Friends

I broke my Facebook argument virginity and all I got was this lousy blog post

I have a hate/hate relationship with Facebook. Sure, I didn’t have to rejoin the social media giant three times. But I did. The reality is that Facebook is a necessary evil. For me? It’s a networking tool for freelancing. Also, after moving across the country, it aided me in remembering new faces and new acquaintances.

Facebook, really, isn’t evil. I try not to be an either/or type of person. I believe it’s best to live somewhere in the middle. Between the mean of two extremes, as Aristotle would tweet.

Facebook arguments, however, are evil and dumb and silly and fun to watch.

They have never settled well with me. Mean spirited. All-too-easy. Festering and sprouting at every opportunity, usually ending in a dog pile of earnest, hurt emotions.

As a veteran online-conscious being, I have abjured all temptations to join any form of online argument. Even as a political Independent. The stuff I see on Facebook (racist, ignorant, stereotype perpetuating, heavy bias journalism) makes me want to scream my fingers off. And the way people pounce on one another. Ugh.

Facebook is a daily lesson in self-restraint, certainly.

That is, until I broke my Facebook argument virginity. I caved in. I can’t even find my promise ring.

The Facebook Argument

There are many kinds of online arguments. Let’s break this down. (more…)

Burns Night ’14: Ode to Haggis, Scotch, and the Mystery of Friendship

Last night, my wife and I attended our first ever Burns Night (Robert, not George). Haggis was served with drams of poetry and scotch. Not being Scottish (but Irish!) I had never heard of Burns Night or Burns Supper. Sure, I had belted “Auld Lang Syne” many of New Year mornings, but the story of the man who wrote the original poem was never told to me. The evening was robust and engaging, one I’ll likely never forget.

So sit back, grab a fresh slice—possibly scoop—of haggis with a side of meat pie and mashed turnips. I’ll tell you all about it.

The Mystery of Friendship

The mystery of friendship is such that brings you to parties like these. We were tired from working two jobs all week and tempted, by our bed, with silent talk. But Megan was slated to give a speech at the party (Reply to the Toast to the Lassies), so we couldn’t bail.

We walked in the door of our new friend’s home and smelled a unique fragrance—much like that of Scotch—a blend: haggis, meat pie, grown people, infant people, mashed other-things. The host family, David and Neyir, lived in Scotland for three (or so) years. Ultimately Canadian, they dream of returning to Edinburgh.

The evening began with a formal introduction: welcome and grace. But before we could eat, The Address to the Haggis was recited. Dan, another new friend, recited the poem (from memory) with a hearty Scottish accent.

Address to the Haggis, by Dan

Ye Pow’rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer
Gie her a haggis!

So we ate! And it was… to be honest, it wasn’t bad. The haggis was fine. Really, it’s no worse than hot dogs (geometrically). The flavor was spicy and the texture was that of sausage. There was a meat pie served as well, made with puff pastry and Guinness. I think I liked that the best. (more…)

Grandpa Jerry: A Remembrance

Amidst a week of midterms, class projects, Steinbeckian novels, and part-time (but really more hours than any college-student could ever function with) employment training, my grandfather, Jerry Hilstein, passed away.

It wasn’t a complete shock. We received message that hospice had taken over and that any day Grandpa Jerry would move on to another world. The next morning he was gone.

A crazy week ends and I’m finally able to process my grandfather’s death.

So I’ll try my best for an obituary or eulogy. Me and him were never very close, to be honest. I have a handful of memories, all good, but just a handful. This year I lived in California (where I’m originally from) for a six-month internship while awaiting to start University of Rochester.

I worked for my uncle, Jerry’s son, and Jerry lived in the area. My grandfather suffered a heart attack, and we knew things were spiraling down. The good news, for me at least, was that I was around and got to know him a little better, if even just a little.

(more…)

Adventure: Not All it’s Cracked Up to Be

Adventure is weird and complicated. Like ordering a martini for the first time or Thai food, it’s not easy. It’s sexy, sure. We escape the familiar in favor of the unknown. We leave our friends and family behind. We buy maps (or iPhones) and plot new courses.

