Monday, September 29, 2008
Thank you
I'm definitely at the point in my life that I no longer enjoy seeing birthdays come along, but for those of you who participated in the passage of yet another year, thank you. For the emails, the Facebook postings, the incredible couple of evenings, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Teatro Zinzanni
Many years ago I remember walking along the San Francisco waterfront and stumbling across a rather odd looking building---actually a large tent---housing a show called "Teatro Zinzanni." I couldn't really tell what it was about, but from the brief description and paintings on the outside walls, I assumed it was some sort of dinner theater, a bit offbeat to be sure. I was definitely curious, and I made a mental note to visit it sometime. As it turned out, I never did make the show while in the Bay Area, but as an incredibly pleasant and unexpected birthday gift, a friend just took me to the Seattle version. (Which, as it turns out, is where the show actually began.) The only way I can describe TZ is incredible!
Teatro Zinzanni is housed in a large, circular "spiegeltent," a huge canvas and wooden structure with mirrors ringing all around. The three hour show consists of a five course dinner interspersed with cabaret, comedy, circus acts and improv audience participation. The theme of the current show ("Quest for a Queendom") is loosely based on the Queen's yearly search for her new consort, along with some bungling attempts to steal the crown jewels. While the plot is humorous in its own right, it is by no means what the event is really about; what makes Teatro special is the small intimate setting, with the cast literally only a few feet from the audience, frequently wandering around the dinner tables. (We actually had inner ring seats, which literally put us in the front row, making the experience even more vivid.) Add to this a few very embarrassed members of the audience who get drafted into the action, and you have the makings of three hours of non-stop smiles and laughs. The show is a little bit racey in spots, though I don't think it would offend anybody except for the most prudish. (If I were to rate it by movie standards, it probably warrants a PG, yet it's not something children would enjoy. It's a mid-twenties and up type of evening.) If you want to compare it to something you may have experienced, think of it as Cirque du Soleil, but on a small interactive basis with a five-star, five course dinner included.
More often than not, dinner shows sacrifice on the "dinner" part of the experience, providing substandard food almost as an afterthought. Teatro Zinzanni doesn't make this mistake. All five courses of the dinner are of spectacular quality, with the first course set out for you before the show begins, and the remaining four courses intertwined with the show itself. I lack the ability to describe culinary experiences adequately, but suffice it to say this was one of the better meals I have had in a long time and leave it at that. (Even the quantity of food was sufficient!) Also, for those who are not sure of wine pairings, they offer a "Wine Flight" of half glasses served with each course. You wind up getting a total of two and a half glasses of various wines over the three hours, just enough to help you enjoy the evening without impairing the drive home.
After nearly five years in Seattle, I would have to rate TZ as one of the best, most memorable experiences I have had since moving here. The dinner, the show, the entire event was as close to perfect as one can ever expect, and I really cannot think of any shortcomings. Highly recommended for the perfect evening!
Teatro Zinzanni is housed in a large, circular "spiegeltent," a huge canvas and wooden structure with mirrors ringing all around. The three hour show consists of a five course dinner interspersed with cabaret, comedy, circus acts and improv audience participation. The theme of the current show ("Quest for a Queendom") is loosely based on the Queen's yearly search for her new consort, along with some bungling attempts to steal the crown jewels. While the plot is humorous in its own right, it is by no means what the event is really about; what makes Teatro special is the small intimate setting, with the cast literally only a few feet from the audience, frequently wandering around the dinner tables. (We actually had inner ring seats, which literally put us in the front row, making the experience even more vivid.) Add to this a few very embarrassed members of the audience who get drafted into the action, and you have the makings of three hours of non-stop smiles and laughs. The show is a little bit racey in spots, though I don't think it would offend anybody except for the most prudish. (If I were to rate it by movie standards, it probably warrants a PG, yet it's not something children would enjoy. It's a mid-twenties and up type of evening.) If you want to compare it to something you may have experienced, think of it as Cirque du Soleil, but on a small interactive basis with a five-star, five course dinner included.
More often than not, dinner shows sacrifice on the "dinner" part of the experience, providing substandard food almost as an afterthought. Teatro Zinzanni doesn't make this mistake. All five courses of the dinner are of spectacular quality, with the first course set out for you before the show begins, and the remaining four courses intertwined with the show itself. I lack the ability to describe culinary experiences adequately, but suffice it to say this was one of the better meals I have had in a long time and leave it at that. (Even the quantity of food was sufficient!) Also, for those who are not sure of wine pairings, they offer a "Wine Flight" of half glasses served with each course. You wind up getting a total of two and a half glasses of various wines over the three hours, just enough to help you enjoy the evening without impairing the drive home.
