I Am The Literary Sisyphus

I tend to be a creative guy, but I often hit peaks and valleys in my proliferation.

I'll go a month without writing a song or working on one of my fiction stories, and then one day it'll just hit me to start writing.  It can be hugely productive sometimes, like the time I doubled one story from about 20 pages in Microsoft Word to 40 or so after 5 or 6 hour of writing.  For the most part though, it takes away from my creation because I can go, as I said, a month and often longer between these spurts.

I'm pleased to say I'm currently standing atop the peak, and am dreading the statistically likely happenstance that I will trip on a rock and roll all the way back down into the valley, gaining layers like a human snowball, like in the cartoons.  The deal with the title is that Sisyphus was a guy in Greek mythology who royally pissed off the gods, so they punished him by making him push a boulder up a hill, and then every time he got to the top, he would slip and it would roll back down.  And he'd have to do it again, over and over and over again.  Here's a wikipedia article about him.

Today, I wrote the crap out of a song in like 20 minutes, and that never happens.  I even wrote some guitar for it!  Which I never do, because I tend to stink at trying to fit any words and music together.  I can write cool words, and cool riffs sometimes, but I rarely introduce them and try to set them up on a date like the mischevious mutual friend I am.

And I've been working also on my brainchild, that story mentioned above.  Old-timey readers of my blog might remember that I once had sections of it posted here.  But, all arrogance aside, I'm proud of its potential and don't want everyone being able to see it!  If you'd like to read a draft so far and be one of my proofreaders, drop me a comment and I'm sure we can work something out.  By that I mean I'll likely email it to you to read, if I know and/or trust you.

I'm really itching to get back to my writing of fiction, so I'm keeping it short this time.

I Almost Already Blew It, Forgive Me!

It's true!  I almost forgot to post a blog today.  But I saved it, roughly 5 hours before the day ended.  Phew.

I have a post about forgiveness and, in brief, how withholding forgiveness can be as hostile as the action that brings about the conflict.

It's called I Swear I Never Meant For This.  Check it out, it's one of my blog posts about important things and not about funny things.  But it's worth thinking about, if I do say so myself, so don't let the un-funnines scare you away.

Well, in that post, I say that one of the few times I've cried from happiness was when I was told I was forgiven for something, though that forgiveness later proved to be untrue.  I continue on to say that while I thought it was legitimate, it made me feel great, like I was able to escape my ugly human nature, if only for a little while.

I don't like revising things because I have a typo or because a link is broken, or something like that.  And even more, I wouldn't like to revise something because I felt that what I said was not in line with how I really felt, since that might mean I abused my blog as a place to hurl insults or unfair thoughts that I didn't truly think, but simply spewed because of then-current frustrations.  But, I have a taste of a new need to revise, and it tastes sweet.  Like this might taste:

The new need to revise is because the circumstances have changed.  My information is out of date, and needs a makeover.  Today I was contacted by the person who played a part in that situation where I thought I was forgiven, but wasn't really.  Turns out, time has changed some things.  And I am, in fact, now fully forgiven.  I feel again like I've been able to escape some ugliness of my human nature.  It was a wonderful gift to receive, this line dropped by an old friend to tell me that I was no longer held in ill regard by them.

I don't challenge, or dare, or command you, because those all contain potential negative connotations.  I recommend you extend the gift of forgiveness to someone you're holding out on, so you can give something that can be matched by few other gifts.  And if you're being held out on, hold on a bit longer.  Your redemption may come yet.  I certainly didn't see it coming in this life.

A Daily Dose, Hopefully! But Probably Not.

I am going to attempt to post something new on my blog...

EVERY

SINGLE

DAY!!!!!

Knowing me, I'll probably fail within the first few days, but in the very least, this non-binding self-contract will perhaps drive me to write 4 blog posts a week or so, which would be nice!

I'd like to steer away from the blog posts that just kind of update you on what I did today or what book I'm reading or things like that, just because it's not my style.  I'm a bit too longwinded for that.

To begin this blogsapalooza, I will talk about my job.

I've taken a new job with a place called Music Industry Workshop, a company based out of Chicago.  Check the link!

