Campfyre Stories

Recently, I’ve found myself having long, in-depth conversations with people who are significantly younger than me.  We catch up, we gossip, we philosophise, we joke around; it’s just like any conversation I might have with a friend who is closer in age to me, but the reaction that I keep getting from the thirty-somethings is "What could you possibly have in common with teenagers?"

The answer is simple - everything.  I know these kids and have known them for years.  I know their parents and their teachers, they know my parents and my kid and my friends.  We have a shared background, and the things that we’ve done…  well, maybe we didn’t do them together, maybe I did them 20 years earlier than they did, but it doesn’t make the experience any less paralleled.

See, when I was growing up, one of the most important lessons that I learned was that age doesn’t matter when it comes to compatible friendship.  I can be just as comfortable talking with someone who is 80 as someone who is 8.  As long as they are intelligent enough to keep up their side of the conversation and to keep it interesting, there’s nothing else that really should matter.

I suppose it’s really more like my extended family.  I was downright thrilled to see one of my oldest friends (25 years and counting) who I haven’t seen in 3 years, but I was just as excited to catch up with the girl who I adore and don’t get to see very often, to reconnect with the boy who has been gone to boarding school for the entire school year and thinks that Spawn should come and join him there, to be invited to the 21st birthday of a young man whose company I greatly enjoy…  These are my brothers and sisters, my cousins and aunts and uncles more than simply people I know in passing.  These are the people who I sit down with and it feels like no time has passed, even if it’s been years since our last conversation.

What we have all learned is that the value of personality isn’t dependent on being the same age, that peer groups encompass shared backgrounds and similar experiences.  Now that I’m in my 30’s, I can be that "adult" on par with the adults that I, as a teenager, related to, who helped to shape my outlook and perspective.  Though I may not be actively helping to mold these kids, I am giving them a chance to be a part of a broader scope than most of their friends and age-mates.

I think that it’s rather sad how so many adults can’t grasp the concept of having a teenager be a peer, or that, somehow, those teenage peers are so unusual as to be out of scope for many.  We have this definition of friendship that broadens as we get older.  "Adult", and therefore, friend-worthy starts at 18 or 21 or 25, regardless of how old you are, but before someone hits that threshold, they’re considered to not be compatible.  I have no such restrictions, and though I don’t seek these young people out for nights on the town, it never stops me from having meaningful conversations at parties or events or even just running into them on the street.

Fundamentally, it’s not about age, it’s about life experience.  Some of these kids have more life experience than many of the adults I’ve known, who live a tedious, mediocre life.  Not only are they going to be exceptional adults in a few years, they are already exceptional people.

I am honored to count them among the people I care for NOW, rather than feeling some weird societal pressure that they won’t be worthy of being considered peers until they have a few more years under their belts.  Their ages don’t matter to me, and for those who have determined that it should, my sympathy.  Really, you’re the ones missing out.

I love gossip.  I love to listen and I love to tell, but only when it’s about real people.  Celebrity gossip isn’t interesting to me because, as far as I’m concerned, those people aren’t real.

I think it ties in with the storyteller in me.  I love to read, to listen and to tell stories, but I have very clear guidelines about what stories are and aren’t appropriate for me to share.  I know I’ve said it on my blog, probably more often than out loud to someone, "That isn’t my story to tell."  More often, it’s a matter of that story being one that shouldn’t be public, but can be told by me in certain circumstances.

I think that gossip has a really bad name.  It’s too closely tied in with rumors and malice, but I don’t use it that way.  I like to know what’s going on, specifically with people I know or who are not too far removed from me.  That said, I am also extremely protective of the people I care about, so if I have harmful information, I won’t share it, or will share it without revealing the players.  Generally more the former than the latter.

But I do love a good story and so do most of the people I know, so we share, even when we’re not personally invested in the person we’re listening about.

