Tag Archives: relationships

What Exactly is a Nice Guy?

Memoirs, Relationships, Social Networking, Writing, , , , , ,
In my many space travels as a legospaceman, I never ran into a civilization that didn’t speak lego

One of the more common tropes of banter on social media is the concept of nice guys and how someone feels she was treated badly by one, and thus, they’re all just really bad guys. It’s almost its own demographic within the confines of writing that whenever I see a story that mentions “nice guys”, I suspect it’s going to turn negative and start talking about how nice guys are anything but that.

Well, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Most nice guys aren’t nice guys. They’re opportunists that hide behind the designation and then will eventually pounce when the time finally comes around. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t guys out there who aren’t nice guys; it just means that there are very few, and most women will come across one or two in her lifetime, and probably never even realize he was standing in front of her at the time because she’s focused more on the guy pretending to be one and making lots of noise to convince her of that possibility.

I remember a story of a friend of mine who stopped by our usual coffee joint one day and started out the conversation with “I don’t understand women. I’m a nice guy, and I get treated like crap.”

Now, you’re probably thinking all sorts of things about my “friend”, who let’s just call Bob for the sake of names, and let’s just get the baggage out of the way with what we suspect about Bob. If Bob called himself a nice guy, your impression of him probably has a lot to do with how you’ve been treated by the guys in your past, so that if you’ve been treated badly, you’re probably going to think Bob is just pretending to be a nice guy, and if you’ve had a decent relationship with guys in your past, you might suspect that he could be a nice guy, but he probably has a flaw or two that might need to be fixed.

But Bob was really none of those. You see, Bob was full of crap.

When Bob told me this nice guy stuff, I remembered that he had been in a dicey relationship with Shirley because she had found out about Becky, and he was trying to make time with Veronica (yeah, all made up names cause this isn’t a gossip column). But seriously, he wasn’t loyal, cared only about the woman he was with at the very moment he happened to be standing in front of her, and he either dumped or got dumped by them on almost a whim.

He was most definitely not a nice guy.

But here’s the catch. He THOUGHT he was a nice guy.

Why? Because he was who he was, and in most people’s stories they are never the villain; they are always the hero. Our psyche is designed to make us feel that way. Our inner voice rarely says, “hey, dufus, you’re a bad guy.” But there are many occasions where it probably should.

As a guy who tends to be that person that people confide in, let me just tell you that practically every guy sees himself as a nice guy. Because he’s who he is, and I would argue that even a guy sitting on death row for murdering half the population of Arkansas with a chainsaw is probably looking into the mirror and saying: “Nails, you’re really a nice guy.” That’s just the natural state of people. We’re stupid when we need to be stupid just so we can get through the day into the next one.

So, what is a nice guy? Or more importantly, do any actually exist?

I’d like to think they do, and I’d like to say that I’m probably one of them, but I may suffer from disillusion just like Bob did. I’m bred like every other male on the planet in that I’m always going to believe my inner voice is helping me to do the best job I can, so therefore, I must be a nice guy. Wouldn’t surprise me, however, if there’s some woman out there thinking to herself, “sorry, kiddo, but you couldn’t even put the toilet seat down no matter how many times I told you,” so even that’s probably just in perspective. Some people are going to like you, and others, no matter what you do or say, aren’t going to like you.

That’s just life.

So, let’s take it a step further. If you desired to be a nice guy, what would differentiate you from those who aren’t, because in the end, just gaining the designation of “nice” indicates that there must be those who aren’t nice, or are at least not as nice. So, how do we achieve just that?

I’d argue that to begin with, your goals need to be further than a cost-benefit analysis of outcomes. If you do everything in the guise of transactional behavior (if I do this, I get that), you’re never going to achieve a sense of niceness. Instead, you’re going to gain whatever item or items you were striving for that you hoped your good nature would yield for you. There’s no niceness in that whatsoever.

When I think about feeling “nice,” I often find myself having to think outside of myself. And it’s a two-step process. First, you have to want to do something for others to benefit them. And then, which is the hardest part, you have to do it in a way that doesn’t actually work to benefit you.

Years back, I used to mentor young people in writing. People used to ask me what I got out of it. My response was that one day I would get to see really good writing out there in the world that I wouldn’t have seen if I hadn’t offered my assistance back then. I saw that as “nice” behavior, even though in the end, I was still probably getting something out of the mix. But then I ran across predatory writing mentors that were interested in achieving a piece of someone’s future success, or some that actually used it as a vehicle to further their dating prospects, neither of which seemed very “nice” to me. But then, I suspect “nice” wasn’t exactly a part of their process.

So, after years of interacting with people on various levels, I’ve come to the conclusion that being a nice guy means going out of your way to help others without any desire for compensation or benefit in return. Having said that, there’s an element that sometimes goes over the top with this definition, where people think to be “nice” you have to actually sacrifice and lose something to achieve such a status. Again, that’s back to the transactional approach to giving and receiving.

For me, I’m satisfied just going out of my way to see someone else benefit from something I’ve done or said. And sometimes, just a smile of acknowledgement is enough to make me feel that I’ve done something that is perceived as being “nice”. Those who seek awards or accolades aren’t necessarily nice people, but people seeking some type of validation as payment.