And what I do, is hang out at Guitar Center stores, because the place I work for has a partnership with them, and I tell people about our programs, courses, and free clinics we offer.  So throughout the course of my workday, I meet anywhere from 50-100 new faces and get to talk to them a bit about their goals and aspirations, and it's a really fun job.

I'm a big blogger for dreams.  I think that at a certain point in everyone's life, they come to a juncture where they either pursue their dream or they abandon it.  I'm here to try and dissuade everybody from abandoning their dreams.  There are some cases where I think dreams are better off abandoned, like if you're becoming a parent or needing to work three jobs or something like that.  But for the most part, I'd like to see a world where people pursue their dreams more often.

Working at my job I get to see all sorts of people who are pursuing, in some degree, their musical dreams.  Everyone from the group of guys who play in a band together, shopping for some new stage equipment, to the guy who's 50 years old, buying some recording equipment because he's decided it's time to put his originals on wax.  Or plastic, or hard drive. You know.

It's a good work environment for someone like myself who is kind of feeling the pressure to either go for my dream or give it up.  It reminds me that it's all very real, and a decision will have to come sooner or later.  This is good I think, because it can be very easy to regard your dreams as unreal, truly as just 'dreams'.  And if you just think your dreams are imaginative wisp clouds, you'll spend as much time talking yourself out of grasping for them as society does already.

And P.S., I'm abandoning the song lyric title rule.  I've spent, in some cases, as much time deciding on a befitting title as I have on the post it concerns.  If one comes up in my noggin, I'll take it, but otherwise, I'm going to keep it simple.  Back to the basics, if you will.

Have You Any Wool?

I've had a pretty good week, spending much of it with family members.  Two cousins came to visit, and one of them looks up to me alot and takes a corny sense of humor well, so I try to hang out with him as much as I can when he comes in to town.

In his absence from his last visit, I forgot how things usually go when he is in town.  It only took a day or two to remember how stressful it can be when he is around.  Not because of him, but because of the way he is treated.  He's constantly being treated like a child, though he's going to be a sophomore in high school, and if people treated me that way at that age I would've been flipping tables over in frustration.

He's had some troubles in the past with attention deficit disorder, and because of this, it seems like the family treats him like some sort of mental patient.

So it is with this current experience in mind I remember the concept of a black sheep.

I have before felt this way, and can understand the sort of isolation that comes from it.

What I want to ask is how families all over the world can manage to ostracize their own flesh and blood, when the person they isolate is often flocking to them to be sheltered from the world that is telling them they are flawed, freaks, and frustrating? (And any other word that starts with 'f' to fit my love for alliteration)

It both saddens me and enrages me at the same time.  It's hard to know how to act with a blend of these feelings.  I suppose for now, I will just ask each of you to find the outcast in your family, either literal or figurative, and be sure they know that at least one person will not be counting them out next time they come around.

Call It Torture, Call It University

So, I've really done it now.  I've taken a step towards living out some of the ideals of my older blog posts.  (See 'No One Here...But Me and God' from November 2010, 'Dream Until Your Dream Come True' from January 2011, and 'Accroches Toi A Ton Reve' from May 2011)

Lately I've just felt like I was going through the motions to go back to college, and for all the wrong reasons.  I don't want to go back to school right now.  I feel as though I need to go check out some more of the world before I jump into the rat race to make all sorts of money for debts and payments I don't even have, and for a family I don't see anywhere near in the future.

There are people who, I think, feel like I'm just lazy and want to try to be different just to be difficult.  But really, what better time than now to go pursue something else?  Nothing's tying me down, and knowing life's unpredictability, it might not be very many years before there are responsibilities and committments which could limit my ability to go do what I want.  Not that I will resent it if/when I'm married, but it's just that I ought to go do my traveling and world-seeing now before it's too late.

So I went through with it.  I have ceased the enrollment process at a community college around here, and am hoping to move out sometime soon.  Out of the community I've known my whole life, and into a place where I feel like there's something to be had.

There's tons of people who are telling me that it's a bad idea to do what I'm doing.  I respect those opinions.  The bottom line is just that I have no desire to go through it now (and this isn't a question of laziness, it's a question of 'it's my choice to make and I made it'), and I'm not going to waste my own money or have money wasted on my behalf on something I don't want to be doing.  Maybe after a year or two, all this sabbatical will do is give me a newfound appreciation for school.  And if not, then I bet that I'll have found something I'm perfectly content doing if it's enough to dissuade me from going back to college to fulfill my societal role as a brick in the wall.

