TROUBLE WITH DREAMS

I should have been more selfish.

Until this point, I have had only two aspirations: to be a loving husband and a good father.

This in and of itself is, if I may say so, admirable. The means I have employed until now-constantly examining and evaluating my moral behavior and becoming as highly educated as I can-are at least somewhat commendable as well (again, if I may say so).

However, both have caused me nothing but misery.

And because I am miserable, I have not taken the most crucial step toward becoming a loving husband and a good father: meeting a woman.

Instead, I spend a lot of time by myself. Blogging. Or comparing the Senate to the House of Lords. Or wondering the ethical value of not having waited six more seconds after already having waited ten to hold the door open for someone.

As far as questioning my actions, constantly trying to better myself, I feel there is nothing I can do. The person I have allowed myself to become will likely always weigh the moral worth of my actions from here until death (which I have always looked forward to, but never so much as now).

Today I realized: I fucking hate school. I haven't learned anything of any worth to anyone on this planet, including myself. This whole charade has been for nought. I intended to go to college in order to earn an MBA so that I might make enough money for my wife and children to live comfortably. I quickly learned that I'd have no such luck, so instead opted to become a political science major (which is a foolish decision I have come to regret every day), naively thinking that the only subject any lawyer had ever majored in was this useless drivel. This is not to say that I desire to become a lawyer-again, I think of this profession simply as one that might catapult me into bigger and better ones (ideally, a judge or legal theorist).

Neither the bachelor's degree I am to earn next summer (thank God) nor the advanced degree that I hope to attain is of any value to me personally.

These professions are appealing to me for two reasons, and two only. I've attended college and sought my advanced degree that I might earn an impressive salary. I have not sought any money for myself, but rather for the family I'd hope I might have, though I am quickly coming to realize that the trouble with dreams is that "they don't come true". Now that I have squandered my other opportunities (I really wish that lesson about the opportunity costs of earning a college degree in high school economics had resonated as much back then as it does now) though, I must make the best of a bad situation. So, being optimistic, whether or not I marry, and whether or not I do become a judge or a legal theorist, at the very least I can be a lawyer. This profession, as far as I can see, has only one benefit: it allows me to sit around and think intently about words.

When I was a kid, I only wanted one thing out of life: to play in the Big Leagues. Now this dream is little more than a faded memory-a series of trophies collecting dust on a shelf above the bed I keep at my parents' house. At a point in my life I became convinced that chasing dreams and aspiring for an enjoyable career wasn't for me.

If I encounter a time machine, I will do one of two things: travel back to that exact moment in time, or travel forward to my final moments on Earth, just to see if I'd have any company.

At this rate, I doubt I will.

Darren.

I'M NOT DOWN

Today, I realized life is a film. I'm not expecting any Oscars for mine, which is disappointing as I've directed it and played the lead role.

I expect, though, that my supporting cast will receive quite a few nominations. I can't necessarily credit myself for casting this film. In many ways, some of the actors whose performances I've most thoroughly enjoyed have been rather thrust upon me. I hope you understand that this is not a complaint, but a recognition of a blessing. I am a passive person in many ways, and without being introduced to people, I imagine the time I spend alone listening to Bright Eyes would double or triple.

In many ways, I feel like Ed Wood. He is regarded by many film critics (who know much more than I) as the worst director of all-time. He starred in many of his films as well (notably Glenn or Glenda? which, unfortunately, I have not yet seen). Many regard Wood as delusional.

I tend to disagree. He and I share the desire to express ourselves with the media at our disposal. Unlike me, he had the determination to continue making films in spite of constant criticism. Were I viewed with such disfavor, I'd likely cut my losses and "say fuck the lemons and bail." His uncompromising will to self-expression should serve as an inspiration to all.

This blog is no stranger to absurdity, fantasy and whimsy. Thus I implore you to imagine a scenario in which I, as Ed Wood, am directing and starring in a film alongside Ingrid Bergman. (This is a scenario I often imagine, as Ingrid Bergman is a veritable fox.) The only thing is, the supporting actors are Carey Grant, Jimmy Stewart and Humphrey Bogart. Katharine Hepburn, Kim Novak, and Sophia Loren play the women's roles. (Like I said, imagine.)