Back when I was in grad school, I remember the grad lounge had a printer that always broke down. Before going back to grad school, I was a computer repair technician, and I specialized in harder to maintain aspects of that field like monitors, hard drives and, yes, printers. So, often, when I heard another grad student complaining about how he or she couldn’t get his or her papers completed in time because of the printer, I would sneak into the lab at night and actually fix the printer so it would be working the next morning. No one ever figured out who was constantly fixing the printer (it was old and it happened a lot due to the amount of usage), but eventually people started giving credit to one of the “smarter” grad students who was always bragging about his accomplishments; he even took credit for it. I could have jumped in and revealed his lack of accomplishments, but honestly, I didn’t care, and I found it kind of funny while a bit interesting as it told me more and more about this individual than I would have ever discovered any other way. For the longest time, he was perceived as “nice” for going out of his way to fix the computer constantly, and he did nothing to challenge that assumption.

That sort of showed me that this is how so many people can constantly perceive the wrong people as “nice guys”, and then feel so angry when they discover they’re not, in fact, really nice guys.

The reality of the situation is that most nice guys will go under the radar because that’s part of the process of actually being a nice guy. When you seek validation for it, you’re not really nice any longer.

It’s kind of like the old Socratic argument that plagued the philosopher in his final days. People claimed he was the smartest man alive, yet he suspected that once he acknowledged himself as the smartest man, he would no longer be worthy of that title.

Nice guys are somewhat the same way, which is why the noisiest “nice guy” who wants everyone to know how nice he is, is often not actually a nice guy. If you want to find the “nice guy” look in the shadows near the guy taking the most credit, and chances are you may actually find him. Just don’t let him know you found him, because most often he remains the nice guy as long as he never has to claim the title.

Dating Someone Who Is Bat S**t Crazy

Relationships, Social Networking, , ,
It always starts off great!

Years back, I had been between relationships and just decided that perhaps I needed time to myself, basically dating no one. I was in the middle of undergraduate work for genetics at the time, planning to eventually move onto medical school when a long-term relationship just fell apart on me. Realizing I had a number of years of tough education ahead of me, I realized this was probably not the time to get involved in any kind of future relationship.

Life doesn’t really work that way, unfortunately.

During that summer, I took a part time temp job to just pass the time (and keep up my finances before school work made that impossible), so I got this really mundane job working for a subsidiary of Pacific Bell. They were moving one section of the business to another location, so the job consisted of a bunch of temp workers literally transferring physical files from one place to another. Very boring work.

But kind of exactly what I needed after a break-up.

There were a few dozen other workers there with me, and there were a couple of supervisors. I kept being offered one of the mid-level supervisory positions, due to education, but as I wasn’t really there for longevity or intentions of rising up, I chose to remain at the bottom and just do the grunt work. Again, it was exactly what I needed.

The job was supposed to last about three months, and about a few weeks into it, the cliques already started to form, and as you would suspect, it’s very easy to get cast into certain corners, even without doing anything to make it happen.

One of the first things I noticed was that because of the horrible management of this project, we had lots and lots of time of sitting around in conference rooms just talking. I quickly started bringing books to read to pass the time, but all around me, people did the sort of things you might expect happen when people have lots of time and nothing to do. Add in those cliques I talked about, and you might get the impression that things might turn sour really quick-like.

The place had a real feral activity to it that resonated with herd mentality. The group would often find a weaker member of the room and then pounce on him or her, pretty much turning that person’s life into a nightmare until the person finally decided to never return again. We lost a number of people that way.

In the early days of this group activity, I found myself targeted early but that ended quickly as I was also a debater (and had been doing it in college to begin with); they discovered it was no fun engaging someone who could rapidly respond to anything they wanted to bring my way. So, I was mainly left to my own devices, which, as I said, usually consisted of me and my book.

For the most part, I really didn’t pay much attention to what happened around me, until I noticed the attention turn to a young woman named Sally. Now, Sally was originally from Hong Kong, on a path towards citizenship in the US, but she spoke horrible English. This made her an easy target of a group of workers who just loved the idea that it took her time to respond to everything they said, so it was easy to twist her words around and add to her frustration. Plus, she was the kind of young woman who got really upset, really fast and when edged on by people who are just trying to cause trouble, it does not bode well.

Due to a few assignments that were doled out by coincidence, Sally and I spent a few hours alone in the room when others were doing other things, so I actually had a chance to talk to her. Unlike the rest of them, I’m a really good listener, so when she was struggling to say what she wanted to say, due to broken English, I spent more time just listening and letting her find the words that she wanted to say instead. I learned quite a bit about her and found some of her background to be quite fascinating. Example: She was very well educated; just not in English.

As you might suspect, the others treated her like she was stupid, as people tend to do when someone around them is not fluent in the mainstream language. And as they continued on their warpath each time they tried to spook her, I started interjecting in those conversations so that not only did they have to attack her, but now they had to go after me as well. And as I said before, I’m not the sort of person you want to engage in argumentation.

Quickly, she realized it was a lot safer to hang out wherever I was and was pretty much always sitting next to me. The others just quickly realized that she wasn’t worth the effort, as they weren’t getting the results they wanted, so they went after someone else and continued their usual bantering. To be honest, I don’t remember much more about them after that.

