I drove to his house for the inevitable confrontation. The breakup was excruciatingly painful; I sobbed, my chest shuddering violently, snot mingling with tears on my face, while he sat on his couch and stared at me helplessly, making sure not to touch me. But I knew that while it hurt, and while I lost something lovely and valuable, there was so much more in the world to worry about, to think about. Since I can no longer love him, I can redirect whatever love, whatever passion I have, into something more productive and more appreciated. Guevara found this to be true, and while I suspect that I will not become a Communist revolutionary, I think I can find this truth as well. In the large scheme of things, what is a romance anyway? Sure, it's the centerpiece of so many books and movies and television shows and songs, and it can be all-consuming for those who are involved in it...but in the end I don't think that romance alone would give my life meaning, would make me feel whole. Since the romance part of my life is obviously shot at the moment, I need to work on the rest of my life. To find some sort of life path, like Guevara himself found. Funny...I had been hard at work at figuring that stuff out until I met DR; then most of my energy went to my relationship with him, and I largely neglected the task of understanding what the hell I should do with my life, and how to cobble together a spiritual construct.
Somewhat inspired by the film, I agreed to go to Pennsylvania to go Kerry canvassing with a friend of mine. Pennsylvania is considered a swing state for this current election, and people from all over the East Coast have been driving to Pennsylvania in order to talk to voters there. My friend (MF) and I went door to door with people who were targeted as likely Democrats through previous surveys. We asked them about their thoughts on voting, and whether they wanted more information about particular issues in order to aid their decision, and whether they knew where the local polling place was located. The neighborhood we roamed through was located in inner city Harrisburg; it was run down with many abandoned and crumbling buildings. Most of the people we met were black or Hispanic. It was fun to see the strong Kerry support in the neighborhood; passersby were excited to see us and quickly divested us of Kerry signs and bumper stickers, lightening our load considerably. MF and I got lost and asked an elderly gentleman where we could find "Reh-jeen-a" (Regina) Street; he quickly corrected us and said that it was "Reh-jeye-na" Street and directed us to it. As MF and I left him, I joked that he was a dirty old man and changed the pronunciation of every possible word to resemble "vagina." So angina would be pronounced "an-jeye-na" and so on.
We encountered one gentleman who stared at us silently through his open doorway as we cheerfully announced that we were part of the Kerry/Edwards campaign. He then shouted that he was not voting for anyone, because "Both of them are liars!" We asked him to explain this, and he said that both Bush and Kerry were one-sided in their support of Israelis over the Palestinians. He urged us to enter his house, and although at first we weakly protested, citing the need to see many more houses that day, we ultimately complied. I saw green arabic letters streaming down his computer in columns, like the numbers on computer screens in The Matrix. He had an enormous television which showcased the Al Jazeera station. MF stayed standing while the man insisted that I sit on his couch, which I did. I was a little nervous because there was a beautiful white crocheted covering on his couch, and I suspected that my unpredictable period might be imminent and was using no barrier. The man said that he was a Lebanese Christian, and that if the Palestinians and the Israelis each had their own state, then there would be no more war. MF admitted that he was Jewish, and then the man said that he was in the food industry, and Jewish people came into his store all the time, and he still spoke his opinion to them. MF bristled when the man shouted that Israelis thrived on the conflict between themselves and the Palestinians, and that if there was peace, then Israel would no longer have any purpose. The man insisted that the middle Eastern Muslims and Arabs will never stop fighting until the Palestinians had their own state, and agreed that things had gotten worse under Bush. MF said something about the civil war in Lebanon, and the man laughed and said that Henry Kissinger had told the Palestinians to take over Lebanon (which had a 3.5 million population, about 1 million of which was Palestinian) since they would never have a land of their own otherwise, and thus sparked the civil war. Eventually we made our graceful exit, and the man profusely thanked us, shaking our hands and calling us "son" and "daughter." He was an odd mix of warm hospitality and aggressive tirades. MF and I wondered afterwards whether he had been waiting all day for someone to come into his house, so that he could talk about his opinions with them. He seemed energized by the debate.