Not that everyone who goes to college is just a drone...I just feel that at this point, where I'm at now, if I were to go to college even though I didn't want to, I'd just be shuffling along and acting as I feel I'm supposed to.  And the awesome thing about life is that you don't have to act the way you're supposed to.  Society has plenty of opinions on what we're supposed to do.  Go to preschool, go to kindergarten, go to elementary school, go to middle school, go to high school, go to college, get a job, get promoted, get a car, get a house, get a wife, get a kid, get a promotion, get a vacation, get another kid, get another car, get another wife, get promoted, get a retirement, get a grave plot.

Or, you can go do what you want.  I'll let you know how it feels when I've had more time to flesh it out.

Maybe When You're Old Enough

CAUTION!  I'M TOO YOUNG TO HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT WHAT I'M POSTING!  APPROACH WITH CAUTION, AND I WOULD APPRECIATE ANY WORDS OF CONDESCENSION AND/OR INTIMIDATION THAT CAN HELP ME FIND MY PLACE IN THE HIERARCHY OF LIFE AGAIN!

People seem to be very fixated on who has the right to have certain views.  Because in this day and age, it's so true; if you haven't experienced something firsthand, your views can not qualify.

Bull.

Funny...I've always felt like my personal involvement in a situation has only clouded my impartial judgment as a whole.  This is why girls who've been mistreated might tell a friend to stay away from all boys, though that friend may be missing out on a very generous and loving man who would have been a better spouse to them than anyone else.  Or why a consumer who had a bad experience with a product will tell their friends to stay clear of that company, though they may have just had a defected product because it was dropped once during production.

Here are some examples I've witnessed or been the target of.

You've never been a woman, so your views on abortion don't matter.  How dare you meddle in things you'll never have to live with?

You've never had to support a family so your desire to do something unconventional that you enjoy as a career is a result of never having responsibilities.

You're not old enough to have gone to a concert of the band you're listening to, so you don't even know the music.  You're not fooling me, trying to look all vintage.

You've never had to be a parent, so your views on parenting don't matter.  Who gives you the right to say you wouldn't do it my way?

 ---

And here are some examples that should be applied if everything were that way.

You've never been in Casey Anthony's shoes, so your opinion on her guilt doesn't matter.

You've never been in an elected office, so you can't vote intelligently.

You've never met a terrorist, so your opinion that they are dangerous is judgmental.

You've never been poor, so it is wrong of you to think that someone stealing to feed their children should be treated like regular thiefs.

In fact, this sentiment..."You don't have the right because you've never been ________" goes against everything I and my blog stands for.  Because if we can't have views on parenting before we're parents, does that mean we should stay in the dark, only cracking the door open and seeing the light when a kid falls into our laps?  How will we have any time to consider what kind of parent we want to be?  Won't we just have to parent by instinct through the way we were raised?  Parenting may very well be the most important subject on Earth, and you mean to tell me that we can only study as we're sitting down to take all of the tests, with no breaks in between?

Apply this to the idea that we can't vote intelligently since we've never been in office.  Goodbye democracy that means anything.

Hell, apply the idea of "You don't qualify to have statements on this" to any subject, and we are destined to be walking through life with our hands in our mouths.  This will accomplish two things - you won't be able to speak very well, and your hands will have that weird spit smell, therefore no one will ever shake your hand.  You see, preparation for supporting a family starts long before you're married and a parent.  And parenting is well-suited to be thought out well before the child is born.  Abortion is an issue that effects human life, and so everyone is concerned.

The only credence I will give to the absurd idea of qualifying to talk about things is this:  It can be hard to understand factors, other than how we want to do things, that come up in a situation if we've never been there.  But does my inability to grasp the fear that a woman who wants an abortion is feeling make me unqualified?  If it did make me unqualified, then the real gist of abortion is all about the mothers and their emotions, right?  It has nothing to do with my views on stopping a human life from coming into fruition, because if it did, then I would be entitled to have a view, as a human being talking about humans. 