After nearly five years in Seattle, I would have to rate TZ as one of the best, most memorable experiences I have had since moving here. The dinner, the show, the entire event was as close to perfect as one can ever expect, and I really cannot think of any shortcomings. Highly recommended for the perfect evening!
Monday, September 01, 2008
Gold vs. Bally: An Upgrade in My Life
In the last blog, I attempted to define the meaning of life, to explain why we are here and to offer advice on the divine connections we are meant to make in this world. In this blog, I offer advice on gym membership. Let there be no doubt about it: Mark's Musings covers it all.
I've belonged to a couple of different fitness centers in my life, 24 Hour Fitness as well as Bally Total Fitness. Both of these are pretty much alike: Price conscious offerings which compete against each other with an array of membership types, each a bit more confusing than that of the other, hoping to snare couch potatoes into lifting a pen, if not a barbell, and signing that contract. When I started to work at Microsoft, I noticed a Gold's Gym right around the corner, and I tried to be honest with myself: I need to work out, even though it is not the highest desire in my life. My current Bally membership, now dirt-cheap since I made it through the first year, was not going to work for me since it meant a twenty minute ride each way. That excuse, as well as the cost of gas, would be an indisputable, unconquerable reason to bypass the daily workout. If I truly were to get back into any sort of a workout habit, it would require I join this gym which I pass twice each day on my way to and from work. So, with both dedication and remorse, I entered the gym and inquired about membership.
Unlike Bally and 24 Hour Fitness, which truly do seem to be clones of each other based on lowest cost and an industrial feel, Gold's Gym was entirely different from the moment I entered:
Yes, it is true that you get what you pay for, and Gold's is about twice the price of a comparable membership at Bally. (Maybe even a tad more, but let's keep the math simple and say double the price.) Still, this feels right for me. It's funny, at some earlier point in my life, I probably would have preferred cheap and plain as "more real" to mahogany, but at least for now this feels better: An attempt to do better and to be more as opposed to accepting the lowest common denominator. Maybe this choice is more a statement on myself, or what I have been through this last year, than anything else. I'll ponder that question as I trample away the hours on an elliptical.
I've belonged to a couple of different fitness centers in my life, 24 Hour Fitness as well as Bally Total Fitness. Both of these are pretty much alike: Price conscious offerings which compete against each other with an array of membership types, each a bit more confusing than that of the other, hoping to snare couch potatoes into lifting a pen, if not a barbell, and signing that contract. When I started to work at Microsoft, I noticed a Gold's Gym right around the corner, and I tried to be honest with myself: I need to work out, even though it is not the highest desire in my life. My current Bally membership, now dirt-cheap since I made it through the first year, was not going to work for me since it meant a twenty minute ride each way. That excuse, as well as the cost of gas, would be an indisputable, unconquerable reason to bypass the daily workout. If I truly were to get back into any sort of a workout habit, it would require I join this gym which I pass twice each day on my way to and from work. So, with both dedication and remorse, I entered the gym and inquired about membership.
Unlike Bally and 24 Hour Fitness, which truly do seem to be clones of each other based on lowest cost and an industrial feel, Gold's Gym was entirely different from the moment I entered:
- The lobby was truly a lobby, with a fireplace, lounge chairs, flat panel TV and even a guest computer
- Guest towels were freely handed out at the front desk
- Wood---something which resembled mahogany---was the key construction material, abundant throughout the lobby, the workout areas, even the locker rooms. (Yes, the lockers are made of deep, dark routed mahogany, not plywood or metal!)
- Each cardio machine has a personal TV monitor mounted on it, with 40 user selectable channels
- Classes are free, rather than an extra three dollars for each yoga adventure.
- Now the ultimate in decadence: Something called a "SuitMate," a breadmachine-sized device in the locker room into which you place your wet swimsuit which is then squeezed in order to wring out the water! Voila, no more soggy gym bags.
