Notes on Charisma: Prelude to 'On Drama' and 'Concerning Friends'

I must say that the pass few days have illustrated the best and worst of the thing we call friendship. Friends are the source of our greatest woes and pleasures. Both Thursday and Friday had the same actors, the same cast; Thursday was perhaps the better day (the best day in a while) and Friday was a day that I wish won't ever happen again. However, it was a fissure in the friend group, somewhat exacerbated by myself, that turned positive energy into a cosmic ray of death.

I. Thursday

I woke up 10 minutes before start of class at 10. I managed to get dressed, brush my teeth and grab my books in 9 minutes and run out the door and up street to Rocky for class. I arrived at 1001. Political philosophy class was fun, as always. We discussed the Hobbesian justification for government, his nominalism and how that affect his view of free speech and how equality was a source of problem in the Hobbesian world. Needless to say fun class. The midterm was also handed out; that was somehow less fun.

I must work for an hour after my 10A on Thursday. An hour is the perfect length to work. You go to work, check your blitz, send an email or two, check the project room, and read some comics and the hour is gone. The time between 1 and 2 was spent printing and readings things. It takes a fair amount of effort to go to my 2A in so far as it occurs in the afternoons and I hate being in class any later than 12 noon. But I made it to class and, though I was tired, managed to stay awake. After class I went to visit a friend over tea, we shall call her the "Alpha Earner (AE)." On the way, I saw two particular people talking, which made me somewhat jealous, but it is not my style to become worked up over such things. AE was doing well, somewhat bothered by a recent encounter with someone, but on the whole rather well. Now I am somewhat disappointed that I didn't know her better during her stay her at the College, as her time here has expired.

I am not quite sure what I did between 5 and 9 (for by 9 I had begun to read my book on Taoism) but there weren't any bitter memories, so I must have had fun. Somewhere in the time between 5 and 9, the brother of the man of pictures, who is almost identical in mannerisms and modes of speech, arrived. To understand how the man of pictures, and his brother henceforth the architect) fit into the way I see things, I will compare the personalities of three people I like, the elusive man of pictures, his brother and the effervescent dancer.

Now the man of pictures is quite the captivator of audiences. A combination of his humor, his spontaneity, his general goodly nature combined with a grave and handsome face, a mildly vindictive streak and an immense and mysterious personality gives a certain importance to his words and actions. Though he shies away from the public eye, partly from bashfulness, partly from what (the following is only what I can gleam from body language and facial expression) has been a bad few weeks, he himself is quite charismatic. (At the moment, I am working up the courage to talk to him regarding these sorts of things. My courage always fails because I am afraid I would say something extremely dumb and fall out of his good graces. Being a dour person (myself) is not very conducive to being witty and funny like the man of pictures. For the moment I am content to observe and tread lightly, let I exhaust his patience and incur displeasure. In so far as a I like him, I would feel horrible if such a thing happened.)

The architect is less of a presence, in that deep way, than this man of pictures. He is more attractive (though I would wager that the man of pictures is more handsome) but whereas the man of pictures lives in this world, it seems the architect lives, sometimes, in a completely different world. If one were to watch him, his eye measures things, draws them out, notices shapes, sizes and colors abstracted from their context as opposed to the man of pictures who also notices things but particular to their context. It is this gift of the eye that makes both of them such superb artists. (I have seen the drawings of them both.) The architect is quite funny and it seems that though you will hardly catch him uttering a word in public, he is master of side quip or apt observation. These two brothers make quite the combination, irresistible in their mutual charm, which plays off each other. For example, when they walked in the door of the living room, it was all eyes on them until they had made it to the second floor. Ladies, watch out.

The twirler is actively gregarious. She is the perfect spotlight star, and due to her good nature, is able to connect with just about anyone. Her charm is somewhat dangerous, especially to clingy persons, because of her extremely busy schedule. She does so much, wants to see so many people, that oftentimes those who prefer the total concentration of one so full of life, feel neglected when she turns her attention toward other things. Her charm is also very ensnaring toward those of the opposite sex. Her playfulness can sometimes translate into light flirtatiousness, which of course charms the hearts of men. Her beauty and energy magnify the effect greatly.

All three of these people, very physically attractive, do provide some insight into how charisma works. One couldn't possibly stay angry at any one of them. Good graces, good natures, and good looks make a devastating combination. At ten the bubble wrap party occurred, organized by my close friend, the Composer. I had much fun talking to Creation/Destruction and Arithmetic (two friends of mine). The people who made Thursday fun, Creation/Destruction, Arithmetic, the Composer and Alpha Earner would all find themselves betrayed by the Ring.

