Sense of Doubt

I have another blog, you know. It’s much more active than this one. Follow me:

dannyshultzphotography.tumblr.com 

I ran up the steep stairs, heart beating quickly, legs moving even more quickly. I reached the summit and intended to jog my exhaustion off for a moment before running back down the stairs. Instead you asked me if I knew how to remove the tobacco from a Swisher. I told you that either a tool or dexterity was required. Intrigued, I asked you what you were going to use the paper for. Your eyes lifted with the corners of your lips as we both understood what we were alluding to. You asked if I wanted to join you. Hell yes I did.

Your name was Rita. Your friend’s name was Keyon. I am unsure whether I am spelling either of your names correctly. You work at a ghetto dispensary in Los Angeles. You and your friend are in choir together. Choir had ended and now it was time to chillax. I had never met either of you before this moment. It didn’t feel that way.

We walked down the steep stairs which had brought me to you. A vacant lifeguard tower stood in the distance. I said that we should climb onto it. We did. “What if someone comes by and we get in trouble?” “There ain’t nobody watching this beach.” We spoke of our lives while sharing our substance. My face hurt from smiling so much. You said you had found a new best friend. I continued smiling and felt the same way. 

“How far were you planning on running?” I wasn’t sure—I had just planned on running for as long as I felt like I needed to. “Then the universe…” was all I needed to say, for the reinvigorated smile on your face indicated that you knew what I meant.

You brought out your phone and told me to type in my name so you could send me a friend request on Facebook. I happily did so. I would invite both of you to my masquerade that was happening in a few weeks once I got back home.

It was time for me to continue on my run. We slowly climbed down the steps of the lifeguard tower. We then walked back toward the steep steps from whence we came. We reached the bike path upon which my journey was to resume. “It was really nice…” I held out my arms to hug you. “He gives hugs!” I turned away and ran. “I love him!” I ran away thinking about how lucky I was to have chosen to go up those steep stairs.

I got home a few hours later. My heart sank when I realized that I had no new Facebook friend requests. Perhaps you sent the friend request to the wrong person. Perhaps your phone wasn’t working correctly when you sent the request. I have no idea.

I’ve thought about you every day since we met. The fact that we will probably never see each other again fills me with warm sadness. I feel like the soft side of a freshly-severed piece of Velcro. We did not interact long enough for me to be able to mentally reconstruct the appearance of your faces—all I have is a vague approximation. My heart’s memory of you is nevertheless incredibly vivid. I have a feeling that it always will be.

Strangers are merely friends we haven’t met yet. I try to never forget this. Time is also irrelevant in determining the authenticity of a friendship. I also try to never forget this. I want to thank Rita and Keyon for helping me realize this. Whether we ever see each other again is irrelevant—the moment we shared will never be any less meaningful.

Steep steps are difficult to climb. Legs burning, sweat dripping, chest heaving—am I going to fall? The body is highly adaptive, though, and over time will become more accustomed to climbing the steep steps—but only if enough effort is put into the act of climbing them. The act remains difficult even if the body becomes accustomed to it, however. What changes is the realization of exactly how much good comes from climbing them.

My heart seeks yours with kisses

Your crotch seeks mine with hisses

For the first time this feels loveless

Which makes it so hard to focus

A bracelet hangs beside me

I slip it on, remind me:

Our hearts seek something different

Mine a lover, yours an instant

Have you ever listened to a song for the first time and immediately knew that it was a song you were going to love?

The song sounds especially pleasing as you listen to it for the first time. Everything within it falls perfectly into place. All elements correspond perfectly with your taste. You listen to it again after it’s over because once wasn’t enough.

That’s how it was for me listening to this song for the first time. Something about it is perfect. Moments like these are very special within the lives of humans.

And the best part? James is playing at Coachella this year. I will not be missing a minute of their set.

This is what people are going to get when they ask to see my ID.

Here’s my interpretation of the conversation:

Bartender: “OK, blow. Make your wish!”

*Danny blows out lighter*

Bartender: “Here I am, hi!”

Danny: “Thank you! Alright!”

And about my birthday…

I had a very nice 21st birthday. I opened my gifts after waking up. I got a new camera and two seasons of Through the Wormhole with Morgan Freeman. I also got a Discovery channel documentary called How the Universe Works. My sister also got me a $30 gift card to Chipotle. I’m very excited about all of my gifts. I then went to Mimi’s cafe with my family. My first legal alcoholic beverage was purchased there. It was a pimosa—orange and pomegranate juice with wine. It was a good breakfast.