Yes, it is true that you get what you pay for, and Gold's is about twice the price of a comparable membership at Bally. (Maybe even a tad more, but let's keep the math simple and say double the price.) Still, this feels right for me. It's funny, at some earlier point in my life, I probably would have preferred cheap and plain as "more real" to mahogany, but at least for now this feels better: An attempt to do better and to be more as opposed to accepting the lowest common denominator. Maybe this choice is more a statement on myself, or what I have been through this last year, than anything else. I'll ponder that question as I trample away the hours on an elliptical.
Back online...
It's been awhile since I last wrote anything here, and if I am not careful then I will soon discover another five year gap in my blog, so I'll put a few words down today.
The job at Microsoft is exciting, with many parallels to Apple back in the original PowerBook days. I'll write about those similarities at some point in the future, but I'm just not in the mood for that topic at the moment. (It is, after all Labor Day, so writing about work would be a heresy!) Suffice it for now to say that I am enjoying work for a change, a far cry from the small biz agony.
A friend emailed me last night, and in replying to her I stumbled across something that did feel interesting to discuss, so I think I will plagiarize myself and borrow some of those thoughts to put down here. The question was one of everlasting love and finding it in this world. It's an often asked question, one that I could discuss for hours. Most people in this world (or at least our society, our portion of the world) truly don't even seem to think about the question much less try to answer it, but it is one I find myself pondering a great deal. Actually, when I get into the question, it expands to more than just a question of love, in that it embodies love as well as our very reason for existence. I am convinced that we all have an answer for being, and that answer is different for each of us: What is right for me is not right for you or for anybody else. I do know that in my life, in my heart, there are certain axioms that cannot be ignored: Honesty, sincerity, trust, respect are an intrinsic part of me and my life, whether we are talking about love or friendship or simply life in general. From there, it moves on to experiencing all I can. At this point in my life, physical things mean less and less to me, while experiences mean more and more. I want to experience as much as I can, to be open to almost any possibility. I think my limits are far broader than most people are willing to consider, and I believe that only by pushing ourselves and our own biases and limitations can we learn more and grow into more. As somebody very wise once told me, "Change never comes about as the result of comfort," so being open to new possibilities is fundamental to my belief system.
Yes, there are limits, some things I have arbitrarily decided I have no desire to try: Hard drugs, for example, are one thing I have never tried and have no desire to try, so I do draw my own limit there. Yes, I've occasionally tried the soft drug scene---I've even inhaled!!---and that was interesting, something I'm glad I tried though I have no desire to make it an ongoing part of my life. Similarly, I know at least one gay friend who reads this blog, and I would never for a moment presume to tell him that what is right for me is also right for him, nor would he do that to me. I'm definitely heterosexual, and I have no desire to try homosexuality, so I draw that line consciously, acknowledging that while that limit is appropriate for me, it may not apply for other people. (Sexually, I'm somewhere between a "vanilla" and a "swinger," but that is a different blog for a different time.) Suffice it to say that I am open to trying almost anything, with a few self-defined boundaries I impose upon myself. My limits are too broad for some, too narrow for others, but exactly right for me. That's where it should be, so long as I remember to respect the limits others draw for themselves.
Ultimately, in some strange way I don't understand, I feel that if we explore what we need to explore, question what we need to question and accept what we need to accept, it does lead to that ultimate answer, that ultimate love. Unfortunately, unlike the storybook endings we always read, I don't believe that we will definitely find the ultimate answer in this life. Try as we might, we may not find it, in large part because I think we need to find others in this world to help us discover our true course. I don't believe that there is "one" person, one soulmate, who allows us to achieve this end, but instead I feel there is some small "horde" of people we are meant to connect with during our lifetime. I don't believe it is a list of people connected by blood, but instead it is a group of people who provide mental and emotional wholeness. If we don't find those people we need to connect with, or if we do find them but fail to do for each other what we need to, then the answer eludes us, at least in this incarnation. In that case, maybe we pass on to the next life, a step closer to the answer.
I do not believe that blood determines who we are; to me, birth is a matter of genetics, of genome, but not of purpose or goal. It is far more important to me to seek and to find those meant to be a part of our lives. We don't unfortunately, simply fall into right crowd at birth. Life is a journey, more torturous for some of us than for others. If we are lucky, we find the people we are meant to find in our journey, and if we are extremely lucky we then give each other that which we are meant to give each other.
