Keep on Keepin' On

This blog isn't becoming a load of narcissistic self-indulgence, is it? I don't know. I feel like its starting to be.

I've come to the conclusion that the best way to get to know someone is by carpooling with them. It's a relatively simple concept; carpooling with someone means that you are traveling with them, in a confined space, usually for long periods of time, to the same place. So, you can either A.) be quiet for the entire ride, never talking to the other person and never interacting except for brief, awkward glances at their shoes and mangled goodbyes as they hurriedly exit the car, or B.) talk to them. Come to think of it, you're going to have to talk to the person you carpool with at some point, so I lied, and there's only option B. The conversation usually centers on the thing/event/person you're carpooling to, and then branches out nicely from there. This means that I got in the car of a girl I was barely an acquaintance with to ride to swim practice and had, about two hours later, found out that she'd almost been hit by a car the day before, was desperately trying to find someone fluent in Spanish for a foreign literature class, and had a father who, during his midlife crisis, bought 7 grills and created his own competitive barbecuing team.
So yeah, I know a little bit more about her now.

There is a pair of shoes in my room that I absolutely love. They are lace up hemp shoes, and every time I wear them, I feel like the coolest indie ecowarrior on the planet. Seriously, these shoes make me want to cradle an oil-soaked penguin in my arms while I gently wash its delicate feathers clean with a toothbrush. But one of my friends pointed out something the other day; "What happens when they start to decompose?". That's a very good question. Hopefully, they won't; I feel like the company that makes them would have the foresight to make sure their shoes didn't turn into compost after a few months. But hey, if they did, it would make for an interesting icebreaker.

Person: Hey Andrew, what happened to that pair of shoes you used to have? You just kind of stopped wearing them.
Me: Oh, those. They were made of hemp, so they just rotted off my feet. I gave them back to mother nature. You know, the circle of life.
Person: Hemp shoes, huh? Did those come with a free satchel and Phish CD?
Me: Woah man, I don't really appreciate that.
Person: Yeah, well I really don't appreciate pretentious hippies stinking up the air with their holier-than-thou attitudes.
Me: How bout I stick my holier-than-thou foot up your ass?
Person: Shit, I'll take on all you Sierra Club mothafuckahs!

On second thought, maybe not so much with the icebreaker.

I've come to the realization that I love swimming for one reason: it focuses me. Oh sure, the exercise is great, and the skintight suits are a plus too (laaaaaadies), but the joy of swimming is its paring down of my many thoughts into a single overwhelming one. When I first dive into the pool, I'm not thinking about how I'm going to pass my precal test tomorrow, or dwelling on a failed joke that led to a moment of tense silence earlier that day, or wondering when I'm going to get a girlfriend and what exactly I'm going to do for that to happen. I'm thinking "Holy fuck, this water is cold as shit." That's really it. That, and variations of the same ("Agh, I think I pulled something in my foot, why is this interval so fast, ect.") Maybe some aquatic literary references. Moby-Dick is one that keeps coming up ("From hell's heart I stab at thee! For hatred's sake I spit my last breath at thee!"). Swimming is for me what meditation is for Buddhists, or what nicotine is for chain-smokers: the ultimate mind-clearer, the great unifier, my life's universal relaxant. When I come out of the pool, I shed away the day's doubts and anxieties with the chlorine, and thank God for that.

Reading that last paragraph just reminded me of how neurotic I am. Geez, I could totally be Jewish. Woody Allen would be so proud.

Come down from the mountain, you have been gone too long