Do you ever have those days when things just… ‘click’?
I started the day in a horrible mood, I’ll admit that. Yesterday’s blog was a reply to a friend who had written to me concerned/a little disgusted about my few posts previous to that, and… well… I don’t think I exactly hid my thoughts on his thoughts in my rather boisterous reply. My apologies if you’re reading this – unconsciously, I don’t respond very well to what my brain perceives as being a lecture.
Anywho, as I do every Wednesday, (well, most of them) last night, I attended ‘The Foundations of Modern Psychology’, my Wednesday class.
I’m really struggling with being a student again; something not helped by the pressure I am heaping upon myself upon to be a resounding success. (In truth, this has been further exacerbated by my teacher’s requirements for passing this particular course – ‘a pulse’) I find sitting and reading very difficult, and have realised that in reality, trying to shoulder two classes in one go and not re-introducing myself to the world of studentry (if I can invent a word for a moment) slowly is akin to picking up a tennis racket for the first time in fifteen years and playing a match against Roger Federer.
I am not at all concerned with passing, as I know, ultimately, I will. However, being that the requirements to pass this particular course are ‘turn up, breathe, write an essay’, a simple passing grade doesn’t really cut with me mentally.
But the classes. Oh man… I FUCKING LOVE the classes. I don’t care if I am wrong are right when I offer answer or argument, (post-Hoffman behaviour alert!) I just love the mental exercise of getting my head around seriously complex ideas and theories, and offering opinion or thought. The two hours simply FLY by – though this is probably because it’s really the only time in the week – apart from my Thursday class – where I actually use my brain. Lord knows, I certainly don’t at work!
I left class almost high with happiness, utterly enthralled and engaged with the previous 2 hours. I got home, emailed my current favourite person in the world, and, in my mental utopia, filled my iPod with 80’s rock music, and went on a buying spree of songs I hadn’t heard in an absolute age, and seem to have lost somewhere along the way – songs like ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ by Motley Crue, ‘More Than This’ by Roxy Music, ‘Rebel Yell’ by Billy Idol, and this piece of truly great 1980’s rock/pop:
Aside from the odd dream about my past indiscretions, I never dream – or at least, I don’t remember them. But last night, I think I mentally fell into place, and I dreamt the entirety of my essay – the structure, how to start it, everything – it was so clear to me, and so vivid, that as I stood in the shower this morning, I was still reciting the introduction to myself.
I walk this morning with a spring in my step, and the sounds of Journey, Van Halen, and Poison rocking my ears off on the tube.
Have a fucking outstanding day, world.
Lots of love,
Closed Box
Ps – Hi Michelle! And hi, of course, to my dear friend Elaine xx
I wish to start, as I really should do more often, by thanking you for stopping by. For one reason or another, we had a big spike in readership yesterday, and a busy day with the comments, so I just wanted to say ‘thanks’ – the interaction is what keeps me coming back for another day.
I’d also like to thank someone who is rapidly becoming my favourite person in the world – you know who you are. Thank you for keeping me entertained all day yesterday! You have a great knack of putting a smile on my face.
Do you ever look at something, perhaps a quality in another person, and accept that you can never have it? It’s not envy, nor is it admiration – rather, it’s a realisation that a facet of your character means you’ll never yourself understand it.
One of the qualities I find most attractive is innocent charm. It’s one of the reasons I so love Meg Ryan’s character in ‘You’ve Got Mail’. She is so effortlessly charming, but yet, you know that it’s just who she is, and in no way is she deliberate or even aware of it.
They say ignorance in bliss – therefore, people who get on the tube with me every morning must be fucking coated in the stuff – but when you’ve seen and done as much as I have, this idea of innocence and naiveté kind of goes out of the window.
I wonder, as I begin to ponder some things – this innocent quality I so covet, am I too savvy and have my eyes been opened too much to ever attract such a person? Would a summer-dress, girly-girl ever really want to go out with someone with a past as sordid as my own?
Last night, I was talking to my friend Daniel about Alex (see yesterday’s post). It turns out that Alex decided not to continue with me because, after three dates, she couldn’t see us getting married. In lengthy email exchanges with Alex yesterday, it emerged that my hearty dislike of television – more specifically advertisements – constituted such a fundamental difference of character that seeing each other more would have been pointless.
It was about the time of this revelation that my disappointment with the entire situation somewhat subsided.