I mentioned somebody named "Roscoe" in a previous blog, and this is probably the time to explain him. This was back in the early eighties, I was a young airman who had just gone on leave, venturing from the Defense Language Institute in Monterey back to my college town of Riverside, CA to visit my old college classmates, many of whom were still in school there. The flight landed in Ontario, which meant a bus ride to River City. I was proud of what I was doing in the military, so even though I was on leave I elected to wear my Air Force uniform. I felt ecstatic: I was young, clean, ambitious, not cocky but bright enough, and I was excited by all that lie in front of me, both in terms of that day as well as the years ahead. I got on the bus for the ride back to my old campus, and a few minutes later I noticed another rider coming my way. He was a very large man, probably in his thirties, which to a young person in his twenties seemed ancient. He was not terribly neat, a laborer of some sort, with the definite "high school droput" aura about him. I squirmed, afraid--certain--that he was going to sit next to me. Alas, yes, he did park next to me, and I suddenly dreaded what I felt the next hour or so would hold.
For the first few minutes, nothing was said, and I felt glad that the first quarter of the trip was complete. Unfortunately, this silence was to be broken when he turned to me and attempted to start a conversation, starting off with an observation about my uniform and wanting to know about my service. I attempted to be as friendly as possibly, explaining that I was on my way back to visit UC Riverside. He listened, politely, not overly intense yet definitely paying attention to my words. After I had run through my discourse of who I was and what I had planned in front of me, the conversation took the natural turn towards his story. Though not terribly interested in what I felt he would have to say, I feigned politeness and asked.
Roscoe started by confirming what I suspected, that yes, he had dropped out of high school and that he was a mechanic. He went on to tell me some details which I quickly forgot, as I was not really interested in his story. I listened to the drivel as best I could, glancing at the watch from time to time to reassure myself that time really was moving forward. Then, something changed. This large, ugly, dirty man started talking about his daughter, a toddler, and how he was on his way to see her after putting in a twelve hour workday. He explained the history with his former girlfriend, how they had been in love, how they had fallen out, and how they nonetheless kept in touch so that the child would know them both. He wasn't sappy, he wasn't boastful, but it was obvious to me that this little girl was the most important thing in the world to him. He did not feel he had much of a future beyond her, and yet he was perfectly happy as long as he knew he would be able to see her. After the better part of an hour, our trip was drawing near its end, when he told me something simple, yet something I remember to this day: Remember who you are, remember why you are here, and remember the important things in life. We then said good-bye as he disembarked.
In that hour, my mind had done a complete 180 degree turn. Rather than feeling discomfort, even disdain, for the man, by the end of the trip I felt perfectly at ease with him. He was my complete opposite, down to the color of our skin, yet by befriending me during that trip, and by concluding it with selfless advice, he won a spot in my heart which exists nearly thirty years later. His words had not been overly wise: They were honest, sincere, and heartfelt, in no way earth shattering, yet his brief attempt to reach out to another human being---to offer what he could in the way of advice to a young man---it tugs at my heart to this day. In some way, shape or form, Roscoe was meant to be a part of my life for that hour. Even though he had nothing obvious to offer me, his sincerity, his attempt to befriend a stranger and to offer what he could in the way of advice, that all remains a part of me to this day. He taught me more about overcoming bias and prejudice in that hour than I can possibly put in words. In a small way, I became a better person by meeting him during that short bus ride.
I've met others over the years I know I was meant to connect with. In some cases, we were able to provide to each other what we were meant to provide: Growth, warmth, knowledge. Even though we may have gone our separate ways for one reason or another, even though a relationship may have come to an end or a friendship may have drawn cold when we moved apart, the memories still remain a part of each other's life, and we are better for having known each other.
Unfortunately, some of those meetings predestined for my life didn't turn out the way they should have. Friendship and growth suddenly and unexpectedly fell prey to bitterness, to some dysfunctional resonance which I cannot begin to explain or articulate. We failed. I won't sugarcoat the truth: These failed meetings are painful, if for no other reason than one simple word: Why? What happened, what went wrong, why did this person---somebody I trusted and respected, why did he/she turn so unexpectedly? Why?
I, like very other person on this planet, have seen some relationships flourish when I never would have thought it possible, while others which seemed destined for meaningfulness floundered for some absurd, inarticulate reason. Roscoes of the world have befriended me, and much to my surprise I have learned and grown from them, even when I least expected it. In other cases, young, intelligent people who had so much to offer in terms of help and growth have gone dark on me for reasons I literally cannot comprehend much less articulate. With that in mind, grasp what you can: Take advantage of those who are meant to be a part of your life---friends, lovers, associates, or even fellow bus passengers. Remember who you are, remember why you are here, remember the important things in life, and if possible, help somebody else understand those things as well. As best I can tell, that's why we really are here.