I have news for everyone reading this.  You are confined to think about only that which you have experienced.  Snuff out your imagination, cut down your sense of preparing ahead of time, slaughter your concern for world affairs, forget that anything happens except what has fallen into your immediate surroundings.  Don't learn from your elders, because that is pretentious.  Don't you dare see someone else do something you disagree with, and make a note to try to do things differently.  Don't care about history repeating itself, because history is just a list of committees, battles, and dead guys.

I compel you: resist the urge to think about how to handle parenting issues, fight the feeling to weigh job offers ahead of time, flee the scenarios in which you might say "I should remember to NOT act that way."

No.  I can not stress it enough.  When you're told that you are too young, too inexperienced, too old, too poor, too rich, too white, too black, too skinny, too fat to speak or think about something, it usually says more about the person who is telling you than it does about you. Those who came, saw, and crumbled write off our disagreements as ignorance or arrogance because we've never been there.  I disagree, because to assume this means that we must feel what someone feels, with our hearts, before we can think about it with our brains.  The brain and the heart rarely play ball together...more frequently they operate like North and South Korea.And this would put us all knee-deep in a thick and smelly situation.

And a small note about my blog and brain in general:  When I blog about something or say something, I have more thoughts about it than that event which brought it into my head.  This post is not the disgruntled stab at someone who told me to shut my mouth one time.  My blogs are composites about things I've been juggling over spans of time, not always very long spans of time, but certainly longer than the immediate situation that you think I'm griping about or reacting to the emotions supplied by it.  And even if I was just griping, I'm well within my capabilities and rights to do so.

When You're A Stranger

Lately I've been spending alot of time in Chicago.  In the last week, I made three visits to do some job training for a position I'm taking at a business called Music Industry Workshop.  

A quick rundown on the company:  Music Industry Workshop is a community resource and vocational school dedicated to building up the Chicago music scene.  They offer courses in Recording/Engineering, Music Business, Digital Music Production, Live Sound, DJ Mixology, and Music Video Production, as well as other specialized courses for advanced students.  On-site is a professional recording studio that's been used by artists like Kanye West, Britney Spears, Smashing Pumpkins, and many more big-label artists, and all the way down to the most amateur of musicians (I recorded here with my band before we broke up!)  Aside from offering courses and studio resources, MIW is a huge link in the chain of Chicago music networking.

Link here!

So anyhow, I've been into Chicago a lot lately, and I've learned some pretty interesting things.  I'm not just talking about having my first Chicago-style hot dog that actually came from Chicago...

or realizing that subway trains have, on average, many more attractive girls than the trains I ride to the city from my home in Northwest Indiana...

 A photo analogy:

I've actually had some pretty cool human experiences in the last three trips.

The first job-related trip I took, back in the beginning of July, was spent mostly trying to find my way to my destination and not get hit by a car or angry native.  But after awhile, I became a bit more comfortable in my environment and began to interact with the world I was in, no longer just passing through like a migrant bird. A humorous example of this happened on the subway.  The train was packed, and the only way I could stand and not crash into people every time the train slowed or sped was to stand directly in front of a seated businessman, with my arm reaching up to a rail to the left of him. 

Coulda been worse...

But the situation was a bit awkward because I was several inches from him (and everyone else around me), and my arm was raised so that my armpit was like a foot and a half away from his head.  I said to him, "Don't worry, I double-applied my deoderant this morning, so we should be good."  To which he replied, glumly, "Good thing."

A less humorous and more meaningful experience happened on the way back to my hometown one evening.  I was in the train, which was also packed so I was standing near the doors next to several other people.  One guy, named Mike, was standing in our cluster and began to talk to me about something, I can't quite remember what.  And at first I was a bit more interested in the conversation being over, so I could get back to my magazine.  Then I remembered back to my work training earlier in the day:  My boss was talking about how my job goes against what we were taught as kids, and that is "DON'T TALK TO STRANGERS!"  He then said, "You know, the grown-up world involves a lot of talking to strangers"  and as I reflected on this in author-mode and not worker-mode, I realized that the world is full of strangers and to not talk to them because we don't know them is a pretty thorough death sentence in terms of reaching your socializing potential.

