Owlblink: [owl´-blink] - n., vi. 1. the act, achieved by closing ones eyes with force; used to denote frustration, pity, I-give-upness, what-the-fuckness, incomprehension; 2. to express frustration, etc. by closing ones eyes with force; 3. a blog about Gordon's life
I have decided to leave Blogger. I don't like the format or the style, and I like Tumblr better.
Earlier this year I created a Formspring because I needed impetus for my writing, and people could ask me stupid or interesting prompts, and it was fun.
But Formspring basically sucks, so I'm consolidating. Head over to my new blog if you want. Or don't.
I'll be leaving this page up for posterity and I'll link to it in my new shit, but don't expect any more posts.
It's a strange thing to black out. For one, you have a bunch of people coming up to you and telling you about all the things you did, and you can't remember any of them. It's like you've missed out on part of the relationship, and now you're not on the same page as everyone else.
I can think of two similar situations:
1. Someone travels backwards in time, but only in their head. So for instance, Gordon the six year old goes up to his parents and says, "Hi guys. I've just graduated from high school and you're going to need to send me to college or something now. Sorry for robbing you of ten+ years watching your son grow up, by the way. Also, can I have an iPhone?" Or, freshman Gordon walks up to the people who are now my dedicated friends, only back then they didn't know me, and says "Hey guys, so how about that ski trip last winter? Was that crazy or what?" You have no frame of reference.
2. You write a letter to someone, but never give it to them. My girlfriend does this sometimes - she says she does it when she needs to vent, but then sometimes she'll get frustrated and say, "Didn't I already tell you all this?" only to realize that I wasn't privy to that conversation.
...Enter tangent. It's occurred to me that you never really know anyone. I don't know my parents or friends or anybody, and neither do you. It's like there's a Facebook in your head, and you have profile pages for everyone you've ever met. If you interact with them regularly, you update it more and the profile page becomes nearly identical to their actual personality. If you lose touch, the profile falls into disrepair, and you're surprised when you see them fifteen years later and their face doesn't match their profile picture. If you have a heart-to-heart, their bio expands and expands until it nearly resembles their actual personality, but the fact remains - you don't know anyone. Just like the words we hear are approximations of ideas that we then reverse engineer into similar ideas, the interactions we have with people we know allow us to approximate them more accurately in our heads. So when you have a sex dream about somebody, it's a little awkward to be around them the next day - but only from your end. And if you write a letter to someone but never deliver it, that's a conversation you had with the profile in your head but never with the actual person.
That's what blacking out is like, but even more so because it actually happened. So a bunch of people now have a relationship with me that I don't have with them. Say there's someone I only know by acquaintance, but we have a heart-to-heart on the night in question. The next day, I'm one of their closest friends but they're still only an acquaintance. Or take a good friend, someone that I care about, but when I'm deep in the throes of inebriation I say something that maybe shouldn't ever be said out loud, and now they're still my pal but I'm only the guy that used to be their friend.
Another reason why blacking out is weird is that I can't remember when it began. There's a movie that came out a few years ago, a mediocre rom-com with Ashton Kutcher and Cameron Diaz called What Happens In Vegas. Anyway there's a sequence when they're all getting progressively intoxicated, and everything starts spinning, and the scenes start cutting faster and faster and blending together and everything's kind of loud and a little blurry and it just spins and spins into nothingness. That's actually a very accurate scene - watch it, and you will understand how I remember Sunday night. It's the most frustrating thing; I can't remember when I started being unable to remember. I can't even remember a proper chronology of back when I could remember.
All I remember is sometimes my clothes were on and sometimes they were off and I was running through a house and sometimes I was playing piano and there were a lot of other people and then I was waking up in a hospital and it hurt to pee.
Technically, I'll only walk across the stage and receive an empty diploma case. Our real diplomas aren't available until August, and the ceremony is ultimately meaningless anyway.
But tomorrow, I will graduate from high school.
