2002-02-27
i�ve been watching and thinking differently about the people imediately around me. Like everyone else - whether or not bleeding-heart social politics allows them to admit it - I carry with me preconcieved judgements of people (especially if I don�t interact with them much). However I may appreciate certain individuals, i nonetheless tend to loosely associate them in my mind with a certain element of society; i subconciously assign them a grade of social status. Not neccessarily in relation to my position, but according to where they operate in the broad communal landscape. I�d like to think of these associations as a natural process of relating, navigating, interacting, negotiating my world, but as soon as I confess these associations out loud, they become jugdments. i may be known as an opinionated asshole sometimes, but only because i�m the only asshole who really wants to talk about the truth.

hmm.... there�s a thought for later digestion: our natural mental processes of relating to people in our lives become judgements as soon as we let them out of our mouths; that�s why so few people will tell you what they really think of you. They tend to tell those who already agree with them; but since no one wants to thinks of themselves as being judgemental they conviently disregard that part of like-minded people.

Ralph is the guy you go to when you need 16mm equipment. The first time i looked at him i thought of the lumpy bucket of cookie dough i would�ve become - still could become - at 37, trying to outline a non-existant jaw-line with a finely manicured beard and sharp haircut. yet there's no thread of fashion accessible to his sensibilities that would hide the way his guts pour out over the top of his belt the way a too-thick slice of cheddar runs down the side of the burger after too long in the microwave. When I look him in the eye, he seems as if he�s on the edge of bawling, and i wonder if he knows my thoughts.

Carl, I�m not sure what he really does when he �works� but from what I hear he could be, should be, would be making a very decent living at cinematography if real life hadn�t happened to him. He reminds me of someone who would have been in one of my brother�s highschool bands at Ridgemont High. Carl looks like he�s still wearing his So-Cal highschool wardrobe. When i first met him two years ago I got that big brother vibe from him. He even sounds like my brother. Carl gave me the tour of Green Acres� technical facilities, from storage to sreening to recording rooms. He�s a low-key guy, very cool and he seemed happy to show me around even though we both knew what I was really looking for was an interview with whoever ran the Works. Even then, when I�d known the man for less than an hour, I got a distinct impression of his frustration and underappreciation, though also a certain inability to make excuses for hanging around. now whenever I see him, it makes me worry that finding a life making media and having happiness will be more difficult than anything I�ve ever dreamed of.

Mike is the guy who plays the role of over-the-hill dork so well that it�s become part of his exterior identity. There�s a theory (associated with performers) that to fake a lack of skills, you have to have mastered all the skills. The best actors, painters, musicians and the Harlem Globe Trotters all know exactly how to look horrible at their game. They apprear so convincingly terrible, with such realsim because of their extraordinary talent, awareness and insight. Mike knows how to play the cheeseball, seemingly unaware that his hippness is as faded as his hair. And I had imagined when he�s offstage his coolness would emerge from a gentle and relaxed persona, never before seen in front of a classroom. But it seems he never breaks character. If it is a character. That the actor is never seen without his character makes me wonder how much of Mike's personality is act, and how much he lacks the self confidence - the social skills to put it aside and be himself.

After drinks with Kristi and Clayton I showed up at the bowling alley almost an hour after Aliesha said she�d be there.

"How long have you been here?"

I thought it was a bit odd that she would ask when I hadn't even taken my jacket off. If I�d been there, she would have seen me. Unless...

"We just got here about ten minutes ago."

A bright yellow light was coloring my mind�s vision. Apparently she hadn�t realized - or didn�t care - that i�m interested. Or, as I'd like to think, she's just playing it as cool as I am. She was going to make me wait almost as long as I intended to make her wait. There�s a fine line between making an effort and making an ass; i�m not sure which side i�m on right now.

Our first conversation alone together was a bit of an effort. Earlier in the day we'd wandered aimlessly here and there while sitting above the deli. I love that she's interested in languages and world/social politics. It makes me think there is more between us to work with than physical attraction. Though how could I know for sure with her clueless third-wheel friend stealing her attention all night?

After about a half an hour it occured to me that Aliesha's attention wasn't being stolen. It just wasn't being passed my way. In my book, two weeks of my attention without a response is enough. I just hate when that realization occures right in the middle of a situation. But I'm stuck because it would be entirely too obvious to walk out at that moment; there's no political gain in many (overlapping) social circles by being a jerk.

I sat back and sipped my beer and watched the bowlers. I'd caught Carl's flaming orange afro when I came in, then there was Ralph slapping fives all around after a strike. Now Mike was staring down the lane trying to balance a ball on the end of his arm. Aleisha was enthralled with the cartoon graphics appearing on the score screens above the players' circle. ...at least the beer was FishTale.

The sad thing is, as I watched Mike, Ralph and Carl slapping, laughing and talking, I realized that for as unappealing as their lives seem from my angle, at least they have a healthy social life. I looked at my cup of beer (not even a glass but a damn plastic cup). I had walked in on clouds thinking that by this time next week Aliesha and I would be dating, if not exclusively, at least regularly. By the time I finished my cup I felt like I wasn't even at the level of these other guys.

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