So, back to Mike.  He said something about the train being packed, and I said "Yeah, I should have seen it coming with Lollapalooza and everything", and then we got into talking about music.  He shared a bit about his nephew who plays guitar, and I talked about disliking Nickelback for their lack of important things to say, except for the token "Peace, Man" song everyone writes, that one "If everyone cared, and nobody cried" song or whatever.

We chatted for a bit, and the lady across from me was uncomfortable with the conversation, because Mike was just a little different.  I think he may have had a social disorder or something, but I didn't see that as any reason to not continue talking to him.  Across the landing we were all grouped on, another lady watched the conversation and made coy faces that implied she had thoughts about Mike, and she occasionally turned and whispered things in her husband's ear.  I think overall, the whole group was confused by the thought of two perfect strangers meeting and talking like friends from the get-go.  I daresay that it is unusual, but so is winning the lottery, and no one has anything bad to say about that.

During the conversation with Mike, I talked about how the city was so full of people but might as well be empty because everyone keeps their eyes down and their mouths shut.  And I hope the people around me, who were so unsettled with talking to strangers, heard that thought clearer than our thoughts on Nickelback or PS3 vs. Xbox 360.  I have another scenario which illuminated more the isolation in the city, but I'll get to it in due time.

Towards the end of our conversation, which covered Shania Twain, The Beastie Boys, Metallica, Lollapalooza, Mike's nephew, my old band, my dreams, his career, and more I've forgotten, Mike was preparing to leave the train, and he said to me: Well, maybe I'll see ya on the train sometime?

I think Mike knows all too well the isolation of the city, though he lives in the 'burbs and commutes in.  Add in the blissful fact that he is unique, and he probably encounters the coldness of his surroundings more than a man in the Arctic. A few times throughout our conversation, Mike backpedaled when I would say something that disagreed with his statements.  He seemed to be very tense throughout our talk, and I think that this could be due to people not wanting to talk to him.

I really hope I do see Mike again on the train.  It was really cool meeting a guy 10 years my senior, but always my equal, and talking to him about things that mattered, things that didn't, and just getting to know someone in general.  I entered that train car a stranger among 150 strangers or so, and before Mike disembarked, I was a stranger among 149 strangers and 1 friend.

On that same train ride, I shook awake a drunk and passed-out man who had been asleep "for the last six stops or so" according to the teen couple sitting behind him.  The girl told me this as if it was funny.  'Six stops or so' could easily have put him 20 minutes past his home.  I kind of addressed the people gathered around me, and said "Well we've gotta wake him up, if he's passed out, he could get picked up by the cops at the end of the ride."  No one had anything to say about it, so I shook him out of his sleep, nervous he would be mad and punch me or something.  

He jolted awake, inhaled sharply, and sat up with bloodshot eyes, certainly taken aback at the handful of people gathered around him (we were waiting for the doors to open so we could leave).  He thanked me, and then the teen girl who told me how long he'd been out said in a sarcastic voice "How sweet of you", as if I should have just let him stay asleep and get arrested.  On my way out, I noticed another two people passed out on each other, and as I spoke to an older man that it was his duty to wake them up because I had to go, he didn't make eye contact or say a single thing.  I hope they got off the train alright despite the utter complacency of their fellow man.

 And on my most recent trip, yesterday, I met even more people!  Immediately after arriving, I met Luke from Greenpeace, who shared some very impossible-to-determine statistics about how plants burning coal for electricity directly lead to the death of 46 Chicagoans a year.  Not much to say there, but it was cool to be on first-name basis, and he seemed unprepared when I said "Nice to meet you Luke, I'm Evan."  He also seemed surprised when I said "Thanks Luke, have a nice day".

I also grabbed lunch at a local place on Fullerton Ave., called Branko's, right by DePaul University.  It was just me and the owner inside when I got there.  She was very kind and patient with me while I decided what to eat, because it all sounded so good.  I decided it was high time I had a Chicago dog that was actually from Chicago.  She was one of those ladies at restaurants that says "Hun" and "sweetie", and that tiny restaurant was very clearly where she felt at home.  I sat down at the counter-style seating along the wall, and staring me in the face was an article about the restaurant from the newspaper.  Her father started the restaurant after moving into the country, either in 1986 or 1976, though I can't remember which.  After he passed, the lady I met took over.  The store had even been recognized as an honorary partner of Vienna Beef products, and I read that they only choose one per year.