So, needless to say, it was very difficult for me to separate myself from Sally during this work assignment. At the same time, I didn’t want to lead her on or get involved with any relationships at this time, so even though she was always around me, I tried to avoid thinking much about it. However, as it was getting close for me to finish my time there (school was going to be starting back up soon), I was going to take the coward way out and just disappear once my assignment was complete.

Unfortunately, Sally was a lot smarter than I realized. The day before I was supposed to be done (I had told no one but my immediate supervisor I was leaving), she appeared where I was sorting files and held out her hand: “Phone number!” she said.

I guess I should have realized there was a problem when we first started dating because it started with me getting home that night, receiving a message on my answering machine stating when and where we were meeting for coffee at a time she designated.

So, a couple of little things that help explain her a little further: First, she was a dead ringer for the actress Michelle Yeoh, something I made the mistake of saying one early date. She got extremely angry and said “She’s ugly!” Which, of course, she she’s not.

She also hated every one of my friends. Every one. The men were all abusers. Her words. The women? I suspect a bit of jealousy, even though they were never a threat to her in any way.

On a whim, she would just get really angry over anything. When we disagreed on something, she would pinch, really hard. And she would rarely stop. I know it sounds kind of funny because pinches don’t sound really painful, but oh wow, they were. I’ve been shot before, and I’m really not sure which one I’d consider worse.

One of my favorite, yet weird, experiences involves when we went to see a movie. The usher was taking our tickets and he looked up and her and nearly dropped his jaw, stating: “Oh, my god, you look just like the woman in the James Bond film.”

He was referring to, of course, Michelle Yeoh in Tomorrow Never Dies. The second he said it, I saw her face turn seriously angry, and I said: “I’ll go grab us some seats.” The last look I saw on his face was what appeared to be mortal fear as Sally was closing in on her next victim. About five minutes later, she sat down next to me, and I said, “He’s still alive, right?” She just nodded and then started in on some popcorn.

I’ll be honest, but I just wasn’t really ready for a relationship at the time. I kind of fell into it, and I really wasn’t over the previous one. And she kept getting more and more angry and violent as time moved on. I brought her to a school function once as my plus one, and my thesis advisor pulled me aside before asking me if she needed to plan an intervention to get me out of this relationship.

So, at some point I realized it was probably safer to end this relationship, so I tried to sit down with her and talk about it, but every time I did, she suddenly forgot how to speak any English, said she had to leave, and then came back a few days later as if nothing had happened. This stretched on for some time.

Finally, I set up a time where we could talk, and I said, without doubt, that this is something that needs to happen. Instead of pulling the same tactic, she nodded and left.

A few days later, she wrote me an email, and started with an abusive flurry of messages about how I was the worst person who ever walked the planet. I, at first, tried to respond in as friendly a manner as possible, but then those messages kept getting worse and worse. So, I stopped responding.

And then she started sending me bills. For her time. She had literally gone through and calculated everything she might have ever spent during our six months together and wanted compensation. So, clothes she bought, transportation she had taken, air she breathed, etc., was fair game. And when I didn’t respond, those amounts kept going up, like the worst loan shark in history.

Finally, I moved away and entered grad school. I stopped hearing from her.

Years later, a friend of mine from where I had been living sent me a link to a Craigslist ad. It was a series of pictures of Sally, with three kids (too young to have any connection to me), trying to find a new boyfriend because the last guy left her with three kids.

I don’t really have much to say. Maybe it’s just better that way.

When Best Friends Aren’t Best Friends Any More

Relationships, Social Networking, Writing, , , , , , , , , ,

lilduane1
Back when things were a lot different

I’m sure my story isn’t that different from everyone else’s story. Most of us grew up with a best friend or two (over the years) and then life may or may not kept us together. If you watch a lot of the movies that get released starring the usual suspects of male friends, you get the impression that these friends stay close friends forever, basically until they reach middle age and go through their middle age crisis moments together.

Unfortunately for me, that didn’t happen. And strangely enough I kind of wish it did. Let me explain.

I’ve had two really close best friends over the years. One was my friend Roland, who I believe I met when we were both about two or three years old. We lived across the way from each other in a low-income apartment complex, and my first memory of Roland was a fight we had where both of us went home crying to our parents. Immediately after that, I remember his mom and my mom conducting some kind of UN conference where the two of us were forced to become friends again. We remained friends from that moment forward, proving that, yes, the UN sometimes DOES work.

Our friendship lasted most of our childhood. Both of us bought the same blue Schwinn bicycle and we rode miles and miles on those things together. It was not unusual for the two of us to race 26 miles down the beach to Redondo Beach, California and then back to Santa Monica. For us, the enjoyment was the journey of traveling down the bicycle trail together, back in the days when you could actually ride down those paths without running over a million girls on roller skates.

Some of my most memorable moments were with Roland, including when we would run into Dom Deluise at the local department stores and then at McDonalds shortly after. We explored the world together and learned about the world as a shared experience only friends can truly appreciate.

When I was a young teenager, my mom died after a horrible illness that slowly drained her of life. When she died in the hospital, I remember calling Roland because he was the only person I wanted to talk to. Shortly after, he showed up with his mom and dad to the hospital, making sure that I wasn’t alone on that horrible day.

