Life is about growing.
My legs grew longer until I was about 16. My hair grows longer every day, though not from as many places up top as it used to. My fingernails grow four times as fast as my toenails (or so I read in Maxim).
Life is about learning.
It always takes twice as long to do the work as you initially estimate. Boca Burgers do not taste good in spaghetti sauce. Doing your dishes before leaving the country makes your housemates happier to see you when you get back. Sandals and cold rain make for walks that feel twice as long as they should.
Life is about loving.
If you are a good enough driver on a manual transmission, you can keep a bundle of daisies in an upright cup of water for the rest of your errands. Most people aren’t disgusted by the affection they see others share, many of them just have a complicated way of showing jealousy. Sometimes a good talking to from someone you care about is enough to start moving again.
Life is about living.
I’m coming to terms with having wasted too much time of recent being unproductive, unfocused, unhappy. I faced the reality of starting to study two weeks before the LSAT. I faced the reality of slacking at work and continuing to kill myself to make up for it. But I finally took the LSAT, I finished all my work, and my face is starting to see a little more sun.
Life is about realizing you have more control than you think you do.
(actor mounts steed, gives the bear a bologna sandwich and rides off into the sunset)
It reminds me of that scene in “Who Framed Roger Rabbit” where they go near Toontown, and you can see clouds of smoke and yelling and fighting and all sorts of haywire shit happening above the horizon to signify the complete and total lunacy of the place. Japan is just like that.
– Ishkur’s Guide to Electronic Music, in description of JPop.
In this scene, Vinnie is confronting the examiners of a tough US Patent Office art unit (Mike, Sam and Arpan) while their unsympathetic supervisor looks on.
Vinnie: Let me have your attention for a moment! So you’re talking about what? You’re talking about…(puts out his cigarette)…bitching about that rejection you shot, some son of a bitch makes a good point, somebody doesn’t agree with your interpretation, some broad you’re trying to screw and so forth. Let’s talk about something important. Are they all here?
Supervisor: All but one.
Vinnie: Well, I’m going anyway. Let’s talk about something important! (to Mike) Put … that coffee … down. Coffee’s for examiners only. (Mike scoffs) Do you think I’m fucking with you? I am not fucking with you. I’m here from upstairs. I’m here from Doll and Harvey. And I’m here on a mission of mercy. Your name’s Mike?
Mike: Yeah.
Vinnie: You call yourself an examiner, you son of a bitch?
Sam: I don’t have to listen to this shit.
Vinnie: You certainly don’t pal. ‘Cause the good news is — you’re fired. The bad news is you’ve got, all you got, just one biweek to regain your jobs. Oh, have I got your attention now? Good. ‘Cause we’re adding a little something to this quarters production contest. As you all know, first prize is a pair of tickets to a National’s game. Anyone want to see second prize? Second prize is a trip to Jimmy Johns. Third prize is you’re fired. You get the picture? You laughing now? You got references. Use the references to reject them! You can’t use the references you’re given, you can’t reject shit, you ARE shit, hit the bricks pal and beat it ’cause you are going out!!!
Mike: The references are weak.
Vinnie: ‘The references are weak.’ Fucking references are weak? You’re weak. I’ve been in this business fifteen years.
Sam: What’s your name?
Vinnie: FUCK YOU, that’s my name!! You know why, Mister? ‘Cause you rode the metro to get here today, I drove a eighty thousand dollar SUV. That’s my name!! (to Mike) And your name is “you’re wanting.” You can’t play in a man’s game? You can’t reject them? (at a near whisper) You go home and tell your wife your troubles. (to everyone again) Because only one thing counts in this life! Get them to file a Request for Continued Examination! You hear me, you fucking faggots?
(Vinnie flips over a blackboard which has a set of letters on it: AGF)
Vinnie: A-G-F. A-always, G-go, F-final. Always go final! Always go final!! You got the amendments comin’ in; you think they sent them in ’cause they were bored? Applicant doesn’t submit an amendment unless it’s worth money to him. They’re sitting out there waiting to give you their money! Are you gonna take it? Are you man enough to take it? (to Sam) What’s the problem pal? You. Sam.