Towards the end of the evening, I was walking back to my train station and decided to take a crucial detour to get Dunkin' Donuts.  While in line, I met a man who played guitar professionally, and would be taking part in one of the only tango operas at The Cultural Center.  He seemed uncomfortable at first but soon warmed up to me, even though my inital question (What kind of guitar do you have in that case?) led to other questions that showed him I knew precious little about guitars.  We didn't get on first-name basis, but nonetheless it was nice to meet someone new and talk about something that is very real and near to their identity.

The detour to Dunkin Donuts was crucial because without it, I would not have walked the route I took to my next stranger, Alan.  I saw Alan sitting on the big road that runs right in front of The Bean...Lakeshore Drive or maybe Michigan Avenue.  He was shaking a cup, asking for change.  In a tragic juxtaposition, the change I was going to give him was trapped underneath my iPod and headphone wires, so I made a fuss about how hard it was to get my change out.  I told him that I only had a few minutes to spare, but would like him to give me a 2 or 3 minute rundown of his story.  A few sentences in, I realized he wasn't drunk and garbling every word, as I've experienced with several other homeless people.  I also realized there was no need to be standing in front of him, separate from him, and sat down next to him, on the one water main cap that he wasn't occupying.  We sat and he explained to me why he was where he was.

Funny...they almost look...human.

He told me he lost his job, and now tries to raise enough money to go to a shelter nearby, where you can bring 18 dollars to get 18 hours of shelter, a bath, and a warm bed.  His son is 12 and doesn't understand what it means to be homeless, so he has to recuringly explain to him that he is having a tough time, and is not (as his son thinks) spending time with another family, being someone else's dad.  Every so often, a homeless ministry group that he is involved with will have a special on baseball tickets, and he said he sometimes saves up enough to buy a few tickets at 2 dollars apiece, and with 25 dollars given to him by the ministry group, takes his son and some friends to a baseball game.

 

I had smelled a poor person before, someone who doesn't have access to bathwater or shelter, in the Dominican Republic.  Alan had a very faint smell, but it wasn't overwhelming.  Not far beyond a subtle version of an athlete post-practice.  Other than that, Alan was more normal than I am.  We talked for about 15 minutes, and sometimes he would stop mid-sentence to deliver his plea for assistance: "Spare some change for the homeless okay thank you, have a lovely evening."  He often moved seamlessly from the greeting to the farewell because people walked by at that speed and said nothing to him.  Sometimes he would toss in personalized statement, like "You ladies look beautiful this evening" or I think he said something about a little boy's cool shoes.  I told him that if he keeps up the compliments with the ladies, he might end up with a date.  He chuckled a bit and said "Man, I can't afford no date, women like to be wine and dined."  Too true, Alan, too true.

Midway through our conversation, I looked down into my hand and saw the last bite of a donut.  I realized I'd been eating a bowtie donut the whole time, not even thinking anything of it.  I apologized and said that if I'd have thought more about it, I'd have given it to him.  He said "nah, it's alright, you were hungry".  I was in awe of his understanding nature.  I thought aloud, "Well, yeah, but me hungry and you hungry are two completely different things."  I still can't believe the good fortune I have to know food and shelter so regularly that I can eat food in front of a homeless man who said "Naw, it's okay, I ate this morning."  This morning?!  If I hadn't eaten since that morning, I'd be walking right to a restaurant and buying myself some food with the disposable cash I have.  Alan isn't so lucky.

All throughout our talk, he kept saying, "But it's okay, I do a lot of praying, and I believe that God is good."  As I shook his hand before walking away, he took a few seconds to close his eyes and thank God for bringing me to him and helping him out.  That was kind of humbling.  And I hope the passers-by registered what they saw (as more than just a weird pair of guys): a 20 year old white kid, by most definitions rich, grasping the hand of a 40 year old black man, homeless, and by most definitions a disgrace, each of them with closed eyes and downcast faces.  I must say, the way we were standing, with eyes closed and faces down and hands held, made me feel as though something powerful was happening that moment.