I’ll repeat this again, just so I can highlight the absurdity of it all: AFTER 3 DATES, ALEX WAS THINKING ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT WE WOULD GET MARRIED(!), AND THEN REALISED WE HAD A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION OVER TELEVISION, AND DECIDED NOT TO CONTINUE.
I explained this to my friend Daniel last night, and, once we’d finished laughing, I explained that actually, I felt really sorry for Alex – can you imagine the pressure she must be putting on herself?
But the situation with Alex has me thinking, about the kind of people I date, and what I am looking for. I have always gone out with women older than I, being that I don’t like bullshit – unless, and this is a historical thing, I have been the one bullshitting – I don’t like games, and I’ve always considered sex to be a significant chunk of importance in a relationship. I’m no sex fiend, I’m just a realist.
But, I think its time for a different approach. I think the first thing I need to do is stop dating older women. There’s nothing wrong with Alex per se, it’s just she, as I am sure many women her age are, is aware that the clock is ticking, and isn’t dealing with it well. Whether or not your clock is ‘ticking’ at 30 is virtually impossible for me, as a man, to understand.
About a year ago, even before I met my ex-girlfriend Lucy, I had come to a realisation about my religion – that perhaps I should be dating, or thinking about dating, Jewish women – something I had not done in quite some time, and even avoided.
Jewish women are fucking high maintenance, and the term ‘Jewish Princess’ is apt. Jewish society is often centred around money – who lives where, what clothes you wear, what car you drive – and, to me, it’s a repulsive quality. It’s something I could quite easily participate in; being that I live in a £7.5m house in one of London’s most expensive suburbs (this is used to highlight a point, not to show off. I don’t own even one brick of it) but I have always found the competitive side of Jewish society to be one of its more unattractive qualities. I want to know people for what they are, not what they project.
In speaking to my friend Daniel, the consensus seemed to be that this is just another thing to file under ‘Jewish Princess Activity’ – that Jewish women like to get married early, and, if they don’t, they take it personally. Very personally.
So I guess Jewish women are out for me for a bit. And it’s not because I don’t want to get married, or have kids, or any of that, and certainly not because I’m not thinking about those things.
I am really looking forward to one day getting married – in my opinion a wonderful expression of two people’s love for each other – and to hopefully having children, but surely this is something you share with someone, rather than go searching for, and try to apply to every person you encounter?
I am sure today’s blog has made no sense, and for that you have my apologies. In place of a clear conclusion from all that has just been written, I’ll provide a summary.
Here’s a musing I was throwing about on my 40 minute walk into work this morning – how fuckin’ stupid do you have to be to be run over by a train?
This morning, someone got run over by a train – not, I stress, thrown or pushed – and while I was walking the many, many miles to work (in the freezing London cold) this morning, I began to ponder just how one goes about getting run over by such a contraption as a London Underground train – the platforms are designed to precise measurements to ensure such a thing does not happen, and, for extra safety, a large yellow line is painted about half a foot from the edge of the platform, intermittently broken by the words DON’T STAND ANY FUCKING CLOSER DIPSHIT. I therefore surmise that this accident only occurred to make me late and put me in a bad mood after what was a rather lovely weekend.
(nb – tragic accident and all that – I mean, I’m not a heartless bastard or anything, but still…)
This was made in 1998, back when Tom Hanks just looked like the guy from ‘Big’ but slightly older, and Meg Ryan was America’s Sweetheart – gorgeously attractive, sweet as sugar on National Sugar Day, effortlessly charming, and not a lip implant in sight. If someone ever invented a wife machine, you’d select ‘Meg Ryan, You’ve Got Mail’ as your option.
And you know something else? I really like the new Girls Aloud song. There, I said it. I, the man who has spent the entire morning to listening to the product of disaffected youths being given guitars and access to heavy drugs and angst, like the new Girls Aloud song. Doesn’t hurt that they’re not bad to look at, but nonetheless, it’s a fine track:
Watching ‘You’ve Got Mail’ (which is, by the way, a remake of a wonderful and equally charming film called ‘Shop Around The Corner with one of my favourite actors, James Stewart’) made me think about this blog, and how I write it.
I’ve been considering changing the record a little. I never meant for this to be a ‘dear diary’ deal – I mean, really, who gives a fuck what’s happening in my life? – but rather, as I sat down on that balmy July evening, I intended for this to be home to larger thought; to more general realisations and to posing and answering the big questions of the day.