I both love and loathe the stories that start with "don’t tell anyone…" because it generally means that a good story is starting.  Eventually the "don’t tell anyone" will go away in most cases, and once we get to that point I have a full story and the freedom to tell it.  Sometimes that can last for years.  I think there’s an unspoken rule that "Don’t tell anyone" pretty much applies to "anyone who knows these people", but even more often it only applies for as long as there is a friendship.

Don’t get me wrong, I know the difference between a good story, gossip and a secret and when tasked with the keeping of a secret, I am a worthy safe.  I have never disclosed a real secret from a friend, even when the friendship had dissolved.  Well, at least, not with names and specifics.  Sometimes there’s a book-to-movie or "based on real events" kind of adaptation going on, but that happens with even our own personal experiences.

A week ago I found myself gossiping with the 14 y/o daughter of a friend of mine.  Another friend asked "How can you gossip with a 14 y/o?"  My answer at the time was that we know a lot of the same people, but thinking about it further, while that’s still true, it’s more of a situation where we like to hear real stories about real people.  It doesn’t matter if I know the same people she knows…  I remember being in high school, and I can relate her stories to my own experience.  That which is out of my realm of experience is good information to put forward when trying to understand the world that Spawn lives in.  The names and faces may change, but the stories occur over and over again.  For her, it’s a glimpse into what she can expect.  Again, the specifics may change, but the generalizations remain true.

This is why people watch soap operas. 

Think about it, what is a soap opera other than slices of gossip?  When people find other fans of a show, they discuss what they think will or should happen and they become invested in these gossip-riddled lives.  Certainly OUR lives aren’t quite as rapidly-paced or as drama-filled, not on a daily basis, but it feeds our desire to know about the things going on around us.  With the exception of people all-too-often coming back from the dead, chances are we’ve (tangentally) experienced most of what goes on in a soap opera.

I can’t help but wonder if the people who watch soap operas are the people who are disconnected from the stories of the people around them, or if they simply don’t see the parallels.  The medical crisis, the extra-marital affair, the dysfunctional family, the troubled child, the love triangle, the court cases…  how many of us haven’t lived through most of these, if only vicariously through others?  Sure, when you’re personally involved or invested, it’s not nearly as entertaining (for the most part), but when it’s your cousin’s best friend’s sister?  Entertainment without the investment and, often, without the overacted melodrama.

Isn’t that why we read personal blogs?  I mean, really, what do you get from my writing other than gossip…  from me, about me more often than not?  The filter here is to give the best, most interesting, most unusual, most important (to me) stories, is it not?  And to take it further, why else would I read the blogs of other people?  Of course I’m looking to be entertained…  not by fiction, but by the honestly stranger-than-fiction gossip that people are not only willing, but eager to share with perfect strangers.

It expands our social networks.  It gives us frames of reference for people we may some day meet.  It tells us that we’re not alone in the problems we face or the drama we try to navigate through.  We become invested, not in the lives of other people as much as in the validation that the things we’re going through aren’t anywhere near as bizarre or unheard of as we thought they were.  We take comfort and solace in the misery of others because it helps us to realize that we’re not alone.

And we gossip.  Because it’s really nothing more than sharing information that’s not going to make the news (or, in some cases, sharing information BEFORE it makes the news).  But it’s news to me, because at it’s core, this is the stuff that really matters.  The real stories of what’s happening to real people.

I have this overwhelming feeling of being late, most of the time, all of a sudden.

Yesterday morning, I woke up at 4am, took one look at the clock and convinced myself that the clock was wrong and I was late for the bus.  I cross-referenced my phone and freaked out because, in my head, the clock on my phone was wrong, too.  And so was the clock on the coffee maker, and the clock on the VCR was more wrong than usual.

I was up and most of the way ready for work when I realized that, no, all the clocks were not, actually, wrong…  it was really 4am and I could go back to sleep for another hour-plus.  Which I did.

This morning, the same thing, woke up at 4, but I knew that all the clocks in the house weren’t mysteriously wrong, so I went back to sleep.  However, once I got to the bus stop (on time), I again convinced myself that I was late.  Rather, the bus was late…  It wasn’t really late, but in my head it was.  Not only late, but not even coming, or maybe I WAS late and I had missed it.  The other bus that stops at my bus stop came first, so, of course, my bus isn’t coming, I’m going to be late for work.