It's an interesting feeling. I've been told for years that I would have a surge of emotions; that nostalgia, regret, and happiness would flood my entire being as I prepared to enter the real world alongside my 273 closest friends. That's just utter bullshit. True, I feel a twinge of regret and I'm a little happy to be done, but high school was neither a dreadful experience to flee nor a glorious experience to savor. It was pretty ok - I did some things well, I did some things I shouldn't have, I didn't do some things I should have, and I had some good times. But all in all, this is process is tiresome and underwhelming. If I could not go to the graduation ceremony, I would - but I imagine that there are a number of friends, acquaintances and supporters who would be disappointed if I played hooky.
What's exciting and scary to me is my future, and that involves my high school very little.
I got rejected from all the schools I really wanted to attend, and I'm now getting excited for a school that was fairly low on my list. This is cause for thought.
I was guaranteed a spot at UC Davis as a result of being in the top 4% of my high school. This notification came very early in my senior year, so I knew all along that I would be going to college. Maybe this made me too complacent in my applications; maybe I didn't go out and try for the Ivy League as strongly as I should have; maybe I was happy to settle with what I'd accomplished already and subconsciously sabotaged my efforts to further.
But this kind of speculation makes me hate myself a little. I met an exchange student from Tanzania last year who talked about the difficulty of getting an education in the developing world. Education after elementary school is unavailable to all but the elite. I have been educated by my government for twelve years. I have been offered a spot at an American University - how can I equate that with failure? Why do I take my rejections from schools with acceptance rates of six or seven percent as precipitously damning, when I landed such a fantastic deal in a respected research institution? I understand that context defines value, that UC Davis was fairly low on the scale of opportunities available to me, but I must not allow the incredible inflation of that scale to define my worth as an academic candidate and as a person.
I must reconcile my expectations with my ability, my evaluative framework with my context, my sense of success with my opportunity.
When I graduate tomorrow, as I reflect on how meaningless the ceremony is to me, as that snarky internal dialogue from the beginning of this entry prances through my head, I will remind myself of the incredible gift this ceremony represents.
I will not take my position for granted, but I will maximize it endlessly.
Something's happening to me right now. I'm hoping that typing these words will help make it stop. It's so hard to type this, but maybe shouting my crazies into the void will make it quieter in here.
I have this thing, I have since I was very young, where once in a while my head will get really loud. It's not like I hear voices, I mean there is a lot of shouting, but everything just gets really loud and intense and it feels like I'm on a wild high but also like I have a fever and the typing of these keys is SO LOUD and i can hear everything, everywhere, and my eyes hurt and i can't
make it stop.
WE'RE TRYING TO WORK HERE.
Quiet in the library, please.
Ah, peace. No ... wait, it's back. Maybe, maybe not - I'll let you know.
EDIT: We're ok. Just a long day, and some serious sleep deprivation, and maybe a little anxiety. Goodnight teddy.
Question: What is your religious path/idea/choice do you believe in (a) God? Or do you believe in a different entity or deity? explain, if you will.
I am an atheist because nothing in my experience, research, observation or original thought gives me any reason to believe otherwise.
I do not need to create a giant security camera in the sky in order to comport myself according to a determinate ethical calculus. In other words, my sense of morality comes from careful and reasoned analysis of humans, ideas, and the world - not from an arbitrary set of commandments whose only qualifications are a) posterity and b) a convenient symmetry with many of my moral intuitions.
I would not say that I am totally a-spiritual. I have had spiritual experiences in nature - on vision quests, for instance - and I've experienced moments of clarity and enlightenment which sprang into my head as if from a higher being. But I'm a great believer in the immense and uncharted power of the human mind, so while I find that nature is a great way to access a wealth of knowledge and get in touch with other ways of knowing, I find neither truth nor utility in ascribing these experiences to any omnipotent, omniscient, or omnipresent entity. Rather, I consider spirituality to be an internal process catalyzed by external events and environments.