So, readers, the format and frequency of this blog may soon change, and should you like it/hate it/not notice any difference, I would appreciate your feedback regardless – be it by comment, email, or carrier pigeon.
This weekend, I was thinking about the element of surprise, and about ‘spoiling’ someone, and where it comes from.
Once upon a time, I was a terribly insecure young man, and any time I would go on a date, I would buy a huge bunch of flowers. I did this, I would tell them, as a mark of respect – a ‘thank you’ for allowing me to date them.
This, of course, was bullshit.
What I was actually doing was covering a huge, gaping insecurity. By thrusting these flowers at them, I was immediately putting them on the back-foot, and it was all part of my defence mechanisms to deflect away from the real me.
Now, in 2008, I do still buy flowers every now and then. But the buying of these flowers comes from a different place. I like to spoil people, and make them smile. Last night was my 3rd date with Alex, and after a very relaxed 1st date, I bought flowers the second time around, as we had agreed to make it a more ‘date’ date.
Friday night, I am in a Borders store looking for a textbook on Biopsychology -the science of brain functions and its effect on us emotionally – when I remembered that Alex had mentioned that she has a long-harboured ambition of doing some photography. ‘Aha’ thinks I ‘perhaps there is a book which helps someone realise just such a dream, but with a regular digital camera and just a little time’.
After about half an hour of searching, I found the absolutely ideal book; one which dealt with every single aspect of becoming an amateur photographer, from choosing a camera to editing and everything else.
And then, I suddenly became nervous. I didn’t want to appear over-keen – Alex and I had been taking things slow, and I was actually ok with that – and I didn’t want to once again fall into the trap of buying things just to cover up the fact that our third date was going to once again be quite relaxed, somewhere where we’d mutually meet, (therefore without the chance of any sex happening, again, I was ok with this) and that, honestly, if I looked at my history, which reads as a long list of sexual conquests to cover insecurity coupled with the occasional opening up and broken hearts, I had no experience of dealing with a relationship where I was on the back foot; where I wasn’t in total control, or manipulating the situation I was in for my own means.
Alex and I are on an equal footing, she is strong minded and has a great deal of respect for herself, and I can’t help but admire that. I have a misogynistic history, mostly because I never experienced a strong female presence in my life as a child, and dealing with someone like Alex without some sort of resentment or mental tussling is not normally my forte.
Anyway, back to the bookstore. After some deliberation, I decided to buy the book, and inscribe it, which I did when I got home:
‘Dear Alex,
Every dream has a beginning.
Hope this comes in handy one day’
I wrapped it up, and when I met her last night in the restaurant, It was hiding under the front cover of the menu, so that when she opened it, she’d get a surprise. And a surprise she did get, and a smile I did get – everyone happy.
And then, this morning, I got an email saying all the usual nonsense – you’re a great guy etc:
From: Alex To: David Sent: Monday, 3 November, 2008 10:52:10 Subject: RE:
Hi David,
Firstly thank you again for last night.
I need to be honest and I don’t want to hurt you or us in the process. You are a great guy and incredibly generous and romantic with your gestures, to the point I am very very flattered – if a little overwhelmed!
If I’m honest things with us are going so fast (ok I know 3 dates in 3 weeks it may not seem like that but I do feel in that short time things have been quite intense.). And while I do like you a lot, I’m just not sure ultimately we are on the same page, by that I mean I’m not sure if we have the same values, morals and common interests and I don’t want to lead you on or give you false hope if I have some doubts and my heart is not fully in it!
I know that email is not the best way to say all of this but I just want to be totally honest with you and tell you where I’m coming from and sometimes writing it down is easier than saying over the phone.
Love
Alex
x
Am I upset? Yes, a little.
Am I taking it personally, or as a rejection? Hells no.
It’s just one of those things. You can’t be everyone’s perfect guy, or I’d be fending people off as I walked down Oxford Street. I liked Alex, sure, but we took things slow, and if this whole thing had been injected with the same pretend passion and simulated affection I’ve historically used to cajole myself and another person into, I’d be feeling a whole lot worse.
And the best part? I still have a smile on my face.
Have a great Monday, ladies and gentleman. Write in big letters on a piece of paper the following: WHAT ADVENTURE AM I GOING TO HAVE TODAY? And pin it up on your wall or something. In every corner of the world, there’s magic happening, and if you can’t find it in somewhere or someone else, it’s inside you.