(to be continued)

Mundanity

I was surfing around the blogosphere and discovered the blog of someone I know: Lisa Chau. Now that's a real blog with pictures. Unfortunately, I prefer and rely on text as the great trasmitter for these sorts of things. I did not know she had a blog and I must say that I like it. I'm putting a link on my page soon to her site.

A Note

When I am reading various webcomics, I do hate when the comic master suggests that he has an outside life; that he must do things other than post to the site. Unfortunately, I have discovered that I haven't any time during the week to post to this site so I will update when I work at the libraries, that is on the weekends.

Dancing in the Street

On Wednesday, I went to see a 'Curious Invasion' down at Occum Pond. Generally, I had a good time, but as always with modern dance, you never know what to expect. It started off with an interesting speech from one of the creators suggesting that if we liked it, we should "write our Congressmen and tell them to support the arts." She also cautioned us not ask what it meant, just watch. At this point, given the introduction, I was a bit dubious about the rest of the program but when the three boats poured out of the enclave in the water, each with a rower and three dancers, I must say that I was impressed.

(Warning: tangent for the next paragraph; drive slowly) This is another one of those events that was greatly improved by the presence of friends. Driving down had wonderful conversation and the person to whom I was adjacent, recently called the man of pictures, definitely livened it up with timely and funny comments. I must also point out the clouds and the sun also were engaged in a dance of sorts, playing idly through the trees. Running around and quipping delightfully bad jokes gave new meaning, the meaning that I suppose wasn't to exist, to the entire affair. (Tangent cleared)

The most puzzling part was the end; the performance was rather straightforward but I am not entirely sure how I ended up among the haystacks and playing peoples. Ack, let me revise that: I know the mechanism by which I was pulled out of the audience and into the dance, I am not sure what possessed her to pull me out of the audience. (I even had books and things in my hands but they were quickly discarded in the heat of the moment.) It originally started when we (some friends and I) spotted one of the dancers that we knew very well and decided to sit behind her. Of course at the edge of the golf course, it was somewhat muddy and I just could not sit down in the earth. Luckily, that good but bashful friend brought a portable chair with him. I was able to both sit in the front row behind the dancers and prevent myself from getting dirty. This choice of sitting so close to the edge lead to me being dragged into the foray.

It was last night also that I found myself unintentionally dancing: at the AO Bubble Wrap party. The party started at 1030pm; when we had to vacate the SLR around 1000 I was definitely not in a mood to dance. In the thirty minutes between 1000 and 1030, I sat in my room with company and chatted for a bit. (The two Adams true to form were quiet and impenetrable.) Somehow around 1035 there was an invasion of energy and enthusiasm, which caused the jumping up and down on the bubble wrap to hear the pop, pop, to become very soothing. Quite the release of energy don't you think? I had quite a bit of fun. Though I must say, for future events, no more pictures of myself. Must destroy all pictures of myself.

The Bubble Wrap party encouraged me to give myself a mental point for voting the person who organized into office and lobbying for said person during election time. My next push is for this to become a termly event.

Oh, Sweet Jebus!

On Sunday, I went to see the Isle and the Ring. My motivations for seeing the movie were two: I wanted to see some horror movies and I was going to be hanging out with, what is now, a close friend. Seeing the Isle was the biggest mistake of my life (don't do it baby...*). It wasn't a horror movie; it was a horrifying movie. The movie centered on a crazed mute woman and her sadomasochistic relationship with an escaped convict. She tortured fish, brutally killed toads, imprisoned a whore and cut and burned herself. Before she had sex with the man, he kicked her and beat her up. I deliberately fell asleep in the movie because the music was quite beautiful and rather pleasant. I woke twice: once to see him putting a fish hook down his throat and then much later to see her putting a three-hooked fish hook in her vagina and pulling. The scream still echoes in my mind; it physically hurt me to watch it.

The Ring was much better; I had seen the Ringu from Japan so I knew what to expect. I just wanted to see it on the big screen. "In the dark place.." I even jumped a few times.

*This is a song reference from "Water Runs Dry" by Boyz to Men. It would go: "Let's not wait 'till the water runs dry/ as we watch our on lives pass us by/ And make the biggest mistake of our lives/ don't do it baby/ ahhh oooooo oooooo, ah ooooo ooooo"

On Truth-telling

I'm fairly certain that every man likes to think of himself as a truth-teller; if he is not willing to make that strong of a claim, then I am almost positive that everyone thinks of themselves as not being a liar. Honesty is a virtue in modern society. But what is it we mean by honesty? There are also a number of competing values, which, along truth, are relatively important: diplomacy/ tact, politeness and the relativity of values.