I guess you could say that I am a rational hippy.
An important distinction is that I am an atheist, not an anti-theist. I disbelieve only because I have been presented with an insufficient case for religion, not out of any determination to reject a theistic model of the universe. In theory, I am open to conversion - although the burden of proof for any Western religion is insanely high. I have no problem with people believing whatever the hell they want, as long as their beliefs don't demand violations of the natural rights of others. However, I have a number of problems with organized religion. Here are some, in no particular order:
1. Exclusivity: it's often not enough to simply live a good life - in many Western forms, worship at their altars is a necessary condition for salvation. Everyone says "we're right, everyone else is wrong" and all we get is a muddled and vitriolic dialogue.
2. Subversion: religion has a terrible track record for social systems, ideas, and practices which are good for society (or at least, aren't objectively bad) but don't support the ideology. Science, freedom of speech, science, gender equality, legal accountability, science, the list goes on...
3. Propagation of unhealthy practices: this is like the converse of #2 - organized religion is responsible primarily for its own survival, so it has a natural incentive only to promote that which fuels itself. We think that the religious cult and the Cool-Aid are tragically serendipitous - I think that the cult of organized religion makes the Cool-Aid inevitable.
It's probably clear that I have a lot to say on this topic. On the other hand, I'm tired of writing this. Thanks for the question, and pay extra attention in those English, grammar, and composition classes.
This was reposted from Formspring. Surprise me with more questions like this.
I recently went to the State Championships for debate. I neither did as well as I had hoped, nor as well as my record this year had predicted. Oh well - I won't even care about it in a zillion years.
I did, however, discover something I have titled, "The Hotel Trifecta of Comfort." 1. Long, hot shower (and freedom from water-bill-guilt) 2. Exhaustive (albeit muffled) weeping 3. Vigorous masturbation
I informed a friend at the tournament, who dropped out a round later. He told me that my advice was invaluable-- "Gordon, that hotel trifecta thing really did the trick! Well, the trifecta minus the shower. And minus the masturbation. I really just had a small, damp cry. But it felt good."
If I had to be a dwarf, elf, man, or hobbit, I would definitely choose hobbit. Here's why.
1.Hobbits have awesome furry feet. As anyone who's seen me in shorts or flip-flops will attest, I'm doing my best to develop some Hobbit-class foot/leg hair. But having giant furry feet would be a magnificent improvement; I could walk over any surface without pain, I wouldn't have to worry about shoes and socks, and I could shave and trim my foot-beard into interesting patterns.
2.Hobbits have long life spans, 20-50 years longer than humans. While some might consider this to be a burden, it's only understandable - hobbits take a lot longer to do everything because of their lack of stress and general easygoing-ness.
3.Hobbits have a bliss-inducing, harmless herb they call pipe-weed. Remember how they're always smoking inThe Lord of the Rings?That's not tobacco or marijuana, and none of the older hobbits look like they have lung cancer, so it sounds pretty good to me.
4.Hobbits are super tough. I wouldn't have to worry about being unduly victimized because--
a.Nobody wants to hurt hobbits because they're super cute.
b.If anybody wanted to hurt me I could easily hide.
c.If push came to shove, hobbits are deceptively fierce so I could probably push and shove with aplomb.
One potential objection concerns hobbits’ diminutive stature. However, we only arrive at this by comparing hobbits to humans. While I enjoy being tall, this is not an objective standard; when deciding upon “a good height,” it’s just as arbitrary to select six feet tall as it is to select three. It's ridiculous that we've decided that one size is normal and another is tiny. In fact, when we consider the sizes of all of the species in the animal kingdom, three feet is actually a much more normal height than six.
Besides, this wouldn't even matter in the context of my lifestyle. The Shire is constructed completely to scale. All the houses, doors, windows, roads, bridges, carts, and even animals would be scaled to my size.