Soon after, I moved in with my older sister and her husband, which forced me to move away from Santa Monica. Roland and I kept in touch by phone, and every now and then I’d figure out a way to take the bus for a few hour trip to visit him, and sometimes he’d do the same to come to me. But as we were further and further away, we sort of drifted apart until we stopped calling and then never saw each other again. It’s one of those things I regretted deeply over the years, but life takes you where life takes you.

In Moorpark, my new home, I made friends with the person who was to become my next best friend, Ken. While we didn’t have the history that Roland and I had, we quickly built a friendship and quickly made up for the lack of history by inventing all sorts of adventures together. One of my favorite moments in high school was when the two of us were taking a Spanish class, and we were the two students who had already finished alll the lower level Spanish stuff so we were kind of put into a corner by ourselves to study on our own because they didn’t have a high enough level class for us to take. Because we were always together, we made a lot of noise and had a lot of fun. So the teacher felt she had to separate us. Therefore, we did what any normal duo of friends would do: We invented a sign language that allowed us to communicate from across the room from each other. We learned it quickly and immediately really pissed off the teacher who decided she wasn’t going to win this battle, so she let us sit next to each other again and never tried to separate us again.

A few years later, after graduation, I joined the Army and Ken joined the Air Force. At one point, we were both in Germany at the same time, so I decided to hop into my Volkswagon Scirroco (sic), pick up Ken and drive the two of us to Paris, France. It was a wild, fun adventure that involved some young girl we found to help us find a hotel (because neither of us could speak French) who the hotel owner thought was a prostitute because she was negotiating the room for two American GIs (and then left with a smile right after she secured us the room, which caused the old woman working the hotel to suddenly realize she had played the wrong cards in her assumptions).

That was pretty much our last get together. Ken ended up being accepted to the Air Force Academy and is a colonel today, probably going to be a general one of these days. I wish him well, but I regret that our friendship faded and we really don’t talk any more.

Strangely enough, both Roland and Ken have connected with me through Facebook, so every now and then I see what’s going on in their lives, which when I think about it is actually kind of sad because at one time I was very close to both of them, and like that one hit wonder song “now they’re just somebody that I used to know”.

Weirdly enough, when I made contact with them on Facebook, I immediately had this feeling that I had found a long, lost friend and then things were going to be great again. And we rarely even communicate, which forces the “You Can’t Go Home Again” by Thomas Wolfe to play through in my head (which is funny because it’s probably one of the most often quoted titles of a book that people have never actually read themselves, so when they pretend to have read it, I always say “Stop Twampling!” just to see if there’s a reaction, which when there’s none I know they’re bullshitting me about having read it). Wolfe’s idea is somewhat true, and you never really understand it until the events play out that show you how true it really is. I read that book a decade or so ago, yet until I made contact with those two former friends, I never made the connection to what he was truly saying.

The Energy to Post New Blog Content Just Isn’t There

Education, Memoirs, Relationships, Writing, ,

I haven’t posted anything in awhile, mainly because I rarely get any actual responses on my blog itself. A couple of my feeds move onto places like Open Salon and other such places, and they get a few responses there, but overall, my own web site sometimes feels like a graveyard.

Not really a lot going on these days. I’ve been voraciously trying to find a decent teaching job, but I’ve completely failed at almost every attempt. If lucky, I get a form letter rejection thanking me for applying. Otherwise, I get nothing. Not a damn thing. It’s not like I’m not qualified. It’s not like I’m not a damn good teacher either. I just get no response whatsoever. Or I’ll get a nibble, and then that nibble will run away, convinced that there is probably tastier bait out there somewhere else.

Lately, I’ve been working on a writing project with a former friend/romantic interest/really hard to define but always a positive attribution regardless. Our project is something that’s definitely up our alley, but our schedules don’t really seem to be all that copacetic, which means that I’m suspecting that as good of an idea as it is, it’s probably going to end up not working out in the long run. And that’s too bad. I’m slowly putting work back into energy towards one of my previous novels, mainly because I don’t feel right unless I’m working on something that’s moving forward. And I’ve been meaning to rewrite one of my old novels for many years now, especially now that I have the proper time and place for it.

I recently read Stephen King’s book on the JFK assassination, and I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised at how well he carried that book through its entire process. He sometimes has a habit of becoming too wordy and sometimes “too Stephen King”, but this was one of his rare wonders. I can say that I’m very happy I read it. I immediately recommended it to Rick, and he read it too, thinking pretty much the same thing I did. I haven’t read too many great novels recently, and I was glad this one came along.

Which got me thinking about my own writing again, because it’s always a continuous work in progress that never seems to go anywhere. Unlike other writers who want to be writers but never write, I’m one of those who wrote a lot but never got anything for doing it. And I still continue to write. My writing has probably evolved to a point where I’m pretty much at the top of my game right now, and it’s almost completely useless. It’s like pissing in a fan, for lack of a better (or graphic) metaphor.

Relationships are still a dead zone for me these days. I live in Grand Rapids, which seems to be the furthest place of finding anything I’m seeking. I’d move anywhere else, but I’m like some unemployable crazy guy that will never get another job no matter how hard he tries. So I’m kind of stuck here. And stuck is probably a very apt description.

