Frosted Flakes

"L.A. is full of flaky people. It's one of those bad behaviors that's never punished."

Thus spake a friend of mine in the car, while driving me to an event to which we were both invited.  After dropping me off, he then got back in his car and drove home, owing to his significant other making a surprise visit that weekend.

According to the Urban Dictionary, to flake is "to decide not to go at the last second; to 'ditch' or 'bail out.'" It doesn't necessarily mean a person has better plans that have popped up miraculously at the last second. No, the rationale could very well fit within one of the following mind frames:

• "With the price of gas what it is, when you get it... if you get it."
• "This book on the hatchet cell morphology of the riverine tsetse fly is far too fascinating to put down now."
• "So-and-so, the anti-proton to my proton will be there.  Ergo, it's a no-go with so-and-so."
• "Oh, em, gee!  It's a six-hour marathon of {insert vapid, brain-slurping reality programming here}!"

No matter the obstacle, the manner of self-placation invariably falls along the lines of "It's okay; she'll understand," or "It's okay; there will be lots of people there," or "It's okay; I'll just see him at such-and-such a date." In some cases, this may be true, but there are proper ways of approaching this and many improper ones. Here are the top five flaky excuses that leave me frosted enough to put the "Grrr!" in "Grrreat!"

1. "Oh, I forgot."
   (What part of répondez s'il vous plaît don't you understand?)
2. "I was drunk / hungover / high."
   (Was this in anticipation of my function or part of your daily routine?)
3. "My friend / relative just came into town."
   (And you neither knew this before or thought to bring them along?)
4. "Hello... {Vapid, brain-slurping reality show} was on!"
   (And I suppose you're going to TiVo our time together.)
   
5. Silence...
   (Not going to be the one to break it.)

I may seem bitter about these situations, but having experienced all five excuses for flaking on birthday parties, group projects, dates, and favors, without an apology or, many times, even an acknowledgment of flakery, it starts to grate on a person. Of all the virtues, I hold sincerity among the highest, and my first, idealistic/naïve instinct when someone tells me they will call me at 6:00 or meet with me on a Tuesday is that they sincerely intend to do so and will let me know if anything changes.  When I adjust my schedule to accommodate that 6:00 phone call or Tuesday meeting, then hear nothing until days after, if at all, it damages my relationship with that person.

Life is unpredictable, and trouble pops up where and when it's least expected.  With the aid of social networking sites, most people now have to keep track of dozens, if not hundreds, of acquaintances.  Still, I ask these questions to the greater masses.  Is it beyond the average skill set to reschedule?  Is it just too terrifying to make the call to apologize for or even confess to flaking?  Is this one person so insignificant among your hundreds of acquaintances that it really doesn't matter how they feel about your absence?  Finally, would it really be so insulting to hold someone accountable for flaking?

I am by no means a flakeless wonder.  My memory is so scattered that my history of flakes would require prescription-strength Head & Shoulders.  Nonetheless, when I do cancel at the last second, regardless of the reason, I at least show the other person the courtesy of letting them know that "Yes, I would like to hang out with you in the future," or "Yes, please keep me posted on your future projects."  In summation, "Yes, I do actually care about what you're doing; it's just that at this moment, our time-space continua are not meant to intersect."  Whether or not they believe me, it's a more personal gesture than pretending a vapid, brain-slurping reality program is a valid alternative to spending some all-too-brief time with another human being.

Shlurp.

Consequences 2

Heeding the following words will preserve your dignity, if not your life:

From every action comes a consequence. No one—allow me to repeat, no one—is immune to this temporal phenomenon. It may take years for the consequence to manifest, but it will. When it does, your actions now will determine whether that consequence is a benefit or a detriment. Think about it now; you won't regret it later.

Consequences

In light of recent eastward events, I would like my readers to take the following words to heart:

A secret is a living, breathing thing That, from its birth entombed, Applies its claws to carve and slash and sting Until it is exhumed. Its shovels come from confidence betrayed, From prying ears and eyes, For time ends every selfish masquerade By which the secret dies.

Tick Tock

I've often heard said, mostly by relatives, that time moves more quickly with age.  I had my doubts.  I can count one to three hundred sixty Mississippis at the same rate as my seven-year old self, and they would still correspond to the clock.  So how is it that said relatives were completely spot-on?

Tomorrow, I walk the lines of graduation (or sashay, depending on my mood). Eighteen years of classrooms, eighteen years of grades and homework, eighteen years of an academic authority attempting to convey the workings of the universe into my uninformed brain, have all come to a conclusion. Up to this point, I have measured the passing of time in grades, Kindergarten through two senior years. Each year had a meaning, each its own set of friends and memories. I could say "Yeah, back in fifth grade, bladi bladi blah," but now, what happens?

Up until this point, schooling has given my life structure. I could rely on an autumn start and a spring finish with slight mental relaxation in between, but come Autumn 2010, there will be no new start. Ideally, I will already be employed by that time in a position that most likely is not determined by the seasons. Then the challenge emerges of how to restructure my sense of time. The standard approach seems to divide life into decades "In my 20s, 30s, 70s" et cetera, but it seems that doing so robs the day, month, and year of their meaning. Perhaps this is why they say time speeds up with age; the days lose their interest and blend together.

I believe this pattern is a choice. Yes, the schedule of life has to change, unless a person is inherently wealthy and can pay for a lifetime of college education, but it is a choice to slip into the web of the mundane. A frenzied world inherently resists giving due credit each smaller block of time, and the human brain can hold finite amounts of memory before it starts to clear the space; nonetheless, it should be the goal of each and every person to do something in a year that makes it worth remembering. "In my 20s" is a dismissive phrase. "The year I climbed my first mountain..." "The year I quit smoking..." "The year I took that road trip to Canada..." All give respect to the years they describe and add layers of richness to the experience of life without having to remember the details of dates.

Perhaps by adopting this approach, what has been described as an insipid vortex beyond formal education may yet be revealed to be nothing more than a doorway to a lifetime of educated informality.