Going In Hard To Be Soft

This weekend I had the unique experience of being complimented for my brand of insightfulness on more than one occassion.

Friday:
Pixie, my friend from high school, whose boyfriend I'm reputed for stealing a decade ago (they broke up in July! we started dating in September!), celebrated her 25th b'day in Williamsburg. I'm not convinced that Graham Ave on the L is still Willy-burg, but given our tenuous history I don't argue with her. This is the annual event at which we share oxygen--for my part, I keep my head down and glug my drink with a religious fervor. It is upon Tracey's insistence that I arrive at the scene with a meager gift in tow under layers of winter wear.

Sean, GaGa's best bud (Pixie's current cohabitating boyfriend), and I in the course of conversational factions found ourselves discussing culture and identity in the great American landscape. At what might have been the terminus of my intellectual tirade, Sean looked at me with genuine respect which I could easily have mistaken for sarcasm and uttered every aspiring teacher's favorite words, "I never thought of it that way. That's a really interesting perspective you've added to how I look that." After his assurances of seriousness, I found myself enthralled by the compliment of a smart stranger. It's amazing how strangers can influence us, flatter us, create pools of self-doubt, bring a smile or a tear to our cheeks and seemingly vanish from our lives.

Incidentally, Sean is no small potato in the audio film community. Check HIM out! He's an extremely polite person predisposed to pensive bouts with an appreciation for my pedantic pandering. In my limited experience based on one-time contact--Great GUY~

Saturday:
Milan--one within the growing populous of men I've been on A date with only to realize his residence rests firmly in the friend zone--in the course of many hour-long conversations this weekend called my attention to how keenly I listen. He marveled at the level of detail at which I observe him and others in their actions and inaction. He was kind enough to insert at appropriate times, his commentary on my observations. Calling me out of using psychological jargon and analysis in daily observation.

There were moments our ruminations had the rumblings of a recording of Frasier and Niles Crane discussing the merits of Merlot vs. Chianti--except our presuppositions rested firmly in the psyche--why do or don't we do/say/act in certain ways. An exercise in complete self-absorption and at times narcicissm: it was an expression of our education coupled with the rebellion of intelligent desi kids with the have-no-desire-to-make-mucho-$ chip on our non-medically trained shoulders.

Moments of clarity were clouded by moments of self-loathing and doubt. Finally we summed the experience thus: I am a pot of uncertainity stewing on a stove next to him, a dilute pot simmering in discontent.