Back to his statement that he believes God is good and such...I've met people before who have had it really rough, yet they praise God more than me, someone who has it quite well.  And I essentially realize now that it isn't some profound indicator of their personal strength, it's a profound indicator of the mysteriousness of God.  I feel somewhat as though it makes sense - me doubting God and Alan praising him unconditionally.  When have I ever been outside my sphere of control?  When have I ever had to rely on others to exist, when no other person on Earth wanted to help me?  Never.  And therefore, I have never been able to see God in my life devoid of the filter of a cushy life.  Maybe times that God did something for me, it just seemed natural...because things often work out for me because I have opportunities. Alan isn't afforded the kaleidoscope of generous extended family, secure shelter, and well-meaning parents through which to view the blessings that come to him.

All throughout our talk, people walked past and some double-took the situation, maybe wondering if I was a rich kid sitting with a poor guy, or if I too was a poor guy.  Probably 50 people walked by, and none of them gave him anything, no change, no nothing.  Only one responded to him like a human, a pretty girl who apologized for not having any change.

I parted ways with Alan, and stepped down the stairs to the train station smelling my hand.  My preconceptions about homeless people are so strong that I kept smelling my hand, expecting it to have some foul odor or be dirty, but it was neither of those things.  I'd shaken hands with a perfectly regular human being, just one that we like to typecast as a failure when we discuss them with friends, and maybe, a slim percentage of us, show compassion or feel compassion for when we see them.

I left the city with lots to think about.

My last few days to the city have taken me closer to humanity, the noun and the adjective, than I usually am.  Some people retract when you get closer to them, and some lean in.  I guess where I stand is here:  The world is made of strangers, several billion of them.  To spend our time leaning away from the strangers, and therefore world, is to isolate ourselves and limit our lessons learned to the people we are dealt in our immediate area.  The most I ever learn about life comes from people, and I feel confident as I say that you'll miss out on some crucial lessons if you just lean away from the Mikes, Lukes, Alans, Branko's ladies, Professional Guitarists, Drunk Passed Out Dudes, and Businessmen With Your Pit In Their Face.

It isn't a matter of being socially graceful or not, so don't give me the whole "I'm not a people person" thing. It's just a matter of wanting to commune with fellow man enough to ask to.

Paper Towns by John Green: A Book Review

I was recently turned on to John Green through a series of encounters with his name and face.  I heard a raving recommendation of his acclaimed novel "Looking For Alaska".  I then heard another raving recommendation, as well as nearly-equal raves about his other works, "Paper Towns" among them.  But for some reason, I still didn't react to the news about the witty and emotionally blatant author.  Enter John and Hank Green's video log series "Brotherhood 2.0", a year long effort (which has now continued into a series 4 years running) to make awesome videos and correspond with each other several times a week.

I came across a link on facebook to something about 'Nerdfighters' and was, needless to say, curious.  Many a video, many a laugh, and many a relation later, I thought it was about time I get one of John Green's books.  And I highly recommend checking their webseries out, as it is awesome.  And for those of you who have just finished alphabetizing your book and CD collection, or maybe who have just finished taking inventory of your household's collection of plastic Walmart bags, or anyone who needs something new to take up great amounts of time....there are nearly 900 videos, most of them 3 minutes in length.  I wish I could consult Brotherhood 2.0's resident mathematician and State Representative Daniel Biss (just watch the show, you'll get it), but if my feeble calculations are correct, that is 2,700 minutes, or 45 hours, or 2.875 days of hilarious, witty, thought-provocative video.  So you should check them out. Start at the beginning too, January of 2007!

Anyhow, the book and subject in question: Paper Towns.  After a quick trip to the library in which I discovered "Looking For Alaska" was missing, though on record as being "available", I went home with my first John Green book, "Paper Towns".  Also, while I was there, I had to sign a paper because I was now an adult, and hadn't used my library card in like 6 or 7 years.  I got home from becoming an adult in the library's eyes, and set out reading the book.

Fast forward about 9 hours, and after many an interruption and short break, I had finished the 305 page book.  I do believe that is the fastest I have ever read a book in my life, trumping the six-day completion of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, which I would say counts for something.