For instance, I have a personal policy of not lying to people over indefinite periods of time. I think I will stick to the traditional definition of lying which is: deliberate falsification of a story, historical narrative or personal recollection. (I tried to create a new definition of lying which was to have a two-pronged test: deliberate falsification and malicious intent.) I think part of the reason that lying is a bad thing is part of the malicious intent that accompanies it; without the malicious intent criteria white lies (on matters of aesthetics), untruths (for those who can't handle the truth) and lying (to mislead or hurt) are all moral equivalents.

I.
We all agree that white lies regarding ascetic preferences aren't really that bad.
A.
"John, does this (color, dress, wall paper, pattern, tie, etc.) look nice?" :: Insert the most horrendous (color, dress, wall paper, pattern, tie, etc.) here::
"I'm not sure, what do you think?"
"While I would personally prefer the maroon, this mauve really does go with my (insert item here)."
"Oh, I agree. You look fabulous."
B.
"John, this has to be one of favorite songs/animes/video games/TV shows."
(I'm either indifferent (I just don't care sometimes; I can't get all work about these sorts of things), irritable or slightly bored.) "I will have to concur completely in your judgment. I really like when the main character/artist/perform does (insert specific fact here); it puts me in this (insert mood here) for three reasons: (enumerate here)."

Now most people would agree that the above is lying and deceit. However, this is harmless lying and deceit in so far as even if I don't enjoy a particular activity, participating it gives me three benefits: one, assuming that people I like are doing it (this is not necessarily the case), I do get to observe them responding to different stimuli making it easier to buy birthday presents and such things; two, participating in this activity does increase the amount and types of things that I do, giving me more sensory data and life experiences to draw upon for life; and three, it increases the meaning and humor of situational, contextualized humor. I.e.
"Remember when we were watching X and Y? Wasn't it hilarious when...?�
In a moment of temporary, joking anger after someone says something dumb: "Lu-thor...SMASH! (Bring fist down on table)"
"It's not right but it's ok!"
"Shut up before I big combo you; this time it's going to involve a wood chipper, some chains, and a trash bag."

II.
What becomes more controversial is my next practice: sequestration of some from the truth because of my conclusion that they are not ready for or cannot handle the entire truth. My estimation of anyone individual's capacity for truth is highly correlated to their place within the friend circle: the closer they are, the more they can handle. However, I will not lie indefinitely. I would, in my mind, determine when they would be able to hear exactly what happened and make a mental note to self. Then I will choose ambiguous language, which through connotation and innuendo points at one meaning, while by the denotations I am technically correct in the narrowest sense of the word. On my part, there is clear intent to deceive; it is not malicious. In fact, it is rather patronizing and paternalistic.

Currently, there are some friends of mine with whom it was necessary for me to practice deception to prevent a breakdown within an association of which I am a part. This entire doctrine all stems from a problem that I have: I have the noblest of intentions all the time, I am quite the benevolent guy, but I am not above utilizing "sketchy" and questionable means to promote my ends. There is a certain pleasure that strategizing and planning brings to me; if I have a goal then I will find the means. Do the means taint the end: by no means (pun intentional). Exercising what can be considering private vice is often necessary to promote public virtue. The rest is between me and my God.

III.
That brings us to the obvious: lying with intent to hurt. I do not believe in this and it should never be practiced. There is no situation in which lying to hurt someone is ever justified.

Series

Well, I have just started another series to slowly work through. Now that Jones Media has all of the Simpson's Seasons One and Two on DvD, I am going to watch through them all, one episode at a time. Other series that I am watching:

1. The Slayers (Finished Season One, and watching through Two and Three)
2. Star Trek: The Next Generation (4th Season)
3. Sex and the City (Seasons 2 and 4)
4. Queer as Folk (Season One)
5. Six Feet Under (Seasons One and Two)
6. Babylon 5 (Seasons 1 and 2)
7. Buffy (Seasons 3 and 4)

I recommend any of these shows to anyone who enjoy unity and wants something to do.

Welcome to the Essential Stevenson

This site is just a companion to my other site. There I discuss ideas in the abstract. Here I shall try as personal as possible. These are the problems that plague when I am not thinking about the issues raised on DartObserver. I hope that the reader(s) of this site will grow to appreciate me and the thoughts I think and I will attempt to update as often as possible. Unfortnately I can't be as witty as my freinds over at Hate School, my inspirations for this site, but I can deal with the questions that life brings me. I hope that this does not turn out to be a narcissitic vanity fair; I also hope that any readers which might exist (and do exist in the abstract) willl not grow to hate me.

From the mundane to the silly to the sublime, it's all here at the Essential Stevenson. Enjoy.

