Today I went down to the laundry room to wash some clothes. All of the washers had clothes in them, so I picked two random ones to empty. I think to myself “I’ll go ahead and put their clothes in the dryer so their clothes don’t get all damp and cold.” So I start putting this person’s clothes in the dryer. Lo and behold, some chick comes in and says “are those my clothes?”

And I think, “how the hell should I know if they’re your clothes?”

And then she says THIS: “Trick, I’m not that late. You could’ve waited or come back later.” (No lie. Those were her exact words)

What do you even say to that? How do you even respond to something so idiotic? 

I said “I’m just doing my laundry. There weren’t any empty washers.”

THEN the chick says, “I’m not mad or anything, but you shouldn’t put girls clothes in the dryer. You might ruin them.”

And I want to  say “BITCH DON’T TEST ME.” 

But instead I say again “I’m just doing my laundry.”

COME ON, PEOPLE. COME ON.

The thing about Nashville is that it leaves so little to the imagination. It’s already been imagined, all the spaces are already filled in for you. You couldn’t find an empty space if you drove around all day. Even the parks feel cramped, like the whole city is pressing against their borders, enclosing them. Even my apartment feels that way sometimes.

But in Trenton, almost everything is left up to the imagination. It’s the polar opposite of big cities; you have to fill in all the spaces for yourself. And in that way, it becomes a part of you and you become a part of it. I think that’s why I like Trenton so much more than Nashville. There’s nothing bad about Nashville. I just like to fill in the empty spaces for myself. Shrug.

Christmas makes me remember so many things. It makes my ribs freeze over and burst, and then the steam rises out of my hot, pumping heart. Nineteen years worth of memories come pouring out as the world’s spinning slows imperceptibly as a frost falls over Tennessee. The memories feel like an intangible, colorful collection; I’m especially proud of the painful ones. They are the lingering frostbite as I sit by the fire to think. I love Christmas so much. I love telling everyone to have a merry Christmas, even the people that gave me my frostbite. Even the people that won’t join me by the fire anymore. I believe in Christmas, because I believe in people, after all. I really do believe. Peace on earth. Good will towards men. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.

I’m so proud of children that I don’t even know. For being children.

I think maybe that’s why me and old Salinger might get along. Or not.

Kids are the best, man. They really are.

Between any given points, there is an eternity.

Math taught us this, but the world confirms it.

You are a point, and I am a point.

Inevitably, there is an infinity between us.

It’s a Solipsical sea that traps our words and touches and longings in distortion.

Sometimes, we breach that eternity, and two points convene.

But when the points pull apart, infinity resumes.

The moments when we convene, however, are outside of time.

They are precious.

All of us have a hard time bridging the infinities that surround us.

But is of utmost importance that we try.

Because it is the infinities that conquer us that, in turn, make us infinite.

        Once upon a time, I was a bear in the magical land of Rosenwald. Hero of the everyman, I marauded in my bear suit, pushing cheerleaders and doing karate to the delight of dozens. I performed my heart out each and every night, though I hated football and the suit smelled strongly of sweat and urine. Those were simpler times.
         Then came the fame, the romance, the excess… I had become a monster, a celebrity drunk on his own notoriety. I was in it for the perks, the shapely seventh graders (I was in sixth, myself), and the free Gatorade. When the city paper came to take their annual pictures of the team and cheerleaders, I was asked for a picture by myself: a close-up. Pulling off my bear-head and sweating profusely, I shined a brace-laden smile, and as the cameras flashed, I had a crystallizing moment.

          This was no way to live, I thought; I had become something I hated. I had to put aside my title as the greatest mascot in the long history of Rosenwald and lead a more modest, ascetic lifestyle. So I finished out the season, and then left it all behind. The lusty affairs with upperclassmen, the long hours of downing sports drinks, all behind me. 

           Sometimes I look back on the early days fondly. Sometimes a passerby will recognize me as the bear from the olden days. Sometimes I almost miss it. But each time I see a mascot at a sporting event, frolicking for the crowd, I know that I made the right decision, for I am not a bear. I am a man.

We’re all ugly and that’s okay.

All these pretty girls having all their semi-existential moments, but somehow avoiding being totally humbled and ashamed of themselves. You can’t really philosophize unless you’ve gone through a period of feeling really low and ashamed. That’s critical.

It’s strange and scary to think about how we all get little pieces of each other’s heartbreaks, and because of that, heartbreak never ends.

Yesterday I went to Nashville to see Josh Ritter with my goodtime buddy, Alex.

We had to wait around for a while for the doors to open, and we ended up meeting this guy named Will while we stood around.

The incredible thing is, while meeting Will, I kicked a habit, at least for a while.

Not once did I let myself begin to imagine the things about Will that might disappoint me.

That’s a social victory for me; I’m usually pretty skeptical of the people that I meet.

The odds are just usually against them, as far as being a good person of
substance. 

I know you’re supposed to be all open-minded and receptive to the very best parts of people, but I’m not kidding myself: that’s hard. And if you think you’ve perfected the art, hats off to you. They should canonize you.

But without even making a conscious effort, I simply met Will, and liked him, and that was it.

And it seemed pretty monumental to me. I get sick of being a skeptic. I get sick of being prematurely disappointed in virtual-strangers.

I met someone without having to lose (or gain) any faith in humanity in the process. I just MET the guy.

So that was the real highlight of my day.