Everyone wants to talk.

I get on the train yesterday. A man sits down next to me, he says, "hello." No one says "hello" on the train unless they want to talk. Inside I say, "fuck."

Within the first five minutes of our conversation I've learned
1. He's an accountant
2. He's in the middle of a terrible divorce
3. He has a four year old daughter

Within the first five minutes of our conversation I've made sure I've said

1. I've graduated college
2. I'm living with my BOYFRIEND
3. boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend

He wears a suit. He tells me more about the cause of his divorce coming mostly from the amount of hours he spends at work. He tells me accounting is a horrible profession- the money is good, the loss of your identity is not. He tells me he's climbing the corporate ladder. He shows me emails on his blackberry to prove that his superiors like him. He keeps referring to the idea of maintaining his composure at work while he's going through this rough time. Being emotional is a sign of weakness; it's something that can potentially be used against you in future situations.

Bingo.

It's here I realize he's not an awful, slobbering pervert. He just wants to talk. He doesn't get a chance to talk at work, but now he can. And boy do we talk. Before I know it I'm relating personal stories of my older brother breaking up with his girlfriend. Of my memories of my parents divorcing when I was about the age of his daughter. Of the happier life my brother now leads after the custody battle he went through for his son. Wow. I'm comforting him with things like, everything happens for a reason- you'll be able to focus on your career- you'll be able to take more time for yourself. I just met this man ten minutes ago.

He goes on to tell me more about the life he led with his soon to be ex-wife. He paid for her schooling, she made him fat, blah blah blah. I then realize we're not only talking to each other, we're talking to an entire train car of listening ears. But I don't care because the conversation was so real. There were no ulterior motives, nothing contrived and nothing forced- it was so organic. Weird.

We continue the rest of the ride with conversation about the nice people he interviews for jobs with his company. (He shows me a thank you email on his blackberry from a recent candidate) He makes a point (on more than one occasion) to specify he's not "into the girl or anything" whenever he brings up an encounter with a female. He's in with the girls in his HR department (but not "into" them) and gets to do most of interviews for new hires, which leads to hiring bonuses for him. He slips in the phrase "making $100,000 a year isn't all it's cracked up to be." Cool?

We get off the train and I half expect the "slobbering pervert" to reveal himself and follow me home. But he doesn't. He shakes my hand, says it was nice talking to me and heads the other way. Hmm. That was it, he just wanted to talk. I turn to walk home and inside I say, "fuck." It's raining.

Self-Medicating

I'm reading Live From New York, an uncensored history of Saturday Night Live, and it talks a lot (in the years between 1976 and 1980) about the presence of drugs. Different interviews vary the measure between moderate and over excess use among cast, crew and even the band. The one thing they all seem to agree on, however, is the idea of "self-medication."

Fame is a huge thing that is in your life, and we know now that taking drugs is self-medicating. What are we medicating? Something that is hurting us. Usually it's a depression of some kid of some sort of sadness or something stressful, right? That's what we're self-medicating.
-Chevy Chase

Most of this was in reference to John Belushi.

When John started making too much money, and started doing too many drugs, the sweet John was gone, and the ambitious John took over, and that's what was difficult to deal with. His ambition as just overwhelming, as was his need to self-medicate.
-Jane Curtain

Regardless, it seems like something everyone deals with almost everyday. Self-medication. Finding ways to deal.




(The last one is obviously compliments of perezhilton.com)

For the most part, I've started to notice that we're all pretty bad at self-medicating. It's why we're not all doctors. We misconstrue instant gratification with eternal satisfaction. Everyone's looking for their own personal "high." But, we weren't meant to fly at all times. It's why we're not all birds. Or insects. (insects that fly) There's something to be said for chasing a more "pure" liberation.




(oh, perez)
I think openness and simplicity can serve equally strong medicinal purposes. Self-medication seems to distract people from finding happiness in their true selves.

While, self-meditation can bring you to a certain level of consciousness; no interferences, no ups, no downs, just you. Scary, eh? Just you and yourself, one on one. Ah! But, I don't want to deal with me, how do people deal with themselves??



From John Belushi to Stuart Smalley, the world comes full circle.

Study: Bad marriage could damage heart

A study on CNN.com shows that martial woe can up your risk of heart disease. More importantly, the article's headline is absolutely adorable.

Another study shows that headlines are the most important part of any article. A study done by myself, just now.

Yum-o

Once in a lifetime (if we're that lucky), we're offered opportunities to climb that great staircase of hope straight to the top and live out our wildest dreams. Yesterday was that day, friends. Yesterday, I went to a tapping of the Rachael Ray show.



She was grand.

IT was grand.

She gave us cookies.

They were grand!

We sat in the FRONT ROW. Oh, it was all too much. I was climbing my staircase too fast, I was getting lightheaded!

That is, until we met her audience warmer-uper (aka babysitter/most likely to roofie your drink-er), a comedian named RC Smith.


Well, hello ladies.

We later came to learn that RC stood for Ronald Charles. Also, that he'd be performing in Brooklyn on Wednesday, upstate New York on Saturday and some casino in Atlantic City on some day in November.

Ronald Charles was a gentle man, with a taste for the more refined woman- it happened to be the woman from Queens sitting behind us who shouted every thought that came to her head, including "WE WANT SANDWICHES" during one segment change, and "MY HUSBAND'S NEVER HOME BECAUSE I'M ANNOYING," during another.

I'm falling. I'm falling down my staircase.

The two went back and forth "casually" while he was "entertaining the audience" during breaks. It was adorable. I was almost back at the bottom of the stairs until who came out?!



Omg, omg, OMG it's PAULA DEEN! The Food Network's most adorable old lady furby muppet!



But seriously, she was adorable. So adorable that a woman next to us cried when she came out. And then her daughters cried. Which pretty much guaranteed them a piece of the food from Paula's cooking segment. Oh, those women were clever.

Luckily, during a segment break, while RC was talking about viagra and the woman behind us was yelling about wanting brownies, we befriended a TV-worn camera man. We talked briefly about comedians and during the next segment break (there were a lot of breaks) he brought us cake from the back! Oh, that camera man was so nice. RC later went on to make fun of that camera man's kneepads, which made me upset. But I had a piece of cake, and I was back on top of my staircase.

All in all the day was grand. We met some characters, ate some cake, I made eye contact with Rachael Ray (numerous times), and I've thoroughly solidified the fact that I will never go to Queens.

Grand.