I wasn’t late for work, despite my conviction that the bus was running later and later and that there was no possible way that I could be on time.

All my meetings have me frantic that I’m going to be late.  I haven’t been, but I have been exactly on time for pretty much all of them…  and when I don’t have a meeting, I still have this nagging feeling that I should be hurrying and that I’m (not just going to be, but already) late for something.

This is very difficult for me, since I am a notoriously EARLY person.  I’m the one who shows up on conference calls 5 minutes early; who shows up to meet up with friends 10-15 minutes early and waits patiently; who couldn’t get a letter of reference stating that I was always on time, so instead got one written to convey that I am never late.  But this isn’t a situation where I’m fretting that "OMG, OMG, I’m going to be ON TIME", I am convinced that I am not only going to be, but am already late for things that don’t even necessarily exist.

I mean, it’s not like there’s only tedium, but I don’t have anything that can be fleshed out enough to make a story.  Here are some things (in no particular order):

My neighbor called and asked to borrow a cat.

A friend of mine made me feel twelve, so I "passed her crush a note in study hall".

My bed broke and it’s currently (temporarily) fixed with duct tape until I can get to the hardware store.

Every time I start to believe that winter may actually end, my mind is changed by cold, grey, wet weather.

Estonia had the coolest revolution ever.  Sign up, get the movie to play locally, then go see it!

I got a friend request on MySpace from a friend from high school.  Realizing how long it’s been made me feel kinda old.

Meh…  that’s about all I’ve got right now.  It’s not that things aren’t happening, it’s just that they don’t really make for very good stories.

I have it.

Or so they tell me.  I don’t actually know what it means to "have bam".

I didn’t want to go home on Friday.  This is one of those things that not everyone understands, but those who do REALLY understand it.  I just…  didn’t want to go home.  There was no specific reason.  It wasn’t that I was trying to avoid work that needed to be done or to find something to do.  I just didn’t want to go home.

Alone.

Again.

So I decided to go to the mall to chat with my hairdresser (who is also the mother one of Spawn’s best friends and a friend of mine in her own right).  I knew she generally took her dinner break around the time I’d be getting down there and figured, why not, I haven’t really talked to her in a while.

I spent three hours in the salon not going home.  Granted, I had a good time.  I enjoyed catching up with my hairdresser and her 14 y/o daughter (we gossiped muchly), but there was no good reason for me to be there except that I didn’t want to go home.

But while I was there I decided that I needed something.  What, exactly, was up in the air…  maybe some color?  So I asked about it and said, "I want something that’s noticeable, a little offbeat, but that won’t get me fired."  Which I thought was pretty good.  She worked her magic (being the only person on the planet who can successfully tame the snakes) and, though I couldn’t see it (my hair was damp and it was MY hair, so…) she and her daughter pronounced that "you’ve got bam".

The couple of people I’ve seen since I got the color have agreed that I have bam, but can’t particularly define it except to say the word a little louder, more forcefully and with a hand gesture.  I suppose there’s some validation in the agreement, but the definition still eludes me.

Whatever it is, my hair is nowhere near the same color it was and I, clearly, have "bam".

Even if I don’t know what it means.

I am trying to be less of a hypocrite.

Not that I have serious tendencies toward hypocrisy, but I think that everyone is a hypocrite sometimes about some things.  I am trying to do that less and to be aware of it when I do.

For example, people often say "Someone ought to…", but rarely do they follow that up with either "…and that someone is me!" or even direct action.  I am trying to not use that phrase and/or to be the follow up to the sentiment.

I’m also trying to identify the mirrors that I hate.  You know, the things that I hate in other people, but do or think myself sometimes?  I firmly believe that the things we hate most in other people are the things we really hate about ourselves, and those traits are intensified in others when we look at them.