Sam: You’re such a hero, you’re so rich. Why you coming down here and waste your time on a bunch of bums?
(Vinnie sits and takes off his gold watch)
Vinnie: You see this watch? You see this watch?
Sam: Yeah.
Vinnie: That watch cost more than your car. I made 273 percent of production last year. How much you make? (Sam looks away) You see, pal, that’s who I am. And you’re nothing. Nice guy? I don’t give a shit. Good person? Fuck you — go home and play with your dog!! (to everyone) You wanna work here? Reject!! (to Arpan) You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this — how can you take the abuse you get on an appeal?! You don’t like it — leave. I can go out there tonight with the references you got, get myself fifteen RCE’s! Tonight! In two hours! Can you? Can you? Go and do likewise! A-G-F!! Get mad! You sons of bitches! Get mad!! You know what it takes to get RCE’s?
(He pulls something out of his briefcase)
Vinnie: It takes brass balls to get RCE’s.
(He’s holding two brass balls on string, over the appropriate “area”–he puts them away after a pause)
Vinnie: Go and do likewise, gents. The RCE’s are out there, you pick ’em up, they’re yours. You don’t–I have no sympathy for you. You wanna go out and reject, reject, they’re yours. If not you’re going to be shinning my shoes. And you know what you’ll be saying, bunch of losers sitting around in a bar. (in a mocking weak voice) “Oh yeah, I used to be an examiner, it’s a tough racket.” (he takes out large stack of green folders tied together with string from his briefcase) These are the new cases. These are the Hitachi cases. And to you, they’re gold. And you don’t get them. Because to give them to you is just throwing them away. They’re for examiners.
Vinnie: I’d wish you good luck but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it. (to Sam as he puts on his watch again) And to answer your question, pal: why am I here? I came here because Doll and Harvey asked me to, they asked me for a favor. I said, the real favor, follow my advice and fire your fucking ass because a loser is a loser.
(He stares at Sam for a second, and then picking up his briefcase, walks out the door)
Southwest Airlines has a policy where they don’t assign seats to their passengers, they let them on the plane in waves and the seating tends to sort itself out. This works quite well; the people who like to sit at the front of the airplane tend to get what they want, those who prefer window seats can find them, and the family with the crying infant can have any seat in the house. I don’t *really* care where I sit, but I like the window seat because it provides an intangible sense of isolation. It’s related to the knowledge that I’m only three quarters surrounded by strangers.
The man in front of me as we walk through the jetway looks like one of those artsy types, the kind that listen to hip music and dress in black for hip reasons. He must be in his mid twenties, not recently out of school, but he walks with this gait that says, “I mean business”. He grabs a seat between two attractive girls about my age. I see a window seat behind him, and another girl moves to let me into my intangible isolation.
I rarely talk on airplanes. It might be that I just don’t always feel comfortable striking up a conversation with someone who can’t leave if they want to. I once sat next to a Mormon missionary who preached her religion for the entire three hour flight, and although I learned some fascinating things there was a point in which I was tempted to cash in on my atheistic lack of morality. The person next you is also an awkward target of eye contact; if you look at them you’re already in their face, and if you don’t you are essentially talking to the tray table. Which is awesome.
It appears the man in front of me isn’t like minded, as he has already struck up a lively conversation with the two girls on either side of him. He tells them he lives in San Francisco. He’s an artist. He was *very* hip.
The two girls ate up every word for as long as I actively listened, hanging on his pauses and rising on his crescendos. The window girl was slightly bigger than the aisle girl, and I could see her body language whenever the man would turn his attention away. It was a competition. The two girls were competing for this hipsters’ attention. They each wanted to be the one who connected on the plane, and they didn’t want to share.
I tuned out the banter and lost myself in my book, ignoring to the best of my ability the local game of who can be more interesting.
It was when I reached to change the track on my CD player that I realized the girl sitting next to me was asleep. Normally that wouldn’t faze me, but she had her head ever so gently resting on my shoulder. Her book lay half closed in her lap, and her rhythmic breathing told me she was fast asleep. As peaceful as anyone could ever hope to be.
Most of the time being non-threatening doesn’t help much, but every once in a while you get lucky.