Thanks Again for Applying

Dear Dater Dave,

Thank you for submitting your application for the role of "Pole Hopper." After long hours of deliberation, the committee here at Cranium Jarrettum, Inc. has decided that your application has not met our standards of tact and sanity. This letter is to serve as a written confirmation of this decision.

The committee was impressed by your surveillance techniques, chiefly how you managed to confirm our representative's identity after watching him from a concealed location outside a bar. The committee was further impressed by your ability to identify our representative without ever having met him before and track him to his Facebook profile, though his profile image does not display his actual face. Unfortunately, these techniques do not fulfill the requirements of the Attraction Department, and we have just filled the last opening in Espionage.

You are clearly a bright and resourceful individual with many skills to give you a one-up in your career as a stalker. If you would like to apply for a position with one of our partner companies, we will forward your information along.

We wish you little personal success with your hump hunt and into the future. Thank you for your interest in Cranium Jarrettum, Inc.

Regards,

Kyle Jarrett
H.O.S. Cranium Jarrettum, Inc.

Self Doubt: Get Over It {Addendum}

It is a marvel how so small an action can have such an enormous impact on one's mood. I came home from my internship in a state of supreme gloom to find an envelope waiting for me from a very dear friend in Deutschland. Inside was a handwritten letter and a DVD that he had made for a university application. He had included the English translation of the dialogue on the letter so I could follow along with the words on screen. He confessed that it wasn't his best work, but the experience was marvelous.

I'm reminded of the power of kindness, that even when it seems to go unnoticed, its effects can be profound. My dark mood of the past few weeks melted away as I traced my finger along the script, keeping pace with the German. It is an amazing thing to share another person's passion, to see it in action, especially after so much build-up. It is humbling to receive something. into which a person has poured their heart, time, and energy. A basic hand-written letter amidst a suffocating sea of text messages and E-mails is something so rare, so divine, as to be comparable in effect to a holy relic.

So, to follow up on my previous post, the moon is limited to the night; great friends are at all hours. Choose them well, and treat them well. The rewards are immeasurable.

Self Doubt: Get Over It

I'm sitting here in a black shirt with the white silhouette of a pole vaulter featured in the center. Over the invisible bar, it says, Self Doubt: Get Over It. It's a relic from the running days of yore, and it's miraculously survived the six years since I last set foot at the Simplot Games. It's ironic, because self-doubt defined my running back in the day and has become a staple of my self-esteem.

I suppose the doubt started in preschool when I requested a second birthday cupcake and was met with the admonishment of being "Selfish, selfish, selfish." Its arc spanned many years through circumstances I would not care to divulge in a public blog and settled into this stage of life to which few wish to return once they have lived it: the post-grad world. Here, having chased so many false leads, slogged a way through the endless muck of false faces, heard everything that does not work about my character and my characters, watched my bank account slide me closer and closer to forsaking my career goals just to stay afloat, I'm so wrapped up in doubt about myself and my place in the world that I've lost the ability to ask for anything at all. The pathetic thing is that I let it happen; my self-doubt has become so strong that it's leading me into stagnation, which is the greatest crime against the self.

I remember the days of scholarship applications: "Please include your awards and leadership positions." In elementary and middle school, these were numerous. In high school, they fell off, but I kept them up. In college, two academic honors, no awards, no leadership: no drive. Looking back, I've realized that my downward spiral has been the result of a long succession of disappointments or perceived disappointments. The perception factor is critical, because--let's be frank--the emotional intensity of the bad trumps the warm nostalgia of the good.

What's happened is that I've lapsed into the illusion of permanence, or unchangeable bad. I've convinced myself that every choice I make will determine the course of my entire life, and by doubting my ability to make the right choice, I'm holding back, stagnating, perpetuating the permanent bad. I think this is a common belief in the country, that things can only be as they are and will only worsen: culturally, environmentally, politically. There is doubt in all corners, eating away the hope that would undo the self-fulfilling prophecy. There is doubt for change, doubt denying this very fundamental nature of the universe. All is entropy, all insanity, all futility.

