People

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Dr. Deja Vu: The Magically Disappearing Friend

In elementary school, it was quite normal to spend years alongside a friend (or at least a friendly acquaintance) then to come back one Fall and after a few weeks of research, only to hear from a teacher or classmate, “Oh, his family moved away during the summer.” And what could I really do or say? Those concrete words became the end of it. Even as a kid, the realization was simple: Sometimes friends disappear forever.

All I was left with was an inch tall, black and white picture in the yearbook to remember them by. No e-mail address or phone number. Just gone.

There was the blonde haired, red-skinned Jesse Jackson who sat across from me in Kindergarten and got in trouble for making Debi Owen cry when he called her “stupid”. And Katy Petzold who moved after 3rd grade, whom I never had a class with or ever talked to, but her weird last name always stood out to me when I saw it in the yearbook. And she must have worn her green Girl Scouts uniform to school a lot because that’s how I remember her.

Ferne Taylor- I sat next to her in 3rd grade while we were reading Charlotte’s Web and everyone bugged her because Fern is the name of the girl in the story. And I also remember her flattening a Coke can to decorate it with buttons to look like a woman, then Justin Burt sang, “Ugly woman, walking down the street”, as he walked the tin can woman across his desk. It was hilarious. (That’s always what I think of when I hear “Pretty Woman” by Roy Orbison, now.)

Zack Bain- a cool kid that loved to play basketball and when he had to draw a personalized license plate for his 5th grade homeroom teacher Mrs. Jones’ class, it read “PARTIER”. She hung it up outside her room on the bulletin board and every time I walked by it I thought, “Really? Surely his Ninja Turtle birthday party wasn’t as cool as mine…”

And of course the classic Jon Peterson with his precise chili bowl haircut who moved away after 4th grade, whose dad always smoked a sweet smelling pipe in the den, wore sweater vests, and worked at the First Methodist Church. I’m sure today these 28 year-olds would have no idea who I am, but I remember them clearly.

I have memories of these random people, now serving as wallpaper in the attic of my brain. Obviously, I have already searched for them on facebook and Google, with no results. It’s strange to think that somewhere out there these long lost classmates are living normal lives just like the rest of us. And surely they have to remember spending their first couple of years in that small school back in Alabama in the late ‘80’s. Who do they remember from my school? Would the people they remember in turn remember them?

People come and go. But when they go, they go somewhere. Sometimes forever a mystery.

“If you’ll be my bodyguard, I can be your long lost pal.” –Paul Simon (“You Can Call Me Al”)

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The Token Guitar Guy who Thinks He’s Cool Because He Can Play “Tears in Heaven” by Eric Clapton

One in every ten guitar players is a “cool guitar guy”. That’s a guitar player who uses his musical abilities as a social crutch. In college, Cool Guitars Guys were easy to spot: They could be found conveniently playing on a sidewalk near the dorms with the most females. Their favorite songs to play for people include, but are not limited to “Sweet Home Alabama”, “Tears in Heaven”, “Stairway to Heaven”, “Enter Sandman”, and “Wonderwall”. Cool Guitar Guys don’t really have to sing much more than the chorus, just the main guitar licks. Because once the familiar part of the song is played, a token instant-fan or two will feed Cool Guitar Guy with “Oh, I love this song!” Of course you do.

Cool Guitar Guys usually have faces that are fist magnets, like Spencer Pratt. They always have this tendency to break Man Code, spouting off how much they loved the movie The Notebook, in an effort to show their sensitive side to the girl listeners in their small audience. And if they can find a reason to talk about kids, they will go and on about how much they love their nieces and nephews (to convince prospective dates they would make a good husband one day).

Granted, Cool Guitar Guy isn’t taken seriously by the other nine guitar players in the statistic. Because normal guitar players don’t need the guitar to be cool and to start conversations.

 

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Mind Field

The same drive that causes a person to get a face tattoo and proudly show it off, may cause that person to feel shame and embarrassment years later. The power of the human mind can give us the power to be content, miserable, or apathetic about the same exact situation. While I hear the song “Semi Charmed Life” by Third Eye Blind playing on the speakers at a restaurant and get excited about what I deem as the best song in recorded history, others at the table may casually respond with, “Yeah, I liked that song in high school”.

If I won two free tickets to the Super Bowl, I wouldn’t be excited at all. I would give them away. But I’m sure there would be plenty of people willing pay me decent money for them.

My mind is powerful enough to limit my happiness if something goes wrong; something as little as missing the right exit on the interstate. I can be bummed about that for an hour if I let myself, sometimes. If only I was powerful enough to convince my mind that it really doesn’t matter, I could be happy instead. There is truth to being able to choose happiness over despair. It all goes back to my dad’s theory of mind-over-matter: “If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.

