A Thing that Matters

Last weekend I spoke to Katy on the phone (I heart skype), had an enthralling and disturbing conversation with Mike & Steve about straight men and their internal dialogue, and had Abby come to visit on Sunday. So overall, it was good.

I saw a Persian movie called “The Lizard” with Reza on Wednesday evening. It was actually a neat experience – the movie was a comedy/religious satire about a thief who escapes from prison and goes around town disguised as a Muslim preacher. The main premise, which they ram home repeatedly, is that there are as many paths to God as there are people. An interesting – and succinct – theory. I was wondering how Reza, who was choked on religion during his childhood, and is therefore a practicing atheist, would feel about all this, but he seemed to enjoy the humor and disregarded the morals. An apt way to respond to the world.

I got asked a bunch of times if I too was from Iran (the entire contingent from Princeton turned out for the screening), and for once decided to stick with the truth. It’s too bad really, because I’d love to speak Arabic and I felt a certain air of frigidity when my companions realized that I wasn’t of their tribe. So much for global culture.

On Thursday Karin and I had dinner together in Princeton. She came to learn more about the History of Science dept. here and to inquire into the Ph.D. program. We discussed how engaging we find interdisciplinary work, and why the intersection between the humanities and sciences is actually a very cool field unto itself. I told Ben that the quietest place in the world is the eye of a tornado (apparently this is horrifically wrong), so my scientific knowledge is at an all-time low, but Karin knows what’s what, and I find this comforting. As long as I surround myself by bright and accomplished people, I’ll be about 70% satisfied with myself. And really, who can afford to worry about the remaining percentage?

Vanessa drove me into the city yesterday so that I could hang out with Ben. We pottered around the Angelika and caught a screening of The Squid and the Whale. Let me just say that I love this movie. My favorite character was the little boy Frank who was easily the most screwed up. He kept masturbating, yelling “cock, motherfucker, fuck!, etc” and smearing his semen over various public spaces. Horrifying but hilarious. Or maybe I have a penchant for the perverse.

We then pottered around the city and finally settled on an obscure diner – the silver spurs? – and caught up for a little while. Ben and I seem to have settled into a comfortable dynamic of making one another acutely uncomfortable and pushing each other’s buttons. I don’t really feel up to articulating why this is the case.

Later I had a quick dinner with Ling and took the train home, feeling as I haven’t felt for a while now: tired of the city, tired of sensory overload and crowds, needing self-assurance, disgusted with myself. Ling says it all comes down to being OK with the fact that life can suck sometimes. I’ve never been very good at being alone – forget solitude – and as a result, I tend to make my relationships with other people these forums for self-discovery and self-actualization, when in fact it seems that such epiphanies are supposed to be private experiences. I feel like Clarissa when she learns about Septimus’ death and Woolf writes, “A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved.” I can't top Virginia Woolf, so I'll stop here. Sometimes the words just confuse things even more.