Una Carta de Carlitos

Remember my kid? Well, if not, go here first then hurry right back. I got a letter from Carlos, er, his mom because he's not old enough to write letters yet. This is technically the second letter from Chile, but as I was in the middle of script-writing madness, I missed writing about the last one. His mom is so proud of his intelligence; in fact, apparently the whole family is intelligent, even the dog. Actually, she emphasizes that the dog is "very" intelligent.

Even though there are only two letters per year, it's still quite extraordinary to get a response from someone living in not only a completely separate hemisphere but also a completely different state of being. Nonetheless, it seems education is transcending all ways of life. Carlos is excelling in his early classes and is showing a knack for sports and art. Eeexcellent... Padrino Kyle may have to find ways of fostering these talents.

I'm trying to figure out what to write next. I've been practicing writing in Spanish, which has been fun, and I've been sending pictures from my adventures. Of course, for me, it's dreadfully difficult to write at a 6-year old's level, though I was able to ask him last time whether "Hay nieve allá durante el invierno?" to which his mom replied "No tenemos nieve. Ya que solo en la cordillera nieva. Él aún no lo conoce." She says she is very proud of me for graduating college. I think she has the same dream for Carlitos. I have no idea whether Carlos' older brother, who is my age, has graduated college. Maybe I'll ask that in the upcoming letter. Oh, and he colored a picture of an elephant for me. I'll have to add it later, once I've unpacked my scanner. Warm fuzzies.

Farol Verde

I finally decided to put to use the two free AMC theatre tickets that have been hanging on my wall since November. They went toward a viewing of Green Lantern, one of the summer superhero movies on my list but predominantly the only one for which I could find a viewing buddy. As far as superhero movies are concerned, what it lacked in character development, dialogue, and continuity, it possessed in imaginative set pieces. As usual. But that's not the point of this post.

The mythos of the Green Lantern franchise is that the universe is built upon the conflict of two powerful energies: Will and Fear (think light side and dark side of the force). Those that succumb to fear are quite literally consumed by it, and the journey/wandering/stroll of our protagonist requires him to overcome such basic human fears as jumping off a towering skyscraper and facing a giant Androssian monster. While I'd love to go on about how many times I've found myself in the same situations, I'll focus a little more on something more general.

I've written about fear a lot in this blog: the fear of making eye contact, speaking out of line, being thought stupid or threatening, etc. My good friend in Germany related a story to me in which he made sustained eye contact with a guy at a bus stop, which then led to a mutual smile and a sort of rapport. Of course, I countered with the theory that, unlike Germany, America is as paranoid, if not more so, than I am. Therefore, sustained eye contact with a stranger on the street would be nicht gut. Yet he advised me to try it. Three seconds. Four, even. An eternity for me. But he presented it as a challenge. Damn it!

So, for the past week I've started to force a full second of eye contact. I've started talking to people with whom I don't normally associate, including the Adonis-type at work who may or may not have been flirting with me in February. And you know what? I get smiles out of it! People respond pleasantly. I mean, it takes quite a bit of reading to determine whether it's an appropriate time to talk to somebody, but an impromptu chat with a stranger is actually very empowering. You sustain eye contact with somebody, and suddenly, you're on their level. You no longer have to worry that your head is going to swell up like a giant tumor and your eyes glow yellow out of fear (see the movie), because in the end, to misquote Hamlet, words are just that: Words, words, words. There really is no need to look further than necessary into them.

I'm going to keep practicing eye contact. It's getting easier as I continue my adventure to see the Historical Landmarks of California and have to ask directions and information from complete strangers. Still, as of yet, these have been older, humble types, not as intimidating as the younger, firebrand sorts that breed so much insecurity in me. I'll take it one step at a time, a question here, an observation there, maybe even a compliment, troublesome though they may be. It takes time to learn how to conjure a racetrack out of pure energy, so if I keep viewing this as a journey or challenge, I just might be more enthusiastic to overcome it.