Selfishness is one of those things, at least to some extent.  Let me start here by saying that I believe that selfishness is much more necessary to being a whole and healthy person than most people are willing to believe.  You simply cannot take care of other people if you are not taking care of yourself first and foremost.  I think that the word selfish has become much more negative than it really needs to be, but I digress.

There’s a difference between being selfish to take care of your emotional (etc.) need and being selfish to the detriment of others and in ways that do not serve you (or anyone else).

I am trying to be happy for a friend who got one thing that he had been hoping and asking for.  I am failing in that attempt.  Instead I am feeling selfish and petulant about the ways in which I will be negatively affected by this.  I am trying to be happy for a friend who is in the process of getting something she’s been wanting and needing for a very long time.  I am failing in that attempt.  Instead, I am feeling jealous of her happiness and success, as the situation is the very one I, too, have been wanting and needing for a very long time.  I am trying to be excited for a friend who is embarking on a wonderful new portion of her life.  I am failing in that attempt.  Instead, I am annoyed that she expects me to ignore my own problems and doesn’t have time to listen to what’s going on in my life.  I find myself avoiding her calls and making excuses because I am so wrapped up in the negativity I’m going through right now that I just don’t have the energy to be excited for her or, honestly, for anyone right now. 

I am trying to keep my perspective.  I am trying not to whine about these things.  If I can’t rid myself of the feelings, at least I can keep myself aware of what they are, why they are and that I don’t like them.

I am trying to be less of a hypocrite.

So I was fooling around on Wikipedia the other day.  I started at the Muppets and in my journey I wound up passing through (in no particular order) pseudoscience, drop bears, aurora borealis, Mithridatism, and quite a few other completely unrelated things.  What made this interesting to me was that all of this stemmed from my original read of the Muppets and that every strange topic that I found myself on had been a link from the previous page.

I had linked a friend to drop bears (because I am fascinated by cryptids) and while I continued on my own wiki journey, he wound up at Star Wars, so we had radically divergent paths.  I decided that this should be a game and he helped me to define the rules.

So let’s play a game.  This is how it goes:

Everyone starts at the same page and reads about it.  Whatever you’re most interested in linking to from there, you click.  When you have made 10 clicks, come back and comment to tell me where you wound up, how long it took and how many pit stops you made.

The Rules:
Each click only counts if you either again link or end on that page (so clicking a word to define it, then clicking back does not count).  Some clicks are considered "pit stops", where you open the link in a new tab or window because you want to read it later, but it’s not part of your overall trip.  You can have no more than 3 pit stops, but only the page you opened counts.  If you link from your pit stop, it counts as continuing your journey.  The back button should be used as sparingly as possible, but is allowed in cases where there are few internal links or when you hit a dead-end.  Using the back button carries no penalty and the dead-end page doesn’t count as a click.  Portals count as a click, but they cannot be a stopping point (either to end the game, or as a pit stop).

So, to ensure that we all start at the same point, I hit "random" until I got an article that was long enough and had enough diverse links to ensure a long and fruitful journey.  The starting point is Vulgar Latin.

And, of course, feel free to steal my game and post it on your own blog.  Choose your own starting point, though.  I imagine there are only so many places one can go from Vulgar Latin…

Some time back, Spawn was given a recliner + ottoman from his (almost) stepmother’s father.  It was leatherette and extremely comfortable and it was his chair.  He explained that it was his and he intended to take it with him when he left (for college or his own apartment or whatever).

And then it broke.  And he was devastated because this was his chair, so I promised that I would buy him a new recliner with some of the tax return money.  This past weekend, since I had the car, we went to the BIG store and picked out his new recliner (a much nicer and plushier one than the one he broke).

So we hunted down the sales associate and did all the pre-sales stuff, joking and laughing the entire time.  When we were standing in line, I mentioned that I was going to cry when Spawn finally did move out.  Not because he was moving, but because he would be taking the chair with him.  The SA was shocked and actually said that was something that he never expected to hear a mother say to her child (but he said it with a smile on his face). 

