Feast of friends

Throughout my life, I’ve moved all around. It seemed like everytime we got settled in and I felt like I had a group of friends who had accepted me in, the word would come down that it was time to pull up stakes again. Some places I’d have great friends, other places I’d never really fit in. If I had grown up in one of those places where I found a really great friend, or a great group of friends, then I would have never known what its like to be without that. If I had grown up in one of those places where I never fit in, never found true friends, then I would have never really known what it was that I was missing out on. But having lived in both situations, I was acutely aware of how valuable real friendship can be, and truly missed it when it wasn’t there. Through your life there are often a lot of “Best friends” or at least there are when you move around like I do. I think my first best friend was Jeff Wilcox, in Cleveland, Ohio, and then Scott, in Chicago, still one of the best friends I’ve ever had. And it still breaks my heart a bit that he doesn’t want to stay in touch now that we’re older. Later in Columbus there was Brian and Dave, and also Devon. Mike Mitchell in Atlanta, and Chris Hardy in College. Of all those, only Chris Hardy really kept in touch, and still stayed a friend after I moved away, rather than just an acquaintance. Unfortunately I moved away from Chris a long time ago. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a real best friend. The kind of best friends they make buddy movies about, where you do everything together, and you never have to question their loyalty, or how much of a friend they really are. Its strange, because it seems like the older you get, the harder it is to make a real bond with a guy. Us guys don’t exactly go around sharing our feelings with everyone on the street (A BLOG IS NOT THE STREET, SO SHUT UP!), so such things don’t happen easily. In fact in many ways I thought that true friendships like the ones I remembered from way back could not be started so late in life; that they needed too much history to be able to exist, that the jaded rocky ground of adulthood was a bit too rough for such things to sprout anew. But I was apparently wrong. In the last few months I’ve found a new best friend. The kind they make buddy pics about. And yes, it sounds gay, but I don’t care, friends are vastly important to me, and I’m really glad to have found such a good friend. Wednesday after my Yuma issues we went out to drink – not to pick up chicks (not that we didn’t try), but to hang out as friends and drink and talk. And it was really cool. We even talked sort of directly about our friendship. You know, in guy-talk, i.e.
“Hey man, you know . . .”
“Yeah, *grunt*”
And that’s pretty much all that needs to be said. In fact, among men, I think even that degree of open emotional discussion between men usually calls for being at a strip bar so that any ideas of being gay for talking about feelings with another man can quickly be dealt with by a lapdance.

Jesus Christ, do I only write in this thing when I've lost all faith in humanity? How lame is that? Well I'm not going to do it today.
I promise I'll find some joke or humorous email forward to balance it out one of these days.

Burden

I generally think of myself as far more rational than most. Many issues that others just take at face value, I think about deeply, especially my own motivations. That's why it always surprises me when I act in ways for which I can offer no explanation. A couple weeks ago I went on a date, my first date with this girl. I'd been trying (though not continuously) to get a date with her since I'd met her three years previously. The date went well, and while walking to my car from the bar I looked down and saw two dollars lying there on the sidewalk. I looked around, but there was no obvious place it had come from, I decided to pick it up, since it was unlikely it would remain there untouched until the true owner returned for it, if he or she ever even realized they'd dropped it. But I could not put it in my wallet. I was finally making good money, and really didn’t need this money, so there was no reason luck should have brought it to me. I had not earned it either. I decided that it was luck to find it, but that keeping it would violate some sort of karmic rule which would invalidate, and possibly reverse the luck. So I decided I was supposed to find someone else to give it to. But who? I decided it should be someone deserving, but also someone to whom $2 would be something significant, that it could really help. That basically limited it to very poor people, or someone who was in a bad situation in which they need some money right that moment. I didn’t want to give it to just any panhandler, as many of them make a good bit of money panhandling, and don't really need it, or simply choose that way of life rather than working. The ones really incapable of working are also usually incapable of making the plans for the good stories or finding the good panhandling spots. Anyway, it was a little difficult, always keeping the $2 separate from my own money, but always keeping it with me so I could give it out if I found the person it was meant for. It got a bit more difficult when I found myself at the laundromat, and ran out of cash with another wash still to do. I almost used the $2, resolving to get some cash and give out $2 from that. But I held firm, and left my laundry while I drove out to find an ATM. So last night, while celebrating my 33rd birthday with my friends, leaving the bar I came upon a homeless man cuddling up on a park bench to go to sleep. He saw us walk by but didn’t ask for anything. Something in his look though gave me the right feeling, and I fished out the $2 and gave it to him with a nod. He took it, returning the nod, but saying nothing. So now I've relieved myself of that burden, and I feel good, because I think I chose the person who was supposed to get it. Lets hope.