Monday, January 31, 2005

People Ain't Got Nothing To Do

I was going to let the stuff go, but I need to vent about the most popular leisure activity in South Lancaster, MA: gossiping. You would think at a Christian institution, where they allegedly follow the teachings of the Bible, they would shy away from unsubstantiated talk about one another. Nah. It seems it just accentuates it.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, it got to Posh in Boston that I was dating. That's whatever. It's aggravating but it makes sense since she's kept some of the same friends. But when the person in Student Accounts who handles me being registered for the semester knows about it too, that's just crazy. She's staff. She just randomly heard it in the waiting room. Do these people have absolutely nothing to do.

Read a book. Write a song. Just stay the hell out of my life. This place is crazy. I was in the only pizzeria in town last night with the Boy Wonder at around 9 and we were the only ones there. The only ones!!! Only restaurant. No big sports events. But there were tumbleweeds and vultures circling the establishment. This is bloody infuriating.

Other than not going to jail and keeping shelter, one of my prime objectives in life is to avoid empathizing with a Brandy song, but now I sadly find myself in that position. Woe is me.

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Oh What A Tangled Web

The life of Adam Anthony Scott Carnegie gets more and more complicated as life moves on. The compasssionate hedonist thing isn't working out as well as I would have hoped. Living for yourself is somewhat problematic when you actually care about the feelings of others.

So I'm visiting my ex-girlfriend Posh since she visited her parentals for the weekend. We're still friends and all, at least I'm trying to be. But of course the rumor mill in this little hamlet I call home reachced back to her and she got word that I was dating. Now I was hoping to shy away from the question, inquiring as to the sources of the "rumor" and if there were any supposed candidates in particular. But of course I failed.

And I had to come clean. And I had to say that I was in the beginning stages of something, with someone that she predicted I'd end up with. And then what I was trying to avoid occurred. So I was accused of lying, but I didn't. I just covered up truth I thought she didn't want to hear. If not saying what you think will hurt someone is that really lying. I didn't go out of my way to deceive.

But it is what it is? And the question remains can two ex-significant others really continue a relationship as just friends? I mean talk about everything, including their new romantic relationships. I seriously doubt it. And to those who honestly believe they achieved it kudos or I'm praying for you cause you might be delusional. Even when I talk to Drizzle in Texas, there's an unspoken agreement not to mention new developments on the battlefield of love.

Maybe this is just the hurdle I had to clear to experience that type of relationship for myself. I wasn't kicked out the house. A drink wasn't poured on my head. I didn't get a slap on the face. She still wants me to do my subpar poetry at some nonprofit shindig she's throwing. But there was an uneasiness as I left. And I hate that. Insert primal scream here.

Dream Occupation

I just happened to notice some cars parked. No I'm not under the influence of mind-altering substances. But it made me remember an incident where I realized how sick a driver my dad is. It all happened sometime in my high school years. We were visiting Maryland and at church there. When we went to leave we saw that some inconsiderate idiot had parked their car in a fashion that made it seriously difficult to get out. Just as my mom was about to go inside to find the perpetrator, Dad waved her off. It seemed like a movie at that point, the way he waved his hand seemed to cue off the slow motion. He just got in the car as we watched. He backed out some, adjusted the wheels, and drove back in. Over and over he repeated the process as my mom and I looked at each other from opposite sides of the car, communicating with our eyes that this was impossible. But as time went on, it seemed more and more plausible. After about seven minutes of moving, the BMW we had christened Casey broke free of the Mercury Cougar's restraint, free as a bird. I almost wanted to go hug my dad. I wanted to brag to everyone "Did you see what he just did?"

And know I realize that being a stunt driver would have been Dad's ideal occupation. His brain is capable of amazing things, but it has been consistently fried with the frustrations of the conventional and uncoventional 9 to 5. This is a man whose foot seems to have built in cruise control. He seamlessly switches lanes like a pro. And skids have never presented a problem. Plus he learned to drive in the mean streets of New York City. That's saying something in and of itself. They're don't even register on his radar. So with his skills and the supposed free and easy work schedule of the stunt driver it would have been perfect. He'd get paid. He'd have loads of free time to do the whatever that he does. And all would have been happy. Sad that this line of work is not emphasized in the island of Jamaica.

I need to be as good as that though. Even if I only use interstates and stay in the boondocks forever. I will pimp the road.

Do I Know Everything?