We met a heavyset black man who was sitting on the steps in front of his house while his three young sons rode on their bikes on the sidewalk in front of him. He said that he wasn't going to vote for Bush or Kerry, but would instead vote for a third party candidate, possibly Nader. We asked him why he disliked Kerry, and he admitted that he didn't think that Kerry would do anything to help him. His main concern was day care for single parents; after losing his job a year ago which paid $20 an hour, he hadn't been able to find a job which paid more than $7-8/hour. On that salary he was unable to afford day care for his kids, so he was stuck. He decided to start his own business and has been scraping by, but was utterly pessimistic about the possibility that either presidential candidate would improve his situation. As we started spouting our rhetoric, he told us that he had read plenty of information on the internet, and was indeed well-informed as he expertly described Bush's failures as president, particularly concerning the dubiously conceived war in Iraq, as well as Kerry's weaknesses. He felt that Bush would steal the election with all of the tools at his disposal, and that Kerry would not have a chance. MF and I remained resolutely optimistic about Kerry. In any case, we didn't change his mind regarding his vote, but we wished him the best.
So, while my experiences are not nearly as profound as Guevara's on his roadtrip, I did feel (perhaps misguidedly) that I did something good to help out the Kerry campaign, and in the process got a glimpse into the lives of people I would have never encountered otherwise. While several of the people we met, particularly the two I just mentioned, were cynical about U.S. politics and the potential for improvement, I still have enough naive optimism to think that people can make the world better.
One nice side effect of the breakup is how I've found solace in nature. While I was in the relationship, so much of my attention was focused on him and myself that I lost much interest in the world around me. But autumn imagery, although it's usually considered sad and mournful (as a metaphor for the end of life), has soothed me greatly. I find myself sighing with pleasure at the fluttering yellow leaves of the Japanese maple tree outside my window, the multicolored patches of fallen leaves on the rocks in the Eno River, the smudges of orange and red and green ahd brown and yellow which fly by as MF and I drove along the Washington-Baltimore Parkway, the brisk cool air which lends a solemnity to the pastel-streaked skies during sunset. It's even better than ice cream. Seriously.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
It's so nice to be back home. I'm sure I'll find it stifling as time goes on, but for now, it's been just lovely. The rustle of the brightly colored leaves, the brisk wind and restrained sunlight, the familiar buildings which contain the ghosts of many childhood memories...God but I miss New Jersey autumns.
Today I was studying for the Step 1 exam at a local library (well, actually finishing up a book which Republican Artist Dave gave to me when I told him I was looking for spiritual answers...it's The Search for the Ageless, Volume One by Edmond Bordeauz Szekely and it's about the Essene Way of Biogenic Living), when four middle-aged men walked before me in single file. There seemed to be something a bit off about several of them...I scrutinized their faces and saw that one apparently had Down's syndrome, and the two others also appeared to be retarded by the way they jerked and made spontaneous incomprehensible sounds, and in general acted more like children than like men in their 30's/40's. The fourth man, sporting impressive dreadlocks and wearing a green football jersey, appeared to be in charge of the group, and said some words about the library and what they planned to do for the day. They settled at the table adjacent to mine, and I tried to concentrate on my biochemistry textbook instead of staring at them. Green football jersey guy took one of the other guys to a computer and appeared to be helping him use it to view pictures. The remaining two men occasionally yelped and slammed their hands repeatedly on the table. Several people at nearby tables moved their things or glared at them disapprovingly; I just put on my headphones and stuck my nose deeper into my book. I couldn't shake the feeling, though, that one of the two men at the table was looking at me. I looked up from my book in an unfocused way, but with my peripheral vision I confirmed that indeed the guy in the baseball cap, with grizzled stubble and a long bony nose, was staring at me. I couldn't move to a different table because I didn't want to be rude or hurtful, so I just soldiered on with my biochemistry text. Eventually, though, half an hour had passed with little progress on my part, and I decided to just leave the library and go to a local Starbucks (I haven't yet discovered the non-Starbucks cafes in the area, if they exist). I put all my books into my knapsack, still feeling the eyes of the baseball cap guy, but not confronting his gaze. I pulled the zipper shut--not completely, but enough to securely contain my books. The baseball cap guy then got up from his seat, lumbered over to my knapsack, and then pulled the zipper completely shut. I wasn't sure what to do, but I knew he should not be punished in any way for his kind intentions (although I did feel like my personal space was slightly invaded). I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eye with a smile and said thanks, and then threw my knapsack onto my shoulder and walked away. I nodded at him again with a smile as I left the library.