In addition to being totally cute and surprisingly tough, hobbits have one advantage that the other races rarely attain. Hobbits are almost categorically content (except for the Bagginses). Just happy. I can't imagine what that would be like, to just be content and live without pressure and stress. Other races can be happy, sure, but it's illusory and transient, gone as soon as they realize that there's something else to be desired. And what I wouldn't give to be friends with Gandalf...
I was at a debate this weekend. A small, beautiful private school in the middle of Oakland, pouring rain, nerds in formal wear, the whole deal. I had advanced to the sixth round - depending on the outcome of another round unrelated to mine, this might be it. The winner of this round might go to nationals. (It didn't end up working out that way, but I didn't know that at the time.) I was the negation. This means I speak neither first nor last, but my speeches are nearly twice as long as the my opponent's. This is known as the "neg time skew," and I took full advantage of it, reading multiple pieces of evidence against each of my opponent's points and presenting two independent cases for to negate the resolution. So I'm giving my second (and final) speech - my rebuttal - at a brisk rate, maybe 200 words a minute. I don't really know how to evaluate wpm, but 200 is what my gut tells me. My opponent told me after the round that he had felt like I was wiping the floor with him, but I already knew he felt this way. Because he was clicking his pen almost as fast as I was talking. Fucker. "FIRST I would say that this isn't inherent to PMFs because it only--" Click, click, click, click. "--addresses overseas deployment, so cross apply Calaguas and link out of--" Click, click, click, click, click, click. "--aff harms scenarios NOW extend the burdens analysis that tells you ONLY categorical--" Click, click, click click, click click, click click. "--affirmation is sufficient THIS GOES cold conceded in the aff rebuttal so EVEN IF you accept--" Click click click click click click click click click click click click "--ALL AFFIRMATIVE HARMS that isn't going to be sufficient to vote. SECOND, turn. Pattison writes--" CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK
I read the evidence and moved on, trying desperately to ignore the frenetic rhythm next to my ear.
"--NOW go to the NC. FIRST extend Rawls which tells you SPECIFICALLY that a utilitarian calculus--" click. click. click. click. click. click. "--denies the importance of human worth in the first place this goes dropped in the 1AR now go to the overview--" click click click click click click click click click "--which tells you SPECIFICALLY private security contractors fund LOCAL RESISTANCE THIS GOES--" CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK "--entirely unanswered in the last affirmative speech and it has MASSIVE IMPLICATIONS FOR THE ROUND--" clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK "--because it turns ALL -- ok. Look, can you stop? That's really distracting." CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKwhat? Oh, yeah, sorry.
blissful silence.
"--TURNS ALL AFFIRMATIVE SOLVENCY CLAIMS SO EVEN WITHOUT THE MASSIVE OFFENSE I'M GAINING OFF OF SULLIVAN AND THE THREE DROPPED TURNS YOU'RE TURNING THE ENTIRE AFFIRMATIVE CASE now go to there."
Nationals 2011, baby! Dallas, TX shall be taken by force.
There is no moment so profound, nor any thought so clear as that experienced while under the influence of the second wind.
Light breathing from the bed, the generator across the road, the hum of my computer, and the strange stillness outside my window - I wonder if, because the world is sleeping, the awareness generally diluted across throngs and multitudes instead coalesces into my delirium.
There is no yes so twilight, nor any clarity so bold as that and those and it brought forth by the night's clairvoyance.
Very little of this will make sense /sane tomorrow. I promise myself not to delete this when I see it through cogent lenses.
In Blogger, there's a link up in the in-browser menu bar called "next blog" that takes you to a random blogger page. I just started clicking it, and for five consecutive clicks, it took me to blogs about people's babies or kids. It probably would have gone on longer had I not closed the browser tab. Please let me not be a parent who documents my child to the internet. I mean, it's wonderful to include photos/anecdotes about your kids because you love them or whatever. But to have a blog devoted only to your three month old baby? Cummon now.