I named this blog for the nature of destruction, the beautiful change that clears the way for new creation. There are things that I believe must be destroyed; doubt is among the highest priority. But how does one eliminate doubt? How does one "get over it?" It's insidious, resting deep within the most private recesses of the mind, subsisting on the perception of failure, the confirmation of prediction. If one goes into a meeting expecting to be humiliated, then is humiliated, one (left unchecked) will expect the same of all future meetings and never again contribute to or gain from another.

To this conundrum, I have no answer. If I had, I would have listed it at the beginning. I am not in the most confident place right now. I do not have a clear reason to be confident. Who am I to ask? To dream? To decide? But the other night, I looked at the moon, the full moon. Something about its presence in the sky calmed me. It is always there, neither fighting to persist nor fearing demise, but swimming onward, celestial shark that it is, more than unwilling--unable--to stop and stagnate. The moon goes through many phases, some times in full light, some times shrouded in darkness, but one can always expect its opposite sooner or later, without a doubt. If the moon can fade away into darkness and come back in full within a month, then maybe, just maybe, so can I. Raise the bar.

Dead Man in the Doorway

There was a dead man in my doorway this morning. I don't know where he came from or how he got there. Nonetheless, at 7:50 AM, there he was, face-down, silent as the grave.

I'll back up. Most (formerly all) Saturday mornings, I go running with my running group at 8:00 AM. This involves lugging myself out of bed at an hour that, to most people I know, is the temporal embodiment of Hell, snatching breakfast, dressing, and heading out. Well, on this particular morning, I opened the door to a pair of boots. They were rather nice boots, I must say, well taken care of. They led to equally nice jeans, which were quite wide to accommodate excess girth, and up to a dark blue shirt, though I could not ascertain what manner of shirt it was, on account of it facing the floor. The shirt connected to a head of black hair, though what manner of head it was, on account of it facing the floor, I could not say. In any case, said head was not moving.

It took about fifteen seconds to realize that all of these parts amounted to a comatose, middle-aged male lying face-down on the floor with one hand under his face, under which rested a key ring. I checked for stab wounds. None visible. Bullet holes? None visible. Hell, I wasn't about to roll him over, so that was my best guess. I'd left my phone on my desk in my locked apartment, so what was I going to do? Call 9-11? Should I tell them there's a dead man at my door? What if they take me in for questioning? Shit. Okay. Keep your head on your shoulders... Dead. Head. Stop staring at it!

I walked around the guy. At first, I thought, is this the friendly maintenance guy? Has he had a heart attack? That would be terrible. He was so very jolly, and I will miss him waving to me as I go for a run. But then, behold the puddle of vomit. Behold the shifting of the face to cover the right cheek in said puddle of vomit. Listen to the huff, the snort, of a living nostril. He's not dead; he's shit-drunk and passed out... and in my doorway! I checked my watch: 7:55. He's shit-drunk, passed out in my doorway, and making me late. I decided he'd get an earful if he was still there when I got back. He wasn't. His puddle of vomit was. To my friends and family members who are baffled that I've never been drunk, I present to you as Case #1, this man.

On Acting

It's taken years of practice and careful honing, but I can honestly say I have developed a knack for smiling and nodding and an even greater knack for giving discourses on smiling and nodding. The combination of actions is essential for making one's way in a city known for masked expression and subterfuge. All one has to do to maintain a semblance of interest in a gnawingly vapid conversation/soliloquy is maintain a constant smile and nod at select moments in the other's monologue.