You Know... (Part Four)

You know you're giving off the wrong vibe when young, attractive, Chinese students flock to your brother and even your parents to have pictures taken with them over the course of the trip, but the only photo request you receive is from a grinning 60-year old man.

You know you're hanging with the wrong crowd when after two minutes of recounting your adventures in China, you're interrupted by a half-hour monologue on personal drama and food, and the conversation is over.

You know there's a good reason for being paranoid when your boss hides a camera on his desk, films you brushing crumbs from your shirt into the trash can, and shows the entire office how, from that angle, it looks like you're taking a piss.

Googly Eyes

So I'm back from China. Technically, it was almost a week ago, but you know how things go when you have a thousand pictures to upload, three blogs and a website to update, a full-time job, an apartment to find, and roommates to avoid. This is a comment on the latter, plus a few other things. But to preface this rather gloomy musing, watch this first. If you actually come back to the blog after watching it, well, cool!


Christopher Walken is about as awesome as it gets. When you're done reading here, go watch his dance video to the tune of "Weapon of Choice." But I digress. I'm here to talk about googly eyes. No, not quite the same googly eyes adorning cactus, shrub, and palm in this greenhouse; I mean the principle of googly eyes: inventing a way to know where you stand with people.

After three days in China, I noticed how regularly I was making fun of people, the customs, and especially my other family members. Ninety percent of my sense of humor is based on pointing out flaws in others and exploiting the shit out of those flaws. I try not to make them overtly mean-spirited, but one of the nastier parts of Asperger's, the one that has cost me a lot of friends over the years, is not recognizing when that line is crossed. That's a topic for another blog post. I want to talk about googly eyes.

Snarky remarks, showing attitude, dealing back double what's dealt unto you: these are my googly eyes. By keeping people mildly amused, annoyed, or even angry at me, I know exactly where I stand with them. My default assumption about other people is that they don't like me, even when I do nice things for them; ergo, it's become second nature to adopt behaviors that enforce their dislike so I don't have to play the guessing game. This helps me to avoid more complicated emotions like Love, Empathy, or even Like, and to keep people at a distance with the conviction that, if we were to build something great without googly eyes, I would ultimately destroy it anyway. They who hope for little are seldom disappointed. Therefore, bring on the snarkasm.

My roommates and I are finishing up our time together, and honestly, I can't wait. We were great friends for years, until last November, after an attempted favor went disastrously south, spawned a monster. Conditions were laid out before me; I had to change a number of my behaviors. Having self esteem half the size of a public school teacher's paycheck, I asked one thing in return: tell me when I do something wrong. Since then, we have sunk into a silent war over the dishwasher. I have learned, by watching them silently correct the positions of what I put in the dishwasher, how to put the glasses in correctly, load the dishes from back to front, wash all dishes by hand before putting them in the dishwasher, and avoid washing all plastic items because they'll melt.

The latter is where I'm drawing the line. There is a measuring cup and a spatula sitting in the sink as I type. They have been there for four days. The evening before they appeared, I put them in the dishwasher. Good plastic. Durable. It won't melt; I promise. Yet, after months of ignoring my one condition of verbal openness in favor of passive aggression, I've decided to leave them in the sink. They took them out of the dishwasher; they can put them back if they so desire. These are my googly eyes, and so I know at all times where I stand with them. By the time our lease runs out and I find my own place, I don't expect to see or hear from them again, but I know they will leave with a bad final impression of me.

Is it my fault? Some of it is, but for the fact that this venom has been building so steadily to the point that one roommate hasn't looked me in the eye for two or three months, there's more to this than the position of dishes. And it feeds me. And it feeds my worldview. And it lets me retain my fear of plants, er, people. And it lets me resent them for being. And it keeps me well supplied with googly eyes, for anger is something I understand, and surrounded by anger, though it fills me with endless negativity, I feel secure.