P.S. I hate the word "blog." I do not hate the word "cartography." Henceforth, I will refer to blogs as "cartographies." The science or practice of drawing maps, however, will retain its original title. So "blog" no longer means anything, and can just fade from the collective vernacular. The end.
Last week I received a phone call. Muting my iTunes, I glanced down to the cell phone buzzing angrily on my desk. The number was unavailable. "Hello?" I said. A deep, sombre voice greeted me. I immediately thought of New England; the long vowels and refined tone conjured images of cobblestone and hallowed halls. "Hi, my name is Dale and I'm with the Yale Office of Administrations. Is this a good time to talk to Mr. Allen?" That's weird, I thought, I applied to the Office of Admissions... what's the Office of Administrations? That should have been my first clue. I replied eagerly, "Yeah, that's me. Can I help you?" "I'm calling to inform you that you've moved up in the rankings. Are you available for a short phone interview right now?" My heart leapt into my throat. There is a strange heady rush when I come across a moment that will decide my future. My narrow scope of day-to-day concentration momentarily gives way to a broad lens through which I can see all of my days, decisions, and opportunities laid out next to each other on a giant timeline. Just for an instant, I felt that rush, and then it was gone and I was nervously stammering. "Uh, yeah. Yes. Interview?" Hang on--I moved up in the rankings? Yale Admissions doesn't have "rankings." I mean, they do, they just would never tell an applicant. And this was an unavailable number, so is this a prank call? Shit if I ask if it's a prank and then it's not, I'll never get in. Quick, say something intelligent, something that makes you look like you know what's going on and you're in control. "Is this other--different from my other interview? I mean, how is this going to be different from my interview with the alumni--alumnus?" Silence. Stupid. You just humiliated yourself. It's not a prank. JESUS FUCK what have I done? He replied: "Uh, yes. This will be similar to that other interview." Ok, maybe it is a prank. But what if it's not? Aaah fuckfuckfuck--ok. Pull yourself together; ask a few standard questions and see if you can back him into a corner. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again? "Dale." "Uh huh. And where can I get in touch with you if I have further questions or...comments?" Stupid. "Comments" isn't the word. Information! Why didn't you say "information?!" "Actually, at Yale we try to conduct all our admissions anonymously." There it is. This poor bastard picked the wrong person to prank. "Oh, ok." I said, "So you have some questions? Shoot." "Yeah, we're trying to get all of our applicants to take a survey. You don't have to if you don't want to." "No, I don't mind. Is it long?" "No, just-- what are your two favorite colors?" What are the two funniest colors? "Uh, I like... purple and brown." Stupid. Those are not funny at all. Now you just look like an idiot. "Sorry, I have your name, but if I can get an email that would be great." "Yeah, you can reach me at 'big hard AT four two one DOT e-d-u.' Four two one is our school code." "Oh yeah? Thanks, Big Hard Dale. Why do they call you that? Is it because you're big and hard?" "Yeah, that's me. Big, and... hard." From the other end, I could hear the line muting and un-muting, and muffled laughter. "Thanks! So, if I want to get a good cocaine hookup on the East Coast, would you be the person to talk to?" He paused. "Actually, all our students are discouraged from taking drugs and alcohol." "Oh, I see. But heroin is cool, right?" Another pause. "Yeah, heroin, or this new thing - I don't know if you've heard about it - meth?" I saw my opportunity and struck like lightening. "I'm sorry, what?" "Meth." "Sorry, still not getting it. Can you say it slower?" "METH." "Oh. Yeah, I think there's something wrong with the line, I can barely hear you. Can you repeat that?" "Meth. Short for methamphetamine." "Um, can you spell that?" A long silence. "Actually, I said sand." "Said what?" "SAND." "Ok Big Hard Dale, thanks for calling. I'll get back to you if I have any questions." "Uh, goodbye." Click.
Annie's has stopped making White Cheddar Instant Mac n' Cheese -- or so the Whole Foods employee told my dad when he inquired.