The job at Microsoft is exciting, with many parallels to Apple back in the original PowerBook days. I'll write about those similarities at some point in the future, but I'm just not in the mood for that topic at the moment. (It is, after all Labor Day, so writing about work would be a heresy!) Suffice it for now to say that I am enjoying work for a change, a far cry from the small biz agony.
A friend emailed me last night, and in replying to her I stumbled across something that did feel interesting to discuss, so I think I will plagiarize myself and borrow some of those thoughts to put down here. The question was one of everlasting love and finding it in this world. It's an often asked question, one that I could discuss for hours. Most people in this world (or at least our society, our portion of the world) truly don't even seem to think about the question much less try to answer it, but it is one I find myself pondering a great deal. Actually, when I get into the question, it expands to more than just a question of love, in that it embodies love as well as our very reason for existence. I am convinced that we all have an answer for being, and that answer is different for each of us: What is right for me is not right for you or for anybody else. I do know that in my life, in my heart, there are certain axioms that cannot be ignored: Honesty, sincerity, trust, respect are an intrinsic part of me and my life, whether we are talking about love or friendship or simply life in general. From there, it moves on to experiencing all I can. At this point in my life, physical things mean less and less to me, while experiences mean more and more. I want to experience as much as I can, to be open to almost any possibility. I think my limits are far broader than most people are willing to consider, and I believe that only by pushing ourselves and our own biases and limitations can we learn more and grow into more. As somebody very wise once told me, "Change never comes about as the result of comfort," so being open to new possibilities is fundamental to my belief system.
Yes, there are limits, some things I have arbitrarily decided I have no desire to try: Hard drugs, for example, are one thing I have never tried and have no desire to try, so I do draw my own limit there. Yes, I've occasionally tried the soft drug scene---I've even inhaled!!---and that was interesting, something I'm glad I tried though I have no desire to make it an ongoing part of my life. Similarly, I know at least one gay friend who reads this blog, and I would never for a moment presume to tell him that what is right for me is also right for him, nor would he do that to me. I'm definitely heterosexual, and I have no desire to try homosexuality, so I draw that line consciously, acknowledging that while that limit is appropriate for me, it may not apply for other people. (Sexually, I'm somewhere between a "vanilla" and a "swinger," but that is a different blog for a different time.) Suffice it to say that I am open to trying almost anything, with a few self-defined boundaries I impose upon myself. My limits are too broad for some, too narrow for others, but exactly right for me. That's where it should be, so long as I remember to respect the limits others draw for themselves.
Ultimately, in some strange way I don't understand, I feel that if we explore what we need to explore, question what we need to question and accept what we need to accept, it does lead to that ultimate answer, that ultimate love. Unfortunately, unlike the storybook endings we always read, I don't believe that we will definitely find the ultimate answer in this life. Try as we might, we may not find it, in large part because I think we need to find others in this world to help us discover our true course. I don't believe that there is "one" person, one soulmate, who allows us to achieve this end, but instead I feel there is some small "horde" of people we are meant to connect with during our lifetime. I don't believe it is a list of people connected by blood, but instead it is a group of people who provide mental and emotional wholeness. If we don't find those people we need to connect with, or if we do find them but fail to do for each other what we need to, then the answer eludes us, at least in this incarnation. In that case, maybe we pass on to the next life, a step closer to the answer.
I do not believe that blood determines who we are; to me, birth is a matter of genetics, of genome, but not of purpose or goal. It is far more important to me to seek and to find those meant to be a part of our lives. We don't unfortunately, simply fall into right crowd at birth. Life is a journey, more torturous for some of us than for others. If we are lucky, we find the people we are meant to find in our journey, and if we are extremely lucky we then give each other that which we are meant to give each other.