A two-hour wait at Central Casting--during which a chatty African American man graced me with his worldly wisdom, completely unsolicited--offered me a chance to put this skill to good use. Compare and contrast the following snippets of our interaction:

Conveyed by Smiling and Nodding:	My Honest to Goodness Self:
- That's a great guess that your arms are 42 inches long. Good thing you looked at my paper with my sleeve measurements and added six inches to find your dimensions.	- I'm at 36, and I've got at least two inches on you, buddy. Have fun with your kimono shirts.
- Wow, a casting director mistook you for your 18-year old son's brother, but you're really 47 years old?  Where did you find the Fountain of Youth?	- She was humoring you, Casanova.  Trust me.
- You know, you are so right.  I should have taken my car in for repairs and maintenance every three months to make sure it's in tip-top shape.	- I'm a starving college graduate. If you want to pay for my car repairs, then by all means...
- Yes sir!  Being on set surrounded by dozens of loose, bikini-clad women sounds like a dream come true, and you're right.  I should be getting some while I'm young.	- I'm on the other team, coach.
- Wow, your stories of going behind your wife's back with movie chicks are absolutely riveting.  Get me a pen and paper, so I can learn from you, oh great master.	- Why the fuck is the other line moving faster than this one?  And how did I end up in the 40-and-older line?
- Of course I believe that you really treasure your wife who looks like singer-songwriter Selena, and that you'd never do anything to hurt her.	- Hold on...  I didn't catch everything you've been saying for the past half an hour, but I think you mentioned inviting hot female extras into your van  after shoots to "watch movies."
- It's been great hearing about your exploits for two hours.  I feel like a better person because of it.	- Wait a second...  I was able to convey to him complete and utter interest for two hours without saying a single word and actually preparing to hang myself with my belt.  My God, that's… acting!

I suppose one could argue that, in this case, smiling and nodding was the nicer option than expressing exactly what was on my mind, because I feel nothing but unbridled repugnance for unsolicited monologues. One could also argue that by smiling and nodding, I was affirming his marital hypocrisies. Perhaps that's why acting is such a draw for so many people. One can both treat a person contrarily to how one feels about them and berate their shortcomings, all while carefully shielded by the identity of another person, cyborg, air bison... A pity directness doesn't come with a paycheck.

2 Mechades ≈ 0.20 Centureasons for Change

Mercury is apparently in retrograde through September, which, for those not into divining astronomic conditions, usually means things are about to get ugly. At least, it is the reason I attribute to any extended SNAFU, and thus far, it's been pretty consistent. In any case, yesterday's was worth mentioning, even going so far as to provide an excellent lesson in escalating obstacles, keeping me from my internship at 9:00 AM. Allow me to elaborate:

• 6:10 AM - Eat breakfast in room, because friend is sleeping on couch after taking refuge from an apartment full of toxic vapors.
• 7:17 AM - Leave abnormally late, only to find roommate's car still parked behind mine in tandem spot.
• 7:30 AM - Run upstairs, grab roommate's keys, return downstairs to switch cars, run back upstairs to drop off roommate's keys, lock apartment from inside, run back downstairs, and realize my apartment and garage keys have fallen onto front seat of roommate's locked car.
• 7:42 AM - Arrive at parking garage by gym and roll down window to take parking ticket, only to find that window will not roll back up.
• 7:50 AM - Decide to follow Mom's advice and take it to dealer.
• 7:55 AM - Return to car, realize I have to prepay to leave garage, further realize that with only $1, I have to leave car with window down and go across two streets and down an escalator into gym to get my ticket validated so I can get out of garage.
• 8:05 AM - Return to pre-pay machine, which immediately eats half of my money.
• 8:20 AM - Arrive at Honda Dealership down Figueroa, where representative immediately estimates $500 to $800 to fix window. He pops hood to find everything leaking, making car no longer road-worthy, and offers to run an inspection to tally up cost. Should be an hour or two.
• 9:00 AM - Would normally have been at internship by now.
• 9:30 AM - Finish reading "The Terrible Vengeance" by Nicolai Gogol, while trying to drown out Telemundo in lounge. People have been coming and going, shuttling home, but I have stayed, since inspection will be done soon.
• 9:50 AM - Inquire on status of inspection, and learn it will take only half an hour more. Decide it would be better to wait half hour instead of take offered shuttle home.
• 10:50 AM - Inquire again on status of inspection and learn that representative will have details after lunch, for which he immediately departs.
• 11:35 AM - Ask for shuttle, tired of 60-degree lounge and Telemundo. Representative says there will be a shuttle ready in ten minutes.
• 11:50 AM - No shuttle, no driver, but inspection should be completed soon.
• 12:15 PM: Receive estimate: $3,000 to fix window, motor, and shocks. Representative suggests trading it in for something newer.
• 12:45 PM: Leave office of salesman, who spoke just enough English to tell me repeatedly to buy a new car and not hope to find anything under $10,000 at that dealership.
• 1:20 PM - Rent car and start driving to internship, which has been gnawing at brain since 8:00.
• 2:00 PM - Find parking spot after roaming neighborhoods and run to lunch.
• 2:45 PM - Finally get check and run to internship.
• 2:45 - 7:00 PM - Receive no questions about six-hour delay nor any kind of project or assignment at internship.