So I walk into the dorm and the eccentric Leonard is working front desk. Leonard looks like the prisoner from the Green Mile except like 8 inches shorter. Any way, I get to my door glad that no one was in the halls to question my late entry. No sooner does my phone ring, thinking that I was caught or something. Nope. It's Leonard asking a legal question. I've never worked in a law office. Not taking one class related to it. Does taking the LSAT make me a novide legal advisor? Or is my intellect just that respected that it's just assumed that I would know the answer? I'm not sure to chalk it up to weirdness or take it as a compliment. Guess I'll go with the last one.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

I Went Sledding Today

And you didn't. It's wonderful being Peter Pan in Northeast Neverland.

Moving Abroad

As I finally accept that I am coming to a crossroads in my life, the idea has set in that I have to choose where I will reside for the near future. Originally, I have mainly just assumed that I would just stay here in the Northeast, happy amongst my blue state compatriots. But I keep getting the premonition that I should really pack my bags and step into the great unknown. That's right people. I'm talking about the Southern United States of America.

I have already begun to explore the types of papers and vaccinations that one needs to make such a journey and have found that it is not such a painstaking process. Alledgedly one does not even need a passport to come and go as you please. It must be the work of some free trade agreement I must have overlooked.

Seriously though, the South has always had some allure for me I figure. In my frantic pre-college days, I was an ardent University of North Carolina basketball fan. As I advanced and realized they didn't have my intended major (biomedical engineering, funny isn't it), I did the unspeakable and switched my allegiance to Duke. If I didn't get into Duke, I was set to go to the University of Virginia. Even though the restaurant we visited had its music literally stop as soon as my family walked in the door, I appreciated the feigned hospitality of that diner waitress. Even though the racism still permeates, there's still that hospitality and etiquette thing that draws me in.

Plus it seems that they have a much more relaxed pace of life, an unhurried motion that really speaks to the inner lazy man in me, which tends to bitch me around on a regular basis. And my friends point out that I slip into some fabricated Southern lilt in my speech on a more than normal basis for a man who never spent much time below the Beltway in D.C. The only other accent I slip into with approaching regularity is some form of British thing, and I'm not ready to actually get papers ready to go there. That would require work which goes against the whole Southern thing that looks so good. Plus they don't like Americans that do bad British accents. That's why they were so scared when Renee Zellweger did Bridget Jones' Diary. And they're great cooks, that love to barbecue. Ribs! Did you hear me?!?! Ribs!

Maybe this freezing weather (one more day of cancelled school) is affecting me. Maybe it's the endless barrage of Southern hip-hop videos I willingly subject myself to. Somehow Atlanta, Texas, and Florida are on my list of possible destinations despite the redness of their politics. And that's just peachy keen with me.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

The Big Screen

Since yesterday's Oscar nominations were handed out, I started to wonder why it is that so many stars long to be on the big screen. Actually I was thinking, why don't stars like to aim for the small screen. Even when they get there, they seem to be willing to take the smallest part just to be in a movie. Is it that serious?

Is it the allure of being in some form of medium forever? Can't be cause between syndication and DVD's, TV shows will never die. I guess it must be for artistic freedom or some philosophical thing. It can't be fame though. If you're lucky enough to get on a hit show that means that 20 million people are watching you every week. Plus it's a steady salary and not subject to the whims of bad box office. If I were an actor, that's all I'd want: steady big paycheck. Maybe that whole artistic thing is actually true for some of these people. Or confused vanity.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Team Support Gone Awry

As there is nothing to do in the twin outposts of Lancaster and Clinton, one gets so bored that you get fascinated with the change of marquees on the signage of our fine dining establishments. It's so sad that you can actually get excited about fast food specials that you normally, and intelligently, would overlook. Knowing that Charmin is on sale is an oddly comforting distraction in Middle of Nowhere, MA.

Sometimes these semi-rural cats take it too far. Before I delve deeper I must get one important point on paper. Massachusetts sports fans are some of the most fanatic on the planet. In the world sports fan championships, Bay Staters should be the American representatives against the soccer hooligans of Europe. It's even stranger coming from bandwagon central, also known as New York City. Our football teams are in New Jersey, our baseball teams tend to price out tickets for the normal working folk, and it's more of a celebration when you get Knicks tickets than actually being there. I think its more fun to read about sports in the city then actually participate in activer spectating.

Anyway back to the marquee. The location of the offense was our KFC/Taco Bell 2-in-1 extravaganza. And so on Thursday before their eventual AFC Championship game win the signage read: "Patriots Eat Chicken....Be A Patriot". Uhhhh...what?!?!??! Are you kidding me? The fact that someone even thought to put that up pushes a button in me that I can't even explain.