It sounds like a disaster, right?

Right.

And that's my life. I've been given a rough outline of the plot (birth, life, death [which I hope will involve a volcano or some sort of explosion (or implosion)]) and a tremendous supporting cast. I'm trying to turn my life from Birdemic to Notorious. I have faith that the others cast in my film will turn me into a great director.

I'm the type of person who needs to be pushed. As I have reiterated, I'm also the type of person that learns things the hard way. I'm also a creature of comfort.

While my friends and family have offered nothing but undying support (for which I am eternally grateful), I have disappointed myself on innumerable occasions. Though it is true that I hold myself to the highest of standards (which I consistently fail to meet), I think it's reasonable to assume that I have disappointed others by failing to meet their expectations as well.

I hope to improve the quality of my life this summer (and hope that the "Summer of Darren" will be more fruitful than the "Summer of George"). I am certain that this cannot be done without my friends and family (or "cast" if you're still following the film metaphor).

"Confidence is preparation," a very good friend once told me. Preparation comes from familiarity and the recognition of patterns (which I ought to blog about at another time). Until I can leave my apartment for stretches of longer than the time it takes to get Chipotle, I cannot expect to lead a satisfying or fulfilled life.

I have asked and will continue to ask those closest to me to push me, to take me away from my comfort zone. I am a complainer and asking them to do this is rather unfair because I'll likely be bitching and moaning all the while. Hopefully I'll learn a number of life lessons this summer, in a sort of Being Human crash-course, if you will.

I have clearly delineated my personal and professional goals (work, go to the gym, prepare at least 80% of my meals, read). I have equipped myself with a maxim (always play to your strengths and keep it simple) that I hope will be passed on to my children as my father's was to me. He and I are quite different men. His maxim is what he would likely call a "three-step path to success". It is more succinct and more universally applicable than my maxim, but that is to be expected given our personality differences. He, as one who literally always has a plan, is always striving to accomplish something each day, is an inspiration. I hope to emulate his pattern of daily achievements. But he has his shit together. He follows a routine. I don't have my shit together. I don't follow a routine.

I hope that my friends will take the initiative to push me until I can challenge myself and summon my own initiative. I hope that I can achieve something every day like my father. And I hope I'll find within me the uncompromising, never-take-no-for-an-answer attitude of Ed Wood. I hope inspiration of some sort decides to grace me and to guide me in some direction, even if it's as simple as getting my shit together.

While I do believe that the last three years have undoubtedly been the worst consecutive three through which I've suffered, as the title of the blog says, I'm not down.

Instead, I'm rather looking forward to this summer. I wouldn't call it optimism per se... It's more like a willingness to see how good or bad this movie turns out. Hell, it's bound to be better than some of the shit that's coming out this summer. (Hollywood: looking at hot people is what Playboy is for... not film! For fuck's sake, please make a good movie soon!)

Darren.

DON'T PUSH

Based on the title of this post, the picture is a rather obvious choice to continue the theme of the blog.

However, the reason behind the title of the post is what I intend to discuss.

Bradley Nowell "got slammed to the ground like [he] fell off [his] skateboard," and I have both physically fallen off my skateboard and metaphorically been slammed to the ground.

It seems lately, the only attention I get is negative attention.

"Oh my god, what happened to your arm?" is a question I've been hearing every day at work for at least a week. I fell off my skateboard and scraped my arm up a bit. Perhaps I'm reading too much into an innocuous pleasantry. Perhaps this particular instance is not one of negative attention. But in a way, it helped me relate the post to a song that also involved skateboarding, so I'm not too upset by it either way.

Despite all this, I have been drawing a lot of negative attention to myself as of late. I'm not sure whether it is brilliant, self-sabotage, a negative consequence of a negative lifestyle, or one of the low points in my life I'd choose not to look back on.

Last night, in company, I made clear that I am certain that I have not grown or progressed in any way since last September and am no better for having survived this year. (Now I'm disclosing this information semi-anonymously over the Internet, attracting just as much negative attention [if anyone still even reads this damn thing anymore].) Certainly, this sentiment is true. I'm just as cynical and anti-social as I was this time last year. At the same time, it's inappropriate to ruin your friends' good time, especially as most of them reminisce about what an enjoyable year they had had.