So now, apart from the increasingly desperate hunt for employment and the push to finish this script and send it to the increasing number of people requesting it, I may have to fly home and find a new car. Taking a step back from astrology, it just hit me how big of a change this is. Apart from the nearly two decades the Accord has been in my family, I've been through a lot with it since I started driving: four driving tests at 16, a near-death experience on the freeway at 17, driving across the country, working, exploring, falling in love, driving away from love... It's heard singing and laughing and crying, the likes of which I would never allow another person to hear, and though its gradually fallen apart over the years, its heart has stayed strong enough to keep me going from Point A to Point B, C, D.

Now that it's not coming back, I'm feeling a little melancholy. I'm embracing the idea of letting go of possessions, but there is a certain intimacy with this car, like what a Mongolian nomad has with his horse. Losing it draws a strange parallel to losing a friend, which is making the idea of picking a new car unexpectedly difficult. I've been offered a 2002 Acura, a racing car, a powerful car, but, to me, for now, it feels soulless. How very strange that a mechanical device should seem to have a soul...

Holy Matrimony, Batman!

So... Yeah. Proposition 8 has kinda been... shot down.

I decided to give that its own row above the others because it's nice to see that there is still room for rational thinking in the country's legal system: there is no proven social ramification for the marriage of two members of the same sex. Feel free to argue this with me, but I will only respond to arguments citing real, documented studies concluding otherwise.

This ruling comes as a relief after two years. In 2008, at the twilight of my borderline Meyers-esque phase, the realization that the majority of California voters had made same-sex marriage a punishable crime swept my primary social goal out from under me, leading me to conclude that there really was no higher aim on the romantic level. Thousands of voters decided this was the right conclusion for me to reach, but now, "right" has failed. I would hope this means the time has come to rethink "right."

I'm waiting for the grumbling to start. I'm sure it already has. "The world will collapse upon itself any day now." "God will send hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, and flocks of bloodthirsty liberals as punishment for the nation's atrocious action," because yes, God the Almighty is that pithy. To me, it seems that the moral outrage over same-sex marriage equates the idea that God would be content to watch His people create cowardly, shallow, or selfish relationships with each other, as long as they were properly reproducing and filling up the planet beyond capacity.

The point is, after two years of my own cowardly, shallow, and selfish relationships, it is nice to have the alternative acknowledged, even if on a purely legal and logical level. The fact is, marriage is a journey that can attain a thousand virtues or fall beneath a thousand vices. Denying anyone that journey to growth or decay is, itself, immoral. The duality may never be openly acknowledged by a majority, but after two years of getting to know actual married same-sex couples, many with children, I believe that it will come to be acknowledged quietly in all but the most isolated communities.