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I Wish You Would Step Back From that Ledge, My Friend

I’ve struggled my whole life with the phrase “red head”. Ronald McDonald has red hair. But as far as natural hair color, the “reddest” I know of is Carrot Top, and literally his hair is dark flaming orange, not red. And while there are people with a shade of brown hair that has sort of a red hue to it, those aren’t the people we give the name to. Red Heads do not exist. Only Orange Heads. But for some reason Red Head is the term that stuck, and the whole world (with the exception of me) is okay with that and doesn’t question it.

Last week I drove over the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco for the first time, having been hypnotized by the theme song montage of Full House that the Golden Gate is the most awesome bridge ever. The bridge is one of America’s most easily identified and popular landmarks. But like Red Heads, it’s not red either. It’s “international orange”. The “Golden” Gate Bridge is actually orange though most people think it’s red. Colors are confusing. The human equivalent to the Golden Gate Bridge would be a Red Head named Sunny. And then Sunny wins American Idol.

Despite its superstar status in our country, I have to admit I find the Golden Gate Bridge to be overrated. I had always imagined that it was a huge bridge that crossed miles of water. When in actuality it’s only 4/5 of a mile long. And the bridge is only one of five major bridges in the San Francisco Bay Area, and it’s not the main one.

I was surprised when I later crossed the San Francisco-Oakland Bridge a few miles away, realizing it has the same design as the Golden Gate except this is the double-decker version, over twice as long, and is painted a bland silver (because the city pretty much is consumed by a murky fog, it actually gives the bridge more of an off-white color). But no one ever pays attention to it.

Strangely, the Golden Gate Bridge is the most popular place in America (and arguably of the world) to commit suicide. According to Wikipedia, approximately one person every 14 days ends their life by jumping from the bridge. Over 1,200 deaths were confirmed by 2005 (since the bridge’s completion in 1937). The success rate of suicide for jumpers from the bridge is close to 98%, with only 26 survivors ever. Though the time it takes for a jumper to hit the water only takes four seconds, the speed of the jumpers reaches around 86 mph. Only Chuck Norris breaks necks quicker.

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Why People Live Where They Do: Big City Vs. Small Town

Psychologists have debated for decades and decades whether it’s a child’s genetics or a child’s environment that molds his or her personality. Genetics and environment are two factors that affect a person not just as a child, but for an entire lifetime. The main difference between the two is this: Genetics remain the same, environment does not.

The place an adult lives isn’t always a case of true choice. Often a person is forced to live in a city based on career. Bigger city equals bigger paycheck and more opportunities. And when it comes to paying off student loans after graduating college, it just makes more sense to live in a bigger city. But what happens when the loans are nearly paid off and the once recent college grad is now an experienced office cubicle pro?

A trend in recent years is the migration of big city dwellers to smaller towns. Obviously, it’s a pay cut. But while a $40K job in a big city only pays $32K in a smaller town, $32K in a smaller town can very easily be the equivalent of $40K based on the local economy. So money is not really an issue.

Big city life can definitely lose its appeal after a few years. Especially after the transition from single life to married life. The married couple realizes they spend a total of an hour each driving to and from work every day. They realize how much that costs in gas and car maintenance. They consider how much less houses cost in a smaller city. They watch the local news and see all the stupid shootings near their neighborhood, then the hear police sirens at night.

It just becomes aware to the two people (who both grew up in a small town) that being married slows down the pace of life. From the hectic speed of a big city to the laid back speed of a small town. In a good way.

Married life as compared to single life: No major need to fill up a weekly schedule with things to do. No major need for all the activities and places to meet new people. Being married attracts married friends, married outings, married hobbies, and married entertainment. I found that when I got married I stopped having to try at my social life- it came to me.

My whole life, I never minded eating alone. Spending a Friday night alone. Exploring a new city or country on my own. I classify myself as a half-breed between an extrovert and an introvert because while I love being around other people and involving myself in society and culture, I really don’t mind being alone for long periods at a time.

One of the many benefits of being married is that it’s the ultimate “hang out” life. An excuse to get to hang out every day of the week if I want to. Because even when I’m “doing nothing”, I’m with my wife. And that makes it okay.

(Enter here a heckler from the audience: “Just wait ‘til you have kids. That’ll all change…”)

 

Friday nights tend to be the weekend night of the week that she and I purposely do nothing. Cook dinner, go for a walk, and watch a creepy crime story on NBC Dateline. And we love it.

When I was single, I felt there was a stigma was placed on me if I wasn’t out spending money on an activity that I didn’t really want to do in an effort to be social. But now I can do what I really want to do because I have this “life witness” who is with me either way. Whether we’re doing absolutely nothing or taking our next road trip.