Not much else going on. Another semester is almost over here at GRCC, and my students probably couldn’t care one way or another if I was teaching them. It’s not like they’re bad students; they’re fine. It’s just that I don’t seem to be making much of an impact or a difference these days. That’s generally the story of adjuncts everywhere.

Well, have to head to class for the night. What fun.

Another Birthday, and now it’s Monday

Memoirs, Relationships, Writing, , , , , ,

Yesterday was my birthday, or at least the anniversary of my birthday. I’m a year older. I forget the actual age but it’s somewhere between 18 and the age of the planet, which if you believe in science is billions of years old, and if you don’t, then it’s slightly shy of 4000. Either way, my age is somewhere in there.

I didn’t do anything for my birthday. I never do. I don’t have a family, a girlfriend, or friends who hang out with me, so my birthdays are mainly spent alone, doing alone things. Like playing a computer game, watching a movie on DVD, or reading a book. That’s pretty much the sum of my every day, so my birthday is rarely that much different.

I did take the day off of work. Well, actually, I took Friday off (as yesterday was Sunday). I like to take a day and “celebrate” my birthday, even if that celebration consists of doing nothing. But it means that one day out of the week when I should be at work, I’m not. So it sort of works itself out.

But I’m definitely realizing I’m getting older. My back hurts a bit these days, and I’m not as agile as I used to be. The other day, my foot hurt really something awful. I’m not sure why. I think it’s just one of those: “You’re getting older, duane” sort of things. Later on, it felt fine.

As I start to get older, I find myself with a bit more time to regret the things that didn’t work out in my life. I think about relationships that didn’t work out, and I kick myself a lot about those. I mean, I totally blew it with Marisha, and then turned around and destroyed a bizarre, yet somewhat productive relationship with Sally. Sure, Sally was nuts, but it kind of worked out. I just wasn’t ready for that relationship at the time, and then I sort of burned that bridge where it stood. I regret that a lot. Oh well.

I regret that my writing career has never taken off the way I hoped it would. I remember teachers telling me when I was a little kid that I had the “gift”, that I was going to go far with my writing. I soaked those comments up, too, and I really believed them. And when I received my first book deal, I was overjoyed. And then the publishing company tanked before the book was released. And then my agent got into an accident and disappeared, showing up years later and no longer remembering who I was (after her head injury). My second agent represented me for about six months and then kind of stopped answering all correspondences. Obtaining a third agent has been somewhat elusive. And then the Internet happened, and the Kindle, and then the industry changed to the point where I don’t think I’m ever going to have a writing career. Ever. I kind of regret that happened.

I regret my music career never started off. Back in my young days, I was a soloist, and my singing was pretty damn popular. I had a great voice…still do. But I never did anything with it. Instead, I joined the Army and put all of that behind me. I’m a bit too old for that sort of thing now, so it’s another one of those things I regret.

I sometimes kick myself that I dropped medicine as a college career and went into political science instead, and then communication. I’m a genius with mathematics, yet I’ve done nothing math or science-related with my life. I even developed a mathematical, game theoretic social model for compliance negotiations between nations. Never did anything with it. Gave up trying to convince people it was a better alternative than the current losing strategies we use with diplomacy today.

I regret that I haven’t dated in over a decade. And I don’t see that changing any time in the future. Everyone around me is married, unavailable or simply not interested. And there aren’t that many around me as it is.

Secretly, I keep telling myself I need to pick up and move across the country to some place I’ve never been before and start over there, but I’ve become somewhat of a coward these days. In my youth, I’d jump up and go anywhere, convinced I’d fall back on my feet. Today, I’m scared to death of making a move like that and finding myself unemployed, unable to find a job and then slowly becoming homeless and despondent. I’ve always managed to land on my feet in the past, but this last time was a lot more difficult than ever before, and I just don’t see myself desiring to go through that horror again. Yet, if I don’t find something, somewhere soon, I don’t think I’m going to be around much longer.

Arbitrary Observations on a Thursday Afternoon

Education, Memoirs, Relationships, Social Networking, , , , , , ,

I was walking from one building where I work to another one, which involves a couple of doors that need to be opened. As there was a bit of pedestrian traffic in the area, at one point I found myself holding the door open for other people. At the time, I ended up holding the door open for four different people at different times (not one right after the other), and the one thing that struck me as odd was that each person reached for the wide open door I was holding, almost as if I was going to shut it in their face. If it would have happened once, it would have just been one of those things, but four different people all reached for the opened door, almost as if they had bad experiences with other people holding open the door for them. Kind of strange. At least they said thank you, even though they seemed to suspect I was going to rescind my offer to keep the door open for them.

Another observation: When teaching at a community college, I’ve discovered that the axiom once taught to me by Professor Ashlyn Kuerstin was that you should always explain on the first day of class that attendance is mandatory AND that the death of your grandmother doesn’t affect attendance. I forgot to give her spiel this time around. Two students have now reported ill or dead grandmothers. Kind of strange, but strangely enough, expected.

