Friends

Man, but Seattle has a lot of layered concrete for cars. I wonder how much that cost, both in $ and in human ingenuity?

Sometime this week on my morning commute to school, a guy got on the bus and as he was walking down the aisle, STOMPED on my foot really hard, and didn't apologize. (I don't even know how the hell he managed that, as my feet were practically tucked under my seat, in order to let people pass.) I understand that sometimes you accidentally bump a person when walking down the aisle on the bus, and while I don't think it's necessary to apologize for brushing against someone, I do think it is necessary to apologize when you whack them with noticeable force, such as punching someone in the face or smashing their foot with all your might.

So the guy STOMPS on my foot, I look up in annoyance, he looks back at me, and then continues on his way towards the back of the bus (I was sitting in the middle of the bus). A minute later, I walk to the back of the bus to where he was sitting, and YELL at him, telling him that when you stomp on someone's foot, you APOLOGIZE! His excuse was, "I couldn't apologize because you didn't look up." I told him that was bullshit, that I had looked up and caught him looking back at me, proving that he knew he had stomped on my foot. Busted. I continued to tell him off, and he then "apologizes" and claims that he's really sorry. But I said that he only apologized because I yelled at him, and that if he were really sorry, he would have apologized when he first stomped on my foot.

Just before he got off at his stop, the asshole comes up to me and tries to "apologize" again, offering me a couple of dollars for coffee as an apology. I yelled at him again, telling him that it's too late to apologize, and all that I had wanted was an apology when he first stomped on my foot! If he truly is sorry, and not because I yelled at him, hopefully next time he does something like this, he apologizes to the person. If he does, that means he learned his lesson and was truly sorry. If he doesn't, that means he wasn't really sorry for stomping on my foot, and was only sorry that I called him out on it.

...so cold/freezing morning.
...busy at work/what makes it fun or not/hot biker guy/co-worker angst.
...damn rats won't have babies.
...living with boy/intimacy.
...friends/time to so things/less work more work trade == same amount of busy, duh.
...thanksgiving centrepiece rocked.

Love y'all.

Here's another Jack Gilbert:

A Brief For The Defense

Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies
are not starving someplace, they are starving
somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils.
But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants.
Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not
be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not
be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women
at the fountain are laughing together between
the suffering they have known and the awfulness
in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody
in the village is very sick. There is laughter
every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta,
and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay.
If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction,
we lessen the importance of their deprivation.
We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure,
but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have
the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless
furnace of this world. To make injustice the only
measure of our attention is to praise the Devil.
If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down,
we should give thanks that the end had magnitude.
We must admit there will be music despite everything.
We stand at the prow again of a small ship
anchored late at night in the tiny port
looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront
is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning.
To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat
comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth
all the years of sorrow that are to come.

And She Waiting

Always I have been afraid
of this moment:
of the return to love
with perspective.

I see these breasts
with the others.
I touch this mouth
and the others.
I command this heart
as the others.
I know exactly
what to say.

Innocence has gone
out of me.
The song.
The song, suddenly,
has gone out
of me.

Jack Gilbert

- from Monolithos: poems, 1962 and 1982

This evening as I was on my way home, I was waiting to cross the street. I arrived at the crosswalk, pressed the button, and waited for the light to change. As I was waiting, a guy who also needed to cross the street arrived, stood at the crosswalk, and proceeded to wait as well. Then a good ten seconds or so later (not a long time in the grand scheme of things, but a considerable amount of time since his arrival at the crosswalk, enough for this to be odd), as the light was changing from yellow to red for the cars, he walks around me, about five feet from where he was, and pushed the button on the post.

There was just something odd about it, since he deliberately went out of his way to push the button, and did so quite some time after he arrived at the crosswalk. Obviously I had pressed it, but if he felt compelled to press it himself for reassurance, fine, but why wait a significant amount of time to do so, and do it as the light is changing? His actions and mannerisms gave me the feeling that he thought that I was a retard who hadn't pressed the button, therefore he had to do it quickly before the light changed, in order to activate the WALK signal (it's annoying how if you press the button too late, the WALK signal won't be activated). And then he walked too close to me as we were crossing the street.