I say that my life is over not out of pubescent angst, but as an objective assessment of my chances.
At least a third of my meals consist of a double serving of Annie's Microwavable Delicacy, so the discontinuing of my usual sustenance will probably result in my death by starvation.
I have, of course, done absolutely no research on this travesty. I'm just huddling in my cave, waiting to die.
Another gem retrieved from an old draft. This has been the subject of many stories since last summer, but as far as I can tell I wrote this only a few days after the night in question (although I'm not sure exactly which night this occurred on) so it should be fairly accurate.
Me: Did we lose somebody?
Cole: Um, me, you, Gabe, and there's Cameron and Lukie up there.
Gabe: Wait, where's the sixth guy? Isn't he behind us?
Cole: That's what Gordon said last night! Ohhhhh...
Me: Good one. What fifth guy, Gabe? Lucas and Cameron are ahead of us. You, Cole and I are here. Two plus three makes five.
Gabe: Oh.
Cole: Gabe, who did you think was with us? What other guy did we take?
Gabe: ...Ed.
[Cole and I look at each other. Neither of us knows anyone named Ed.]
Cole: Who the hell is Ed?
Gabe: He's...[trails off into a blank stare]
Owlblink.
I think I spent the night on the floor of Cameron's van, and I vaguely remember listening to Chromeo's "Bonafied Lovin" at least six times before drifting off...I was pretty high though. Also: vans are cold to wake up in.
I found this in an old draft that I had never posted. This occurred last summer, some time when we were all wandering around a suburb in the wee hours.
Cole: Can I tell you guys the best joke ever?
Me: Go ahead.
Cameron: I want to hear!
Cole: Ok, so there are three guys in a helicopter. A Chinese guy, a Japanese guy, and an American guy.
Me: Why?
Cole: What? Uh ... It doesn't matter. So they're flying over China, and the Chinese guy takes an apple out of his pocket, says "I hate my country!" and chucks it out the door.
Me: That's just ridiculous.
Cole: Gordon, it's a joke. So then they're flying over Japan, and -
Gordon: Wait, I thought they were in a helicopter. They crossed China and the Sea of Japan in a helicopter?
Cole: Yeah, they had to fly over Japan on their way to South Korea.
Gordon: That's not even remotely on the way. What part of China did they fly over? And why are they flying together anyway?
Cameron: Gordon, don't worry about it.
Cole: Anyway, the Japanese guy takes an orange out of his pocket, says "I hate my country!" and chucks it out the window.
Gordon: Hold on. If they're traveling on an international flight, the customs officials would have confiscated any food items they had with them. Secondly, why is the pilot allowing the helicopter door to open and close this much? That's a serious safety hazard.
Cole: It's a military helicopter. They were in the army together.
Gordon: A Japanese guy, a Chinese guy, and an American guy were in the military together? Which military is this? That's ridiculous. And why are three guys from what is presumably a western military power flying over eastern Asia?
Cole: They're prisoners. They got out of the army but they're being taken to their trial. Why are you doing this?
Gordon: Look Cole, I just want the characters in my jokes to make plausible choices, ok? Why are you telling me an unrealistic joke? That's the real question.
I have extremely volatile days. Last week my friend found a hat of mine that I had long since given up as lost. The return of my beanie prompted an immediate rush of glee which turned into a heady satisfaction that lasted the rest of the day. A few nights later, I stayed up late and went through the next day in a dull haze. The headache behind my eyes made the world gray and drab; everyone in it, irritating. Neither event was particularly dramatic, but it seems that trivialities make or break my days. Saying that I exist in a delicate balance of emotion sounds effete and pretentious. Might my life at least be determined by fortuity? I pride myself on being rational and pragmatic, but it feels like my days are largely defined by their most insignificant elements. Today was not a good day, until I got home and made quesadillas with a friend as I burned her a CD. Why should that 30 minute event outweigh a six-hour school day of drudgery and boredom? It did, though... rational owl blink.