One of my colleagues was let go today by the company for not meeting expectations. I walked by her desk today and noticed her half filled (or half empty, depending on psychological disposition) cup of water is still on her desk, the straw in it, as if ready to continue drinking. I guess someone will eventually clean it up and throw it out. I often wonder what that person must think to himself as he or she cleans up after someone’s now empty desk. Probably just glad it was someone else. Or not. Who knows what people think?

I have tomorrow off from work. I have a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon, and I need to get to the Secretary of State’s office to renew my auto registration, which means I have to find my current insurance card (for some reason I never replaced my old one, even though I have the same insurance and the same policy number). I’ll probably have to sit in that place for a few hours because it’s always slow no matter when you go there. I guess that’s why I put off these sorts of things. I hate bureaucracy, almost as much as Kafka.

I kind of wish I had some kind of social life these day, but I don’t. I don’t even really have close friends anymore, other than a few close colleagues who I basically only ever get to see at work (one of whom I consider a friend, even though we don’t really spend any time together outside of work). I’m at that age where I don’t really feel comfortable going to bars (I don’t drink), especially alone, and I don’t really have any other options to meet people. E-dating never works, at least not for me. I sometimes suspect that the same people doing well at e-dating are the same people who do well at regular dating; they’re usually players who lie to women and get away with it. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing, and because of it, I’m probably never going to meet anyone. Women talk about liking nice guys and all that, but they lie, and everyone knows it. Eventually, they might settle for a nice guy after they’re done playing their own games, but by then, we’re off the market, playing World of Warcraft or Star Wars: The Old Republic, because at least there we have something that makes a bit of sense, even if it means no real social interaction.

Anyway, that’s my Thursday. I teach my class tonight at the college, and then I go grocery shopping before heading home to a house full of friendly stuffed animals. Well, mostly friendly. Some of them can get a bit roudy. But they mean well.

Coming Across the Spitting Image of Your Long-Lost Love

Relationships, Social Networking, Writing, , , , , , ,

Yesterday, I was waiting for a friend to pick me up outside of where I work so we could drive to Zeeland for a work-related film shoot. Where I was standing and waiting, the shuttle bus for work stops every few minutes and drops off employees. I wasn’t paying much attention to the latest shuttle bus when it arrived and deposited a new slough of passengers off on their beginning of a new day of work. But then I looked up, and one of the women getting off the bus was the spitting image of a woman who is still imprinted deep on my soul. Strangely enough, I hadn’t thought much about her in the last fifteen minutes (aside from the other 23 hours and 45 minutes of the day when I think about her constantly) but at that moment, I was thrown back over a decade to a time when seeing her walk off a bus in front of me would have sparked wonderful feelings of happiness and joy.

And for that instant I was there. I wasn’t in Grand Rapids in 2011, thinking about a movie shoot in Zeeland, but I was back in San Francisco, thinking about how all I cared about was this one woman to whom I pretty much pledged my entire being and future, thinking that there would be no other place in the world I would rather be than at her side. I was brought back to the times we’d walk around the lake in Oakland, talking about such mundane things but things that seemed so important at the moment because they were shared with her and no one else. And even more important, she was sharing those thoughts with me.

For that instant, I was back on my track towards medical school, thinking about how I was going to be the greatest research scientist in the world, almost completely because I knew how much that would have pleased her, being the wonderful person that she was (and wonderful people wanted you to help other people because they were just that wonderful). I had no other cares in the world, and the future looked so bright and open. I was in my 20s again, or was it my 30s? Either way, I was sure of the choices I was making in life, and I could stand up against anyone with the greatest of confidences because the woman at my side was the Goddess herself, or at least someone blessed by Her, and for me, that was more than good enough. It was perfect.

And then, instantly, I was brought back to 2011, standing in front of a woman who looked like the woman I once loved. She stared at me inquisitively and then somewhat suspiciously. I mean, this strange guy she never saw before was staring at her like she was her long-lost lover from years ago, which was exactly what was happening. So, she turned away, quickly, and rushed into the building.

I was left on the sidewalk, waiting for my ride to Zeeland. And then it arrived. And I went to Zeeland.

The memory then started to fade, and I was left with a sense of loss, realizing that I had seen her again, even though it wasn’t really her. And as we drove, I realized I would never see her again. And then the moment faded, and the conversation turned to other mundane topics.

Life can be like that sometimes. And there’s really nothing you can do about it.

Netflix is the like that abusive boyfriend who thinks it’s okay to hit you because he’s sober the next day

Business, Technology, , , , ,

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’ve been in an abusive relationship for many years now. I just recently got out of it, but my partner keeps calling me back, telling me everything’s okay now, that after counseling the abuse is never going to happen again. And almost like always, I go back, and a few weeks later, the abuse starts all over again. Like most abused partners, I never learn, which is why it is so easy to keep slipping into this type of relationship.

In the beginning, things were great. Netflix told me I was the only one and that we’d be together forever. Then out of nowhere a few years back, Netflix told me that I had to start paying more money to get the exact same features I was receiving before. Netflix told me it was really my fault, that I was expecting too much for how much effort Netflix was putting into the relationship, and that it was really stupid of me not to have expected the increase in fees. So, I decided that I wouldn’t see Netflix as much any more, telling Netflix, “I think we need to spend more time apart, and possibly see other people.” So, without warning, I switched from the three dvds at one time plan to the one dvd at a time plan. This took Netflix completely by surprise. He claimed I was being emotional, overly judgmental and unfair. But backed by all of my friends (who for some reason seemed to be in the same relationship with Netflix, too…why don’t we ever see these things?), I stood my ground. I figured if Netflix didn’t love me as much as I loved Netflix, then we didn’t need as exclusive of a relationship.