I then went home to play with my new camera. I eventually needed to charge my camera’s battery, though, so I went to Trader Joe’s to get a bottle of wine. I ended up getting a bottle of white wine. It was pretty tasty. Also quite strong. I had two glasses of it. I shared the rest with friends as they arrived at my house. Derek got me a really nice monkey grip tripod for my camera. It can be used in nearly any situation. I love it. Joe, Matt, and Tamara also bought me a jug of sangria. It sits happily at the foot of my bed and will continue to slowly diminish for many days to come.

We then headed to Fullerton to play laser tag. We stopped at Northgate to buy some 40s. They were about $2.50. Pretty good deal. We played laser tag after taking care of the 40s. It was so much fun. There were eight of us and we had the whole place to ourselves. It was like a real-life game of Call of Duty. The referee laughed at me multiple times during the round. I kept trying to shoot her. I couldn’t tell she wasn’t playing. I ended up getting third place. It was a lot of fun.

Afterward we all went to Rutabegorz for dinner. I ordered a delicious cappuccino-liqueur-laced drink and a glass of Sofia Coppola’s white wine along with a gigantic salad and 42-cent hummus. Everything was mighty tasty. Everyone seemed to enjoy what they ordered. I was happy to see that. It was so nice to be sitting among people whose company I enjoy so much. The only downside was the fact that we were sitting at a fairly narrow rectangular table so it was hard to talk to everyone at once. I wish we could have sat at a giant round table so we could all see and talk with each other equally.

I then returned to Long Beach to go see my friends’ band Lazy Mary play at a bar called the Prospector. Mark came with me. Some bullshit happened there. The guy at the door didn’t allow me to enter the bar on a “technicality”—I apparently wasn’t fully 21 yet because it was the day of my actual birthday. I had to come back at midnight if I wanted to attend. I was really confused. I really, really wish I would’ve debated this fucking fool. It could have went something like this:

“So I need to come back tomorrow because I’ll be fully 21 by then, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I was born at 2am. This means that I have been 21 years of age since 2am this morning. Why do you say that it needs to be tomorrow for me to be fully 21 if I’ve been over 21 years of age since 2am?”

“…Sorry, you can come back at midnight.” *he actually said this and did so while staring at the ground*

“You are an idiot. I can tell by the way you’re staring at the floor that even you know you’re being a fucktard. Don’t let your will to power consume you. I know being a bouncer for a collegiate bar in Long Beach probably makes you feel like you’re one of the most powerful people on the street. Keep this in mind after you get off and drive home by yourself in the cold.”

I would’ve hoped for a crowd to gather for this verbal punishment. I love a crowd. I would’ve liked for the guy’s skin to have crawled off of his body in shame. This will to power shit drives me insane sometimes. It’s an idea I learned about when studying Nietzsche. It’s basically the idea that everything anyone ever does is done because it gives them the strongest sense of “causal efficacy”, or, in real English, the feeling that you’re making a significant change to your environment. The will to power is why the old librarian fines you for bringing your books in one day late—doing so makes her feel like she has a lot of power. In the case of the fucking stupid ass guy at the Prospector, not letting me in on my birthday was him exercising his right to not let people in as strongly as he could. The will to power seems to run contrary to reason in a lot of cases—we’ll do things that are completely stupid if doing so makes us feel powerful. It may be impervious to reason, actually. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to debate people over it. The beauty of it is almost no one knows what I mean when I tell them to check their will to power. I guess it’s funny, in a way.

But I ended up not saying anything. I left after he said to come back at midnight. I wasn’t drunk enough (yet) to turn off my inhibitions. I stood outside and formulated a plan. I really wanted to go to West Hollywood for my birthday. Evan offered to take Mark and me back to Mark’s car so we could drive to West Hollywood. She and her boyfriend Mike did end up taking us back to Mark’s car. By the time we got to his car, though, I decided that it would probably be better to go to other Long Beach bars.

We first went to the Silver Fox. The cute bartender examined my ID as I sat at the bar with Mark. I saw the calculation of age go on in his head. He then yelled “What?!” and walked away to ring a bell. He asked for my name and wrote it on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. He then returned and asked me what I wanted. I told him that I wanted something sweet. He said “Got it,” and returned with a sweet tea. It reminded me of a Long Island Iced tea. I think it was just something he knew how to make, though. It was very strong. I had two. Mark paid for the second one. Since it was Tuesday he gave me a card to get a free second drink (or, in this case, a free third drink). I finished both of the teas and then asked the cute bartender to make me another sweet drink. He returned with a drink that definitely included cherry grenadine and vodka. It was tasty. Evan and Mike met up with us there. I believe they ordered a margarita. It was incredibly strong. Mark ordered a beer.