The Grieving Friend

How does one deal with a friend whom you don't know very well who is in pain? And when I say grieving, I mean to encompass the full range of sorrow from the seemingly mundane "I'm having a bad day/ shitty* week" to the undescribingly horrific "My Mother just died." It's not that you think your friend is weaker-- you don't because sharing pain as well as joy certifies to others that we too are human-- it's just that anything you could offer to that friend would sound trite and vapid, if not unctuous. There is a large desire to comfort your friend; being your friend all fervent emotions are to some extent shared. However, one doesn't want to fall into the trap of Job's friends who have him very bad advice and said all the wrong things. Given the relativistic nature of our culture, when some greives, you wish to reach out and say "It's going to be ok" even when the situation looks like it has possibility of resolution due to incommensurable structural conditions. (i.e. if you Mother has died, then there is very little that one can do to bring her back. "It" won't be ok, because the structural condition that caused this grief, the death of the mother, is permament and conclusive.)

I have found that the ministries of silence, tears and hugs work best when vocal communication isn't necessary. There is nothing more relieving than having a good cry with a friend. (Though being male, when one crys it has to be very private. In so far as one doesn't want one's effeminateness quotient rising, and one already has some non-masculine/macho traits, public displays of emotion, especially grief, is not allowed.) Though crying in a movie with the characters have merit, the physical proximity of the person and their tears also allows for one's soul to bear the pain it feels but must subdue. And thus, you commiserate with the freind and by that become more human.

The true problem arises when grief, with its emphasis on the nonverbal affirmations of affection and empathy, gives way to loneliness, which tends to operate within the communicative sphere of friendship interactions. It's very much the "validate my existence and usefulness to others; let me know I am loved" attitude toward life. It is worse after the breakup of a long-term relationship. One wishes to empathize, but also as any good friend would do, tell them the truth. The truth may involve some introspection on both sides. It hear the communication becomes higly problematic.

*I usually prefer not to curse but in so far as it is the lingua franca of my peer group/ the symbolic language of our age community, it sometimes becomes necessary, if one wants to preserve the precision of the concrete scenarions, to employ such barbarian language practices.

In a Straight Betwixt Two

I am, and always have been, torn between duty and desire. Doing one's duty is what keeps the world operating. (And if you would allow me to be unsophisticately Kantian for a moment) Imagine if more people shirked their duties and followed the desires fo their heart. Societies, what we view as voluntary political and social forms of association for the sake of collective and individual benefits, would begin to fall apart. However, the ritualization of action and the performance of social roles does grate against my preference, bordering on obsession, for efficiency in human activity. This obsession for the efficient, and my insane perfectionist tendencies, combine volatilely to needless complicated forms of social intercourse which seem natural to others.

I am specifically thinking of 'small talk.' How is one suppose to engage in these sorts of activity. Either you know the person and can talk to them about substantive matters or you are engaged in malicious deceit: the pretense of interest and concern in the name of social politeness. It becomes even worse when you have a tendency to downplay what one does in the interest of not appearing conceited or narcissitic. A great many things occur in my life, from minute to minute, but when asked what have I done, I find it very hard to recall in any great detail. It makes me feel like the bad friend who never does anything, but who leaves nothing undone.

The specific problem, that prompted me to write this particular entry, is that many good people hang around campus during their off-terms. Without them taking classes, it is the perfect time to engage them as themselves, not as students, or organizational partners or members of the same Greek house. It is them as they are, unrefined, unprocessed, uncut. These are the moments I cherish. Whether it be reading books with them, sitting close to them, playing practical jokes on them, having the meals that are so much more than the food on your plate, or just being out there with nothing else around you or on your mind but them, your friends, these are the moments that men were made to live for. (Now had I read this in say early January, I would have felt sorry for the poor chap who writes these things. However, new empirical data has forced me to reconsider the relative importances of stability and friendsip vis a vis one another. If you are wondering what that means, I shall at some time in the future, attempt to explain it.)

I knew that I had offered to work for someone from opening hours until 3pm today at the library. I also knew that last night turned out to be, unexpectedly, a wonderful oppurtunity to hang out with a good friend. A random decision to offer to walk a friend home turned out to be an oppurntunity to see firetrucks, interact with House X, and chat until the wee hours of the morning. Of course, I came home right before my sleep cycle kicked in, so I was able to watch an episode of the Simpsons, and look at some pictures that another friend had taken earlier that day. (Now this friend, the man of pictures, is a rather strange character who I am not fully able to predict nor anticipate. Though a rather shy person, he often fun to hang out with; part of his charm is his randomness and facial expression. Though at times, I am fustrated at how incredibly difficult it is to read him.)

Should I have gone to bed so that I could be more productive at this useless job? No, I think I made the right choice. But I have often gone out to eat with friends, after the gentle clock has struck midnight, knowing that each passing moment recuces the probability that I will go to class at 10 the next day. I am complaining? No, Je ne regrette rien.