After a few bouts of overnighters and even a couple of nights where Netflix had to sleep on the couch, Netflix gave in and lowered his prices again. He said, “Baby, I’m on the wagon now. I know I hurt you, and I promise never to do it again.”

So, stupidly, I took Netflix back. I raised my dvd amount to three again, and we had a pretty good relationship for the next few years. Then, Netflix started drinking again. Well, that’s the only explanation I can come up with because he went right back to his abusive ways.

Out of the blue, Netflix announced that he was doubling his prices, and then as if that wasn’t enough, he decided outright that he was going to become two people, and I’d have to pay each one of them for the pleasure of his company. Right then and there, I decided, Netflix sucks, and I no longer want to be in this relationship. So I dumped him. Sent him to the curb and moved in with my mother and her three cats.

Ever since then, Netflix has been emailing me, saying, “Aw, come on Babe. I’m sober now. I mean, I’m still going to charge you twice as much, but I decided to stop pretending to be two people. So take me back. You know we had some good times together. Do you want to end up alone with your mother’s three cats?”

Like most abusive boyfriends, Netflix just doesn’t understand that when someone moves on, someone actually moves on. I’ve started dating again, having gone on a few blind dates with iTunes, Redbox and an Amazon Prime membership. But that doesn’t stop Netflix from hounding me every other day with a “hey, Babe, I’m still the best deal you’ve ever known. Stop screening your phone calls and pick up the damn phone!”

But I’m never going back. While it doesn’t mean I’ll never be in another abusive relationship again, it just means that I’ll never be in another one with Netflix. You have to live each day as it comes and relish the victories, no matter how small or how inconsequential.

Has Dating Turned Into Some Kind of Weird Non-Televised Reality Show?

News, Relationships, Social Networking, , , , , , , ,

 

There’s a story that’s been making its way across the Inter-tubes published on Business Insider, where a young woman indicates that dating made it possible for her to save a whole lot of money on daily living expenses, like food because men she was dating would pay for her meals. Now, while this sort of story isn’t all that new (women have been using men as potential mates as free meals for a long time now, about as long as commerce and dating has been around), the story makes the point that she did most of this in Manhattan, and she and her roommates specifically used Match.com in order to do it.

Since then, I’ve been reading a whole bunch of different articles on different sites where readers have chimed in, and basically everyone pretty much admits that this is nothing new, and that using various men on dates to get free food and tickets to movies (or the theater) has been a commonality for quite some time. On some of the sites, the commentary gets so crass as to project that certain “benefits” are expected after a certain amount of money spent, or a certain number of dates have been attended. The woman in the article indicates that she only dated men 5 times before dumping them (or moving on), so I’m not exactly sure where that fits into the calculations, but something tells me that that number has a LOT to do with that specific calculation, so I’ll just leave it at that and let you fill in the rest without having to say more.

What I do find intriguing is that dating has gotten into this whole “who pays for what” situation while in 21st century gender politics there has been a huge move towards equality of the sexes. As a commentary example, let me just mention that recently I finished off my schooling in which I did a Ph.d and a couple of MAs, and when I was dating in that pool of individuals, I found it quite intriguing that the women were demanding of equality at all times (whenever discussing rights, politics and academic rigor) but when an actual date occurred, there was an expectation that regardless of education, current state of gender politics or anything else, the guy was still expected to pick up the check for dinner. That included movies, or any other shared experience as well.

Now, keep in mind, when it came to “between friends” that changes a lot as in most cases a guy rarely ever has to shell out any money for a “date” when the “date” is being shared between friends, not two people thinking they are on a romantic date. So that’s a whole different dichotomy completely.

Now, I should also point out that way too often I’ll pick up the check regardless of the mindset of the adventure (be it romantic or friendship), but that’s just me. But what really gets me thinking more than I should is how many women actually walk into such an experience “expecting” certain things paid for. That includes drinks at a bar. I was at a group outing one night not too long ago when a young woman I casually knew sauntered up to where I was sitting and joined me. Within a short bit of time, there was an expectation that I was going to pay for her next drink. And I started to think to myself: “I’m not dating this young woman, nor am I probably ever going to be dating her, yet she has every expectation that the next set of drinks will be paid for by me, just because our genders are different.” At that moment, I was amazed at the brazen expectations people have, based off of ancient customs that have carried over into dynamics where they generally don’t fit any longer.