Mark and I eventually left to go to our next bar: Ripples. By this time I was pretty intoxicated. The world was spinning and I was speaking more openly. There were five people in Ripples once we arrived: Mark, myself, two strangers, and the bartender. It was very loud in there. The bartender was really funny, though. He held out a lighter and told me to make a wish. I didn’t but still blew out the lighter. He then did a cute little dance and said “Here I am, hi!” I have a video of him doing this. I couldn’t hear him over the loud ass music so I just laughed and smiled, though. I did that for everything he said. I asked the bartender for a sweet mixed drink that was about $6 or $7. He made me one of the strongest damn drinks I’ve ever had. I probably could have poured it into a lighter to fuel it. I have no idea what was in it. It was supposed to be an orange-creamsicle-inspired drink. I’m not good enough at alcohol to understand the connection because all I could taste was the pure alcohol. God damn it was strong. Evan and Mike also met us there. She ordered a tequila sunrise. I loved it. We left after a while and went to the Executive Suite.

The Executive Suite was very cool. The bartender was awesome. She gave me a lot of free drinks. Her specialty is a drink called a red-headed slut. I don’t like the name of it… but god damn I do like the taste. It was apparently made of strawberry and peach syrups along with Jägermeister. I had many of these red-headed sluts. The first round were shots for everyone. Evan then ordered me the non-shot version of the red-headed slut. I think I may have also had another drink. I’m not quite sure. I made friends with a woman there who may have been the one to order me the drink I can no longer remember drinking. She was very nice. I was highly intoxicated by this point. It was pretty late, too. We left as they were closing. I immediately had so much more fun when they turned the music off because then I could talk normally without having to shout. I am immensely excited to go to a bar/club that isn’t loud so I can make friends. Or perhaps lovers. Who knows?

We went to Del Taco afterward and then sat in Mark’s car. We talked a lot in the car. I really don’t remember what we were talking about, though. I do remember mentioning how I could almost feel my prefrontal cortex removing the inhibitions from my speech. I was talking first without thinking about it beforehand. I may have been saying stupid things. I’m not quite sure. It was very liberating, though. My shyness wasn’t an issue this night. I had no reservations. I’ve never known what it feels like to have no inhibitions. I’m glad I’m not an idiot because a lot of other people also love the feeling of having no inhibitions. They take their lack of inhibition as evidence of their being able to drive a car or get some girl. I take it as being free from my prefrontal cortex telling me that what I have to say isn’t worthwhile. (An explanation: the prefrontal cortex is the part of the brain that deals with complex aspects of human cognition. One of the things it does is regulate decision making. This part of the brain is affected by alcoholic inebriation.)

I eventually started to feel a bit sick. I was truly “wasted”, as one may say. I told everyone that I should probably be going home. We parted shortly thereafter. It was after 3am. Mark drove me home. I thanked him for the wonderful evening (I hope—I’m assuming I did thank him. It wouldn’t be within my character to not thank someone for driving my inebriated self around all night when he had work the next morning).

I must unfortunately admit that my 10+ year streak of not barfing ended the night of my 21st birthday. I didn’t get to bed until around 5:30am. I hadn’t barfed since I had a stomach virus at the ripe young age or six or seven. I regret nothing, though. I now know what it feels like to be really drunk. I know how bad very drunk people will eventually feel. I’m taking this experience as a rite of passage into adulthood. I will not drink that much again for a very, very long time.*

So that was my birthday. I had a pretty terrible next morning. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, though. I just felt a bit dizzy and disoriented all day. It was more annoying than anything.

Thank you to everyone who had any part in my 21st birthday being as good as it was. I’m not used to being the center of attention. It usually makes me feel selfish. It was thus nice knowing that people made plans to hang out with me (yes, me!) on my birthday. I love my friends. And family. Thank you all.

I’ll post some birthday videos I took with my new camera. My only regret is that I didn’t take more videos and pictures of everyone together. I didn’t want to intrude. Perhaps with age I’ll learn to give myself more credit.

And sorry for this being so long. I usually would’ve written this in my journal but I figured that it’d be fine if it were public.

*Flash forward ten years: “Look! There’s Danny the Drunk! He’s gotten drunk like this every week since he turned 21! Poor man.”

I got a new camera for my birthday. I’m very excited about it.