The past quarter was easily my worst in college. It won't affect my chances at graduating on time (though I will have to take more classes than I'd have liked to next year) but it certainly may jeopardize my chances at furthering my education. It's no use worrying about it now, but I really wish I were more rational and made choices based on reason rather than sentiment.

Finally, I banged my car up a bit the day before heading back to my parents' place for a few days before starting my new job.

Fuck.

Darren.

NO NEED FOR ALARM

That is, of course, unless you're a California taxpayer. Because you throw your hard earned dollars down to pay for a good chunk of my education, and I procrastinate. Every time.

At this particular time, rather than writing the essay that will conclude my third year of college, I've decided to procrastinate by blogging about the methods I've employed to procrastinate up to this point.

While sitting at Benito's Taco Shop in Santa Monica, bullshitting with a few friends, my roommate told me he just realized that "[I] just love to talk." I'm not sure whether I'm more baffled by that fact that it took him so long to realize it, or that all my suspicions about him listening to me were confirmed so off-handedly. "I can just tell by how unresponsive I am and how you never really lose any enthusiasm," he exclaimed, loud enough to prompt another Benito's customer to tell us the following:

"You guys should have a sitcom or something."

As I have secret aspirations to be a late night talk show host, this was great to hear. It was even better when, after I told him to take it easy, he responded with: "See you on T.V." My only regret is that I didn't ask him whether or not he thought I'd be a good talk show host (mostly because I think he'd have appeased me and validated my pie-in-the-sky ambition [maybe I'll achieve Internet fame(?)].

I've decided the series will be called Life With: and every episode will be titled after the name of someone I know. The pilot will be "Life With Boomstacks". I've never tried my hand at screenwriting, but hopefully blogging will translate.

Who knows, maybe by the end of it all, my uncertainty at whether or not I will achieve Internet fame will seem laughable?

I'm not holding my breath though.

Darren.

I WANT TO TELL YOU

I want to tell you that your performance in Shakespeare's Twelfth Night was masterful. Not only did you portray my favorite character, but you were certainly my favorite actress.

I can't say that I know you. However, I can honestly say that the only action I witnessed you undertake of your own volition was a graceful, admirable reminder that people can be genuinely nice. Displays of selflessness are becoming, but such a display while singing the final song in one of the Bard's comedies was endearingly amicable.

But, if you're as much of a Seinfeld fan as I believe you may well be, I want to tell you that I would love to know you.

THE GET A WAY

The art of photography is one that has evaded me, so pardon me for taking credit for taking this photo up in Monterey Bay, CA.

Summer's around the corner, and this school year has been another loss.

Thankfully, I just need to get out of the next two weeks before I can begin what I hope will be the best summer of my life.

(Why yes, that is me being optimistic.)

I could use this opportunity to be an overtly verbose prima donna as I usually do, describing my cynical views on the past year and how it's impossible to imagine that I could reasonably expect that next year could be any worse, but I've decided I'll spare you.

(Why yes, that is me being both overtly verbose and a prima donna as I said I would not be.)

I've been told that, in order to understand me fully, one must "expect the unexpected," and I tend to think that person just may have been right.

In light of this, I'll turn to things about things I'm looking forward to during summer rather than those things that have made the last spring, winter and fall so miserable.

The World Cup Finals start in nine days, and the greatest athletic competition next to Olympic hockey will hold my interest from June 11-July 11.

As I'm fairly certain I did not get promoted to supervisor (my superiors and co-workers have such poor communication skills that I haven't the slightest idea whether or not I did in fact get promoted), I'll be looking for a new, less soul-sucking campus job.

Two of my summer roommates are triathletes and one is a frequent goer, so I'm looking forward to exercising more routinely.

I'm not sure whether the fact that each of these paragraphs is only one sentence long signals my neuroticism or the absolute disconnectedness of my thoughts, but take it as you will.

Darren.

THIRD SEASON

Converse is dropping three colorways of its CVO sneaker on October 24, 2010.

I suppose you could say I'm excited. Don't judge me.

And don't be surprised if you see me in blue one day, black the next, and grey the third.

Seriously...

DJD.