I mentioned somebody named "Roscoe" in a previous blog, and this is probably the time to explain him. This was back in the early eighties, I was a young airman who had just gone on leave, venturing from the Defense Language Institute in Monterey back to my college town of Riverside, CA to visit my old college classmates, many of whom were still in school there. The flight landed in Ontario, which meant a bus ride to River City. I was proud of what I was doing in the military, so even though I was on leave I elected to wear my Air Force uniform. I felt ecstatic: I was young, clean, ambitious, not cocky but bright enough, and I was excited by all that lie in front of me, both in terms of that day as well as the years ahead. I got on the bus for the ride back to my old campus, and a few minutes later I noticed another rider coming my way. He was a very large man, probably in his thirties, which to a young person in his twenties seemed ancient. He was not terribly neat, a laborer of some sort, with the definite "high school droput" aura about him. I squirmed, afraid--certain--that he was going to sit next to me. Alas, yes, he did park next to me, and I suddenly dreaded what I felt the next hour or so would hold.
For the first few minutes, nothing was said, and I felt glad that the first quarter of the trip was complete. Unfortunately, this silence was to be broken when he turned to me and attempted to start a conversation, starting off with an observation about my uniform and wanting to know about my service. I attempted to be as friendly as possibly, explaining that I was on my way back to visit UC Riverside. He listened, politely, not overly intense yet definitely paying attention to my words. After I had run through my discourse of who I was and what I had planned in front of me, the conversation took the natural turn towards his story. Though not terribly interested in what I felt he would have to say, I feigned politeness and asked.
Roscoe started by confirming what I suspected, that yes, he had dropped out of high school and that he was a mechanic. He went on to tell me some details which I quickly forgot, as I was not really interested in his story. I listened to the drivel as best I could, glancing at the watch from time to time to reassure myself that time really was moving forward. Then, something changed. This large, ugly, dirty man started talking about his daughter, a toddler, and how he was on his way to see her after putting in a twelve hour workday. He explained the history with his former girlfriend, how they had been in love, how they had fallen out, and how they nonetheless kept in touch so that the child would know them both. He wasn't sappy, he wasn't boastful, but it was obvious to me that this little girl was the most important thing in the world to him. He did not feel he had much of a future beyond her, and yet he was perfectly happy as long as he knew he would be able to see her. After the better part of an hour, our trip was drawing near its end, when he told me something simple, yet something I remember to this day: Remember who you are, remember why you are here, and remember the important things in life. We then said good-bye as he disembarked.
In that hour, my mind had done a complete 180 degree turn. Rather than feeling discomfort, even disdain, for the man, by the end of the trip I felt perfectly at ease with him. He was my complete opposite, down to the color of our skin, yet by befriending me during that trip, and by concluding it with selfless advice, he won a spot in my heart which exists nearly thirty years later. His words had not been overly wise: They were honest, sincere, and heartfelt, in no way earth shattering, yet his brief attempt to reach out to another human being---to offer what he could in the way of advice to a young man---it tugs at my heart to this day. In some way, shape or form, Roscoe was meant to be a part of my life for that hour. Even though he had nothing obvious to offer me, his sincerity, his attempt to befriend a stranger and to offer what he could in the way of advice, that all remains a part of me to this day. He taught me more about overcoming bias and prejudice in that hour than I can possibly put in words. In a small way, I became a better person by meeting him during that short bus ride.
I've met others over the years I know I was meant to connect with. In some cases, we were able to provide to each other what we were meant to provide: Growth, warmth, knowledge. Even though we may have gone our separate ways for one reason or another, even though a relationship may have come to an end or a friendship may have drawn cold when we moved apart, the memories still remain a part of each other's life, and we are better for having known each other.
Unfortunately, some of those meetings predestined for my life didn't turn out the way they should have. Friendship and growth suddenly and unexpectedly fell prey to bitterness, to some dysfunctional resonance which I cannot begin to explain or articulate. We failed. I won't sugarcoat the truth: These failed meetings are painful, if for no other reason than one simple word: Why? What happened, what went wrong, why did this person---somebody I trusted and respected, why did he/she turn so unexpectedly? Why?
I, like very other person on this planet, have seen some relationships flourish when I never would have thought it possible, while others which seemed destined for meaningfulness floundered for some absurd, inarticulate reason. Roscoes of the world have befriended me, and much to my surprise I have learned and grown from them, even when I least expected it. In other cases, young, intelligent people who had so much to offer in terms of help and growth have gone dark on me for reasons I literally cannot comprehend much less articulate. With that in mind, grasp what you can: Take advantage of those who are meant to be a part of your life---friends, lovers, associates, or even fellow bus passengers. Remember who you are, remember why you are here, remember the important things in life, and if possible, help somebody else understand those things as well. As best I can tell, that's why we really are here.
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