There was a slight fear there, I guess because I haven't interacted with people like him before. I didn't know what exactly his intentions were, but I definitely did not want to be rude or hurt his feelings. I was a bit saddened by the exchange though--I'm sure he wishes he could reach out and connect with people, and just be treated like any other guy. I tried to treat him like any other guy, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Hopefully though I didn't hurt his feelings. Then again maybe I was too cautious. Le sigh.
Today I was studying for the Step 1 exam at a local library (well, actually finishing up a book which Republican Artist Dave gave to me when I told him I was looking for spiritual answers...it's The Search for the Ageless, Volume One by Edmond Bordeauz Szekely and it's about the Essene Way of Biogenic Living), when four middle-aged men walked before me in single file. There seemed to be something a bit off about several of them...I scrutinized their faces and saw that one apparently had Down's syndrome, and the two others also appeared to be retarded by the way they jerked and made spontaneous incomprehensible sounds, and in general acted more like children than like men in their 30's/40's. The fourth man, sporting impressive dreadlocks and wearing a green football jersey, appeared to be in charge of the group, and said some words about the library and what they planned to do for the day. They settled at the table adjacent to mine, and I tried to concentrate on my biochemistry textbook instead of staring at them. Green football jersey guy took one of the other guys to a computer and appeared to be helping him use it to view pictures. The remaining two men occasionally yelped and slammed their hands repeatedly on the table. Several people at nearby tables moved their things or glared at them disapprovingly; I just put on my headphones and stuck my nose deeper into my book. I couldn't shake the feeling, though, that one of the two men at the table was looking at me. I looked up from my book in an unfocused way, but with my peripheral vision I confirmed that indeed the guy in the baseball cap, with grizzled stubble and a long bony nose, was staring at me. I couldn't move to a different table because I didn't want to be rude or hurtful, so I just soldiered on with my biochemistry text. Eventually, though, half an hour had passed with little progress on my part, and I decided to just leave the library and go to a local Starbucks (I haven't yet discovered the non-Starbucks cafes in the area, if they exist). I put all my books into my knapsack, still feeling the eyes of the baseball cap guy, but not confronting his gaze. I pulled the zipper shut--not completely, but enough to securely contain my books. The baseball cap guy then got up from his seat, lumbered over to my knapsack, and then pulled the zipper completely shut. I wasn't sure what to do, but I knew he should not be punished in any way for his kind intentions (although I did feel like my personal space was slightly invaded). I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eye with a smile and said thanks, and then threw my knapsack onto my shoulder and walked away. I nodded at him again with a smile as I left the library.
There was a slight fear there, I guess because I haven't interacted with people like him before. I didn't know what exactly his intentions were, but I definitely did not want to be rude or hurt his feelings. I was a bit saddened by the exchange though--I'm sure he wishes he could reach out and connect with people, and just be treated like any other guy. I tried to treat him like any other guy, but I'm not sure I succeeded. Hopefully though I didn't hurt his feelings. Then again maybe I was too cautious. Le sigh.
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