The whole dating scheme has gotten so that it’s very difficult for someone who is tired of playing a lot of the games that get played in this atmosphere. As one who abhors bars and drunk people, I avoid those places or people who frequent those kinds of places. Therefore, that leaves me with very few choices to find someone, other than venues like Match.com or Okcupid.com. As this article has shown me, and a lot of conversations with others have revealed to me, a lot of the women a guy is likely to find on Match.com or Okcupid.com are going to be very much like the entrepreneur in the original article, who sees any date with me as a chance to save money on her dinner bills. Whenever I go through the rankings of people advertising in my area on Okcupid, I’m left thinking that they’re really not looking for me, but for some weird fantasy of a guy who only exists on episodes of Gossip Girl or as a creature of the night in the Twilight movies. Recently, I found one woman who looked exactly like the down-to-Earth girl I was looking for when I read the last line of her profile, indicating that if the reader of her ad was someone who has EVER played World of Warcraft, she wasn’t interested. As those who know me know I’d be lying to say otherwise, I hid her picture and continued searching for that elusive someone who I began to realize probably didn’t exist.

Which is probably why I don’t date any more. I’d like to say that as a writer, I spend a lot of time alone on purpose, but sometimes it goes a little further than that. Somewhere down the line, I really got tired of the dating atmosphere and probably should have married years ago, but I never found the right person, so I realized at some point that I would have to go through a lot of the wrong people in order to finally find the right person, and just writing that is tiring enough. So, I tend to find solace in writing, reading a newspaper, and maybe a bout of magecrafting in World of Warcraft.

The Problem of Writing a Romance When There’s No Romance in Your Life

Relationships, Writing, , , , ,

 I found myself thinking back on one of those great romance stories, specifically the one that plays out really well in Romancing the Stone, with Kathleen Turner. In this movie, Turner plays a romance writer who stumbles while realizing she doesn’t know what her romantic hero would look like, but has a basic idea of his characterizations only, and then goes on her whirlwind romance where she finds the “hero” to become her shining knight (as that kind of story generally requires). Well, recently, while working on my novel in progress, I’m come to a similar situation.

Okay, not exactly like the movie, in that I’m some romantic novelist looking for my knight in shining armor, or even my knightess in shining armor. But as I put together the basic framework of the novel and built the edges of what would need to be filled in, I’ve come to a horrible conclusion that is making this novel very difficult to write. You see, romance has never really been a part of my life.

Adventure? Yes, there’s been a lot of that. Intrigue, conspiracies, espionage, and action? Yes, those have all been a part of my life at one time or another. And I’ve written extensively about those sorts of subjects. I’ve even used the elements of adventure and crafted science fiction and fantasy tales of great imagination.

But romance? Well, that’s really never been a part of my life.

Sure, I’ve been involved in relationships, but to be honest, most of my relationships have been a lot more Woody Allen-ish than Jame Bond-ish. To be even more honest, the kinds of romances I’ve lived in my life would fill a bunch of comedy novels and screenplays, and that’s fine, but that isn’t what I set out to write this time around. I was trying to write what would end up being a powerful romance of a completely tragic nature. There’s very little comedy in that area of what I’ve been trying to capture.

Which leaves me with the dilemma that hits a lot of writers, in that it is often very difficult to write about what one wants to write rather than what one knows. People who know a little bit about writing (and quite often those who know very little bit about it) constantly harangue writers about “write what you know”. And that can be very good advice for when you’re starting out. The usual journey of a writer goes like this:

Novel 1: Write out that unique idea you’ve been thinking about for ages.

Novel 2: Write about killing off your family/parents/friends (either physically or metaphorically).

Novel 3: Rehash an idea that’s been bothering you for awhile (and complete the requirements of Novel 2 if not already done so in Novel 1 or 2).

Novel 4: Reinvent Yourself as a Writer

And every novel after that serves as a reawakening as a writer, in which you learn new techniques to try to build upon the skills you already have, so that each new novel becomes the reinvention of you as a writer, writing something you could never have achieved in a previous novel because you just weren’t ready.

Working on my 13th or 14th novel (one of them is always hard to quantify), I’m way past the stage of killing off one’s parents. In each new novel, I find myself trying to reinvent the very idea of writing, tackling new techniques I never would have attempted before but now feel ready to attempt.

This one has been no different, in that the chronology of the novel serves as a mechanism for revelation and storytelling, to the point where it’s not a gimmick, but a necessity. However, with that in place, I now find myself in the earlier period of the courting stage of two of the main characters, and I realize how little experience I have in this area. Sadly enough, I even had to delete a few chapters because I found myself mimmicking old movies that had dating scenes in them because it was easier to fall back on past remembrances that weren’t mine than to orchestrate them myself from a fabrication that is completely unfamiliar to me.

It would be different if I had participated in dating rituals when I was younger, but I never did. Going to a club or something like that was never my thing, and my first experiences along this line didn’t happen until I got to the Academy. But that was so different an experience from what an average person would experience, as young cadets dating in a club environment does not equal what happens when college students meet each other in that same kind of environment that occurs around a university setting (not an Academy setting). The rituals of dating were never really something I participated in either as I tended to date very unique women over the years who definitely did not fall into the “normal” categories of dating. To explain the quandary further, let’s just say that when I find myself trying to describe a dating ritual for my main characters, I find those types of encounters somewhat simple and almost cliche, in that nothing I ever went through fell into such normal parameters. But to try to integrate the kinds of relationships I’ve had over the years into a story that requires a solid, normal foundation is somewhat bewildering.

But I did go into this project hoping to stretch myself as a writer. I guess it’s doing just that.