Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about random people, writing, and 12 pains.

"About the strangers you meet every day, in the supermarket, while shopping, on the road, etc. How do their offhand words, random gestures, or thoughtful or thoughtless actions affect your mood (or someone else's)?"

Good afternoon folks! I've got some extra time, so finally I'm gonna do this while I've got some excellent prompts (and can have the rest of the day to do fuck-all). Isn't life great like that?

When it comes to random strangers, I'm pretty guarded. More like "repellent". Nobody messes with the dude who's got a beard halfway down his chest and side-stares like he could kill you with his thoughts. I like to think of it as "Self-Preservation", but it's more like "if I leave you alone, you should leave me alone". And because I think like that, unfortunately, that isn't always how the rest of the world sees things.

Case in point: here in Cortland, we have a small bus system...there aren't a lot of buses, and they're usually "short buses". They're made to seat maybe 16-18 people at the most. The problem is some routes tend to get more passengers, which leads to crowding...and I don't like to be crowded among strangers. I like my space. And when I'm on the bus to school, it's a 25 minute ride, so I bring a book to pass the time. Now, if there's anything I hate more than random strangers in awkward situations I can't get out of trying to make conversation with me, it's either: 1) people trying to talk to me while I have headphones on; or 2) people trying to talk to me while I'm reading. Clearly in these moments I'm doing something that screams "Don't bother me!"...but some chumps don't understand this policy of personal silence toward my well-being. I understand that they're trying to be friendly, but their annoyance trumps all intended goodwill.

I know I've also touched on this before, but I have a propensity for being easily agitated by random people doing random things. Meds like Gabapentin have probably kept me from getting myself into confrontations with strangers because they're annoying me with loud conversations, ignorant behavior, and a general lack of concern for the people around them. Look, when I'm alone, I'm a quiet person. When I get on the bus to go to the store, I sit down, shut up, and try to relax. The only problem? The bus route to the grocery store stops at senior housing, and I can never seem to avoid the rowdy group of senior citizens who, I swear, can be louder than a frat party sometimes. No bullshit. Pack eight of 'em on a bus and you may as well be attending a sleepover with teenage girls, only with walkers and Depends. There is no concern that there might be other people on the small, quaint bus that don't wanna hear every detail of 70 years times eight. Save it for the pot-luck luncheon.

That said, I do have appreciation for small gestures of kindness. If I get behind you and your overflowing cart of goodies in the supermarket checkout line and I only have two or three things, please and thank you for letting me go ahead of you. It's only the right thing to do. And I don't expect people to be nice and/or decent...I expect them to be dicks, just so I can be pleasantly surprised when someone smiles randomly in my direction. I'm over thinking the world is a super-happy place where people are nice all the time, because I know everyone's battling something outside of what you're seeing...whether it's drama at home, or an illness, or they're just having a bad day. I got problems of my own too, and I don't expect the cashier at Kinney to solve them just by making small talk while waiting for my debit card to be accepted, nor should I think that me passing a compliment along will automatically make someone's day (more often than not, it just comes off as creepy, and I don't need another stigma attached to my face). So I say live and let live. You can't always trust that someone else will do the happy-making for you.

"Isabel Allende sees writing as an act of hope; a communion with our fellow man. When asked by a student 'Why do you write?', Eudora Welty replied 'Because I am good at it. We all have reasons.' The majority of you that respond to the prompts have been doing so now for awhile. I asked you over two years 'Why do you write?' Are your reasons the same? Are you writing more or less? Which author do you feel describes you better?"

I can honestly say that my reasons for writing haven't changed since the day I started as a teenager over twenty years ago. The outcome may differ, but the intent is still there, and that's twofold...to make people think, and to have a conversation outside of conventional purposes. I write so I can discuss things that normally wouldn't come up if we were sittin' and chillin' over a cup of coffee or a slice of pizza. I've found a groove that I'm more comfortable with now via blogging; it's a bridge to something I wasn't getting out of writing poetry and that, I find, has helped me write poetry more suited for the times and places I've been at in my life. As Kurt Cobain once sang in "Serve The Servants"  , "Teenage angst has paid off well; now I'm bored and old." You can't go around writing the same things over and over, or else you become stale and wind up being pigeonholed into a niche that doesn't reflect who you are today.

Another quote I like is from The Tragically Hip's Gord Downie: "Serve the song." You have to do right by your words; you have to be the integrity behind them. Writing serves as the bridge between what you want to say and your actions. It's not just reflecting, but it's also filling in gaps and lapses of communication and biographic details. I don't expect to win a Pulitzer or a Nobel Prize because I have a flashy blog with music and tidbits of my experiences and thoughts and opinions, nor do I think someday kids will study me in their English classes and think, "Man, this guy should've invented blogging!". No. I'm just sharing, and if people like it, cool. If not, hey, that's cool too. A hater equals someone who read, thought, and had an opinion...and I respect that just as much as someone who adores every last word as if it were gospel. In this format I'm surprisingly open and available to anyone who has something to say. This is my opening salvo. This is how I talk and communicate to the outside world, from Buffalo to parts unknown (and sometimes back again).

Why do I write? It's an act of hope and communion, and I've been told I'm pretty good at it. But mainly, it's because I can and I will. To compare me to someone else is blasphemous to the person you're using and who you think I am, because that in essence is taking something away from their individuality. I'm me, and that's all I came here to be, and that's how I'll leave here...just like you're you and can be like no other. While the majority of the world is waiting for another Poe, Dylan, or Grumpy Cat, some of us are too busy being great at being who we are. If you're one of those people, don't ever stop...we'll find you.

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How about something slightly more humorous than what I've been talking about lately, huh? It's the "12 Days of "Christmas"" , and I'd be lying if I said this song wasn't in the back of my mind once this activity got underway...but I didn't know the actual title or who made it happen. Luckily, an old friend posted it on Facebook last night and solved my conundrum regarding "The Twelve Pains Of Christmas". Bob Rivers   was a radio DJ who was known for penning all sorts of parody songs, and this one made its way to my radio as a teenager in Buffalo while I was getting ready for school one morning...it overtook "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" as that funny, almost spiteful Christmas anti-song that couldn't be avoided because of its cleverness (and the way it devolves). It may not be "out of the box", but it definitely steps on the box and kicks it down the stairs.

"Charities? And whaddaya mean, your in-laws?"
Lyrics.  

I didn't know a lot of these were once Christmas traditions  , but I can cop to #2 and #9. #10 is, like, a daily tradition, and what are cockles? I never understood that. Plus, pies with meat in them, or any pastry with meat, just is wrong (sorry if you like that kinda stuff and/or were raised on it, not sorry)...I like sweets and meats, but not combined. And now I can't get "cockle pie" outta my head because it makes the 13-year-old inside me giggle incessantly.

If you weren't down with that list, here's 27 things you might not have known about "National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation"  .

Awesome. Time for a nap and a raucous afternoon of playing the Family Guy game on my tablet. Get stuff! Peace, oh geez look at this, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!