I mean I enjoyed the Red Sox winning cause I hate the Yankees. And the Patriots are just like them, they play like a team. Nobody shines too bright. Just a cohesive unit , the way sports is supposed to be played, ideally. Other than their ritual smackdown of the New York Jets, I don't mind them at all. Stuff like that dumb marquee makes me want to root against them though. And then I can have all the chicken for myself. All of it.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Great Day

We now interrupt this regularly scheduled programming to let you know that it's just a fantastic day. Yeah the wind picks up every once in a while. But the sun is shining and it's just honestly fantastic to be breathing. I was so joyful that I had to stop and pray and thank God for the feeling. I was really half skipping and just busting out in exorbitant shouts of joy. Just had to say that. You may now return to drab life.

Five - O

As I walked to my Brooklyn home the other night, I found myself tensing up. Was there some shadowy figure sauntering behind me threatening to take me cell phone and any other valuables I possessed. Quite the contrary. I saw a police car idling by an emergency management center a quarter mile ahead of me. This is a car that has been stationed since the attacks of 9-11. The sideway has been blocked off since then to prevent terrorists from doing anything, theoretically. (It still baffles me as to what them being stationed there means because someone like me can just walk along side it and throw some time bomb on top of the roof like every Hollywood action movie of the past 25 years) Nevertheless, I tensed up. Started telling myself to just be cool. Then I realized I was an idiot.

I wasn't doing anything wrong or performing any other suspicious behavior. My face didn't resemble some fugitive on the run. So why did my brain get all freaked out and try to calm itself down. I must say I've always had an uneasy relationship with the police. I have no reason why. I lived in a predominantly white neighborhood that had little crime. I honestly don't remember seeing them as a child. But maybe growing up watching snippets of Def Comedy Jam and Comedy Central, I guess I developed a distaste. In each of my confrontations with police I have always been surly and walked past them. After Louima and Diallo, I guess I stopped carrying my wallet and learning my plunger nunchuks skills.

I do respect them for what they do. If I ever worked for the police though, I'd be the guy they all hate in Internal Affairs, busting their chops on the simplest of regulations. This year I hope to make friends of the 5-0.

I Need A Fix

Recently, an article in the New York Times analyzed the genetic engineering agenda. Basically the article was advocating the prioritizing of studying the varying effects genetics can have on different diseases. The things that need to be first up on the plan are the conditions that are just uncontrollable, that environment or behavior can't change. Stuff like breast cancer or Type I diabetes. Other stuff like hypertension that can be helped with diet and exercise should take a back seat. What was most startling about the article that addiction was one of the things that could be possibly studied and worked on.

I guess somewhere deep in my mind I realized that addiction is probably something influenced by genetic factors. Certain individuals get addicted to things much more hardcore than others. But does it really warrant study, and possible treatment to make sure that they don't get addicted? It seems like this type of action is overreacting. Addiction is a part of human nature. I can't imagine going to my neighborhood genetic engineering firm in the future and ordering a baby that couldn't get addicted. The positives, like avoiding dangerous narcotics and Spice Girls albums, don't outweigh the negatives.

Is it me or is addiction one of the reasons that humans have sustained life for all these years? If people didn't get addicted, people wouldn't have evolved to the place where we are. In my view, addiction is pivotal to passion. Would Edison have kept working to get that light bulb working if he weren't addicted to making sure it did work? Would Gandhi have been as passionate at working towards a free India if he didn't get a taste of that drug freedom during his studies abroad? I doubt that very highly.

I mean look at love. That's the best addiction out there. Something about when you kiss that special someone makes you want to get another taste later, and another one, and another one. Love makes you addicted to making sure that the other person is taken care of, that harm doesn't come their way. Is it worth rewiring the framework of a human to make sure they don't waste their time on nicotine if the end result is a person who can't feel passion? The results would resemble an assembly line of robots that has been the subject of book after book and movie after movie. That type of world seems cold and uninhabitable.

Addiction is how some of the world's great achievements have been met. Beethoven was addicted to those symphonies. Warhol was addicted to those paintings. And if that starving musician strumming on a guitar in a coffeehouse somewhere lost that addiction to keep writing and try to find that chord, the world would lose the wonderful palette of hues that makes it worth getting up those mornings where everything doesn't seem to make sense.

I'm all for the study of addiction. I'd love to know what neurons have to fire and what receptors have to be hit in order for an addiction to latch in the brain, and how it can be broken up. But don't take away the ability for it to happen. That's just way too harsh.

Allow Me To Reintroduce Myself

My name is Adam Carnegie and I am the author of this blog. I took an absence, well because I was trying to get my life on track. And then after that I still wasn't myself, at least not the type of self that posted on a blog on a regular basis. That random independent thought was absent. But I don't know if it's the new year, or maybe this cold-ass weather, but I feel rejuvenated. I'm not saying I'm the most entertaining. I'm probably the only one reading this. But I feel that it needs to come out. So I am reclaiming my blog and there's nothing anyone can do about it.