I used to carry a camera with me everywhere I went. Everywhere. Even the movie theater. This stopped after I graduated from high school. My camera was starting to get old. My passion for photography also slowly became substituted for false passion for a major I didn’t enjoy. I haven’t carried around a camera regularly for a few years now.

Now I have a new camera. It’s the Fujifilm X10. It’s a beautiful camera. Its masterfully crafted design fits perfectly within the palm of my hand. It takes beautiful pictures in nearly any situation—even in dark bedrooms.

I am thus happy to let you know, dear followers, that I am getting back into photography. I’ve made a new Tumblr blog that I will use to only post pictures. I will keep this current blog active for as long as my passion for it permits me to. I imagine that the new one will be much more active. Follow me there if you have any interest in me and/or my photography. Here’s the link:

dannyshultzphotography.tumblr.com 

Thank you for reading.

hamburglr:

First, go grab some headphones. The best ones you’ve got. If the best ones you’ve got are these suckers (or something similar), you should really go buy new ones, but use the best you’ve got for right now.

Take a break from whatever you’re doing for 2 minutes and listen, but just listen to the whole thing, even if you have to multi-task.

Headphones on? Ok. Good.

Now, press play.

“Upular (3D Audio Version)” - Pogo

This really is very cool. You should check this out if you have some nice headphones.

I can faithfully say that I’m genuinely excited to turn 21. It’s happening tomorrow. My excitement even persisted through the night—last night I kept thinking about what might occur that day instead of sleeping. It’s the childish type of excitement that used to keep me up while trying to sleep during the night of Christmas Eve. I miss it. I rarely feel excited now that I’ve become a grumpy adult.

Some friends may come play laser tag with me. Good laser tag, not lame child laser tag. Then they may join me for dinner. And then some of them may go with me to LA to go to some bars. I’d like to go to the famous Abbey of West Hollywood. I think it will be a lot of fun.

I’ve never really made a point of celebrating my birthday with friends before. Ever. The most I’ve ever done was hang out with friends on my birthday. The thought of them going out of their way to be with me makes me happy. I’m used to going out of my way to be with them. I hope the day ends up being as good as I imagine it being.

(My fundamental cynicism still exists, though, and I must thus admit that a part of me is still assuming that only a few people will actually show up. I think this is a type of defense mechanism on my part, for the assumption that things will go badly allows for either easier acceptance of tragedy or an ever greater amount of happiness if things actually do go as planned. It’s the best of both worlds. “I’m so happy to be alive!” exclaims the man who assumes he will never wake up.)

Is it better to live a life of solitude in which you remain at a constant baseline of happiness that is not influenced by the operations of your peers? One in which you have no frame of reference to compare to your constant solitude? One where you create your own life meaning instead of living vicariously through the workings of your peers?

Or is it better to live a social life characterized by both the joys of camaraderie and the sorrows of being let down? One where the joys are truly joyful and the sorrow is truly sorrowful?

I really don’t know.

I bet the wisdom of the ancients would imply that a combination of the two is the most conducive path to happiness. I hope age will eventually allow me to combine both outlooks.

I’ve been living through the latter outlook. It is both wonderful and terrible. It feels great. It also hurts badly. I experience the sorrow too strongly. I experience it as strongly as I experience the true joy of feeling like I belong with my friends. The sorrow is so powerful that it makes me want to unplug myself for a few days. I don’t prefer living like this. A constant lull thus seems more appealing. Then perhaps I wouldn’t know what I was missing.

This goes out to all of you who don’t have anyone to be with this New Year’s Eve. I know how you’re feeling. Please know that you’re important. It just doesn’t feel that way all the time.

ziggystarbucks:

I know I’m the one who made this photoset, but…

can we please take the time to appreciate this again?

(Oh my, yes.)

Oh god damn

(Source: princessmugi, via bewlaybrother)

I frequently feel like the only person I have a full emotional and intellectual connection with is my journal. It never dismisses my calls or texts. It always wants to hang out. It lets me say what I want to say with pure honesty. It understands me. It pays attention. It remembers.

The only problem is the fact that my journal is an inanimate object. It’s but a poor reflection of myself. It doesn’t have its own experiences. My biases are its biases. 

Knowing that my journal is the only thing I can go to when I need a sincere listening ear makes me realize how isolated I am from those around me. This is a terrible feeling. I sometimes can’t bear it. Exercise is my best escape. It always has been. But sometimes it’s too cold to exercise.

I don’t know why I’m posting this. Perhaps it’ll be cathartic. I doubt it will be. No one will read this.

Mr. Gil Scott-Heron was getting it right back in 1981.