The book was really just a solid work of literature all around: opaque where it needed to be, like some static characters, setting and environment realism, etc., and spongy where it needed to be: development of the main character, moments of harrowing truth and inspiring thoughts, and an open-book look into the main characters' emotions and feelings for the girl who makes the novel possible, Margo. 

The book offered a not-too-polished look at what high school may be like.  Swearing is present, and some characters have a certain affinity for the sailors' tongue, while others do not, which is a grand way of painting the vocabulary that takes place inside secondary schools.  I've read other teen books where the author paints every character as a pottymouthed pimply barely-post-pubescent, and others where the teenagers behave as angels.  John Green writes from the perspective of the teens, rather than the norm: the author's perspective of teens.

Here is a brief synopsis of the story, abridged from the inside jacket: "Quentin Jacobsen has spent a lifetime loving the magnificently adventurous Margo Roth Spiegelman from afar.  So when she cracks open a window and climbs back into his life... - summoning him for an ingenious campaign of revenge - he follows.  After their all-nighter ends...Q arrives at school to discover that Margo, always an enigma, has now become a mystery.  But Q soon learns that there are clues - and they're for him.  Urged down a disconnected path, the closer he gets, the less Q sees the girl he thought he knew."

I have a pet peeve with book and movie reviews, and that is the fact that they seem to think a review should be 9 parts description and 1 part reflection.  I disagree.  I'll tell you next to nothing about the storyline, besides what is said above.  And here is why:  Many people are so used to only choosing to absorb literature that is somehow trailblazing or vanguard in it's subject matter, and only then when it has received extensive attention from the reading world.  It's not that super original storylines or popular series are bad, but if you only want to read stories about a boy who goes a magic school, or a girl who falls in love with a vampire, or what have you, you will miss books like this.  This book is set in the suburbs.  It has to do with a boy liking a girl who is spunky, confident, and hard to understand.  A mystery presents itself, and the story is off to the races.  Nothing about this book's conception shouts "I"VE NEVER BEEN CONCEIVED!"

But that is why this book succeeds.  You've seen these characters and places and storylines because you have lived it.  At one point or another, you knew the annoying best friend who is still your best friend despite all of their shortcomings.  You've met the girl or boy who you are infatuated with but understand very little about.  You've tasted the drama of a school rife with drama and intrigue.  You've felt the need to drop what everyone else is telling you to do, because you have to do something for yourself - and if you haven't, you've experienced the thrill of imagining it.

And amid all of the very real highschool moments, John Green introduces things many of us may not have experienced in our teenage years, but wish we had.  There are some rather profound truths stated in this story, about the way of life we live, and the paths we all shuffle along with the music we all shuffle to.  The reason this book is different than other teenage fiction books is because it doesn't settle to be a book about love and mystery, and call it quits knowing it can sell copies.  It aims higher, to have you leave its pages with more than a story of high-school drama and heartbreak.

John Green stands unique in a genre of books that aims solely to superficially pique the interest of teenage girls, and hold them captive for the 10 dollars it costs so that may be set down and on their way.  Much like lunchroom bullies, many other teen fiction books come up out of nowhere every so often, can not be avoided, and shrink back after receving their small fee, attacking again once enough time has passed...this way, the attacks are infrequent enough that the reader doesnt change their route through the lunchroom.  John Green is like the secretly nice guy in the group of bullies, who grabs you, asks politely for a few bucks so that the others won't think anything weird is going on, and will then give you a great story that contains deep philosophy and entertaining events, expertly blended and in perfect doses.

You know, that kind of bully?  Maybe you never met that type of bully.  I didn't either, but it was nice to imagine him for the sake of analogically depicting John Green.

John Green doesn't get an 'A' for effort, like so many other authors who try to write in the view of characters ten years their minor, or more.  He gets an 'A' for execution.  It is all very real, and all very close to the heart.  Aside from that, the fact that my dwindling book-attention span was snapped into shape is a testament itself to the book's quality.  I plan wholeheartedly on reading his other works, and strongly encourage you to investigate John Green more for yourself.  Whether it is through his books or his videos on youtube's 'vlogbrothers' hit series - as both are portals into his persona and thoughts on life, and I think investigating one will just lead you to the other one anyhow - I believe you will not be disappointed.