My wife and I have only five days left of our six-month stay in California. From here, we’ll pack up and drive to Idaho for a few weeks and then drive, finally, to Rochester, New York, where we’ll settle.

The idea of living in three states in one year sounded fun, initially. A couple of fair-skinned gypsies in a Prius-charriot awaiting adventure—that was us.

All I’ve ever wanted was adventure, and truth be told, I’ve had my fair share.

I’ve back-packed through Ireland; I’ve driven to the Grand Canyon on a whim; I’ve rode through a carwash on a razor scooter… Adventure is in my blood.

Is adventure good for blood?

Fake Adventures

I grew up idolizing movies like Indiana Jones, Star Wars, and The Mummy where characters traveled to the ends of the Earth, or universe, to conduct business. I’d watch TV shows like The X-Files and swoon. The monster-of-the-week storyline, on the search in a new area, fascinated me (and still does).

But it’s all fake. It’s exciting, but truth be told, if I met a new monster every week and I’d be dead by now. I’d be digesting in some mutant’s stomach and that’d be an awkward funeral.

Then there is the whole social media thing. All the fake adventurers. I recently read an article about the “Instagram Envy Effect,” which, really, is just how it sounds. Instagram captures everybody’s good moments, new moments. The rest of us watch and wish we could have those moments. Really, it’s all just fake. We post the interesting moments and leave the rest hidden, like reality TV.

I bring the Instagram article up because social media—as well as movies, music, and books—teach us some falsehoods about adventure. They tell us adventure has no downside. That it’s all just fun all the time and YOLO and pose!!!

Warning: Adventure is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Here are some tips to make sure you never, ever have an adventure.

Issue number 1:

You’re basically always packing. I’m not sure how you feel about packing, but I’m not a big fan.

Issue number 2:

Friendships are rare. It’s hard to get close to people when you’re always on the go. It’s not like the comic books where the hero has all the friends. The real-life hero, the traveler, is awkward at parties, unable to connect—not sure if he even wants to.

Issue number 3:

It gets harder and harder to leave. Maybe I’m getting older, maybe the traveler’s heart is just failing to pump like it used to, I don’t know. Maybe a six-month vacation wasn’t a very good idea. All I know, is that it’s getting harder to leave.

My friends, my family, my town. Sometimes, adventure just kind of sucks.

The memories are worth it, and that’s what I’m holding on to, for now.

What are your thoughts on adventure?

Short Story: Jake’s Jacket

The water’s just too damn cold.

Jake stood on the shore of California’s blue expanse, examining its horizon, noting the abnormalities under it. The ocean seemed empty to Jake. Sure, there was life teeming underneath, but nothing above he could see. The waves tumbled; the sea foam, in clockwork, came and went—hugging Jakes’s ankles, offering shallow solace.

Born on a farm in Pennsylvania, standing now, ankle deep, at the edge of existence. How did I—

“Why don’t you come back in?” Michael’s voice stole Jake away from his thoughts. He reached out his hand, “Let’s talk.” Michael’s body, not yet in the water but just out of grasp of the ocean’s reaching, rippling fingers, awaited response.

A black dot broke the surface in the closest series of waves.

“There!” pointed Jake, his arm outstretched, “Do you see it?” He laughed. A black seal broke the surface twenty yards or so from where they stood. “He’s come to watch me die,” Jake turned around and met Michael’s stare, offering a deflated grin, “and you too?”

“Come on out.”

“DON’T!” Jake yelled, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. “NO!” He began to scream. Michael shot his hands in the air.

“Nothing in my hands.” Michael signaled, “Nothing in my hands.”

– – –

Inching slowly, ever so slowly, Michael approached Jake. Cold seeped in through Michael’s shoes and bit his skin. Jake had since opened his eyes and was reexamining the water. Finally, the two stood side-by-side; Jakes’s explosive vest was visible to Michael for the first time.

“Every inch you move is another towards death, my friend.”

“There’s no gun…”

“… so its been since birth.”

Michael closed his eyes in defeat.

The seal again broke the surface and Jake smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The Number Kevin

linguistic chaos from my niche world

Friends