When we got to the cashier, we were still joking around and I was trying to include the cashier in our jocularity.  When he handed me the receipt to sign, I turned to Spawn and said "HA!  You see that?" pointing to the total amount, "And they say you can’t put a price on a mother’s love.  Well there it is, kiddo, right there."

Well I thought that the cashier was going to fall over when I said that.  If "I won’t miss YOU, but I’ll miss your chair" was bad, this was probably worse.  I suppose there’s some comfort in the fact that I said it to two different people probably mitigates the whole thing (Spawn, of course, knows me well enough to know that I was just playing).  When the cashier did recover, he chuckled, explained how long we have to reschedule the delivery and offered a warning of "So don’t get into trouble with your mom or she’ll delay your chair."

Heh.

So I was talking to Oz the other day and he mentioned how he was a contender for Father of the Year and why.  I told him why I was now out of the running and, when I saw Spawn later on, I conveyed this to him.  "You know why I’m out of the running for Mother of the Year, right?"  And he said…

"Because you already won it?"

Hot damn, but I do love my son.

…  this is my wish for the happy couple.

It was the most beautiful wedding ceremony I have ever had the honor of witnessing, not least because, I think, this was the most in love couple I have ever seen.

I’m not a big believer in marriage in general, but this wedding didn’t find my cynical and jaded.  In fact, these two were so in love that it almost makes me believe in soul mates, and I can believe that they will be able to find forever in their commitment.

The bride looked like a fairy tale princess, in a simple, but gorgeous dress and a subtle tiara.  She was absolutely glowing.  I didn’t meet the groom until the reception, but he was just as glowing and misty-eyed as the bride was.  This was a true commitment ceremony and I have no doubts as to their strong feelings for each other.

The bride is someone I have known for quite a few years and someone I think would be a great friend, if only we had had more of a chance to spend time together, but life doesn’t work that way.  I was a little surprised to be invited to the wedding because we’re not that close, but I was thrilled that she invited me and was honored to be there to celebrate this wonderful progression in her life.

I was also incredibly touched when she told me, a couple of times, how happy she was that I was able to come.  There is something very beautiful about being a small part of as momentous an occasion as this, especially when the pairing just seems so cosmically ordained.

So, to say it again, Kate and Andy, I wish you as much happiness as you can possibly bear and I know, despite my personal opinion of the concept of marriage, that this was the right thing for both of you.  I’m so glad to have been there and to have had the chance to say congratulations.  You two deserve every happiness that you will bring to each other.

In my mind things are different than they are on the other side of my eyes.  It’s not that I don’t believe what I see, I do, but at the same time, there’s a part of me that desperately wishes things were different.

In my mind, sometimes people break into spontaneous song and dance numbers.  In reality, I can see the unconscious choreography of large groups of people.  There is also always a song in my head that I can hear as clearly as if I were listing to the radio and a slight dance to my step.  I rein it in, though, because things like that make people uncomfortable.

In my mind, there are scripts that work.  I always know exactly what to say and I am prepared for any possible response they could offer me.  In reality, they always say the one thing that I wasn’t prepared for.

In my mind, Stephen Hawking is a superhero, and his superpower is Time Manipulation.  In reality, Stephen Hawking probably is a superhero, but since I don’t know him, I may never know what his actual power is.  Also, in my mind, Stephen Hawking is the mental equivalent of Chuck Norris’ being a badass and his viral reputation.  In reality, I don’t think enough people really know enough about Stephen Hawking for him to become a massive cult figure.

In my mind, I am a physically attractive person.  In reality, I have a great personality.  I think that in many people’s minds the two rarely co-exist in reality.  *sigh*

In my mind, I am *FABULOUS*.  In reality…  well, ok, let’s me honest here.  In reality I am pretty damn fabulous, too.  No, that’s not quite right.  In reality, I’m rather weird, extremely unconventional, tactless and fringey.  To some that translates as fabulous, to most it just winds up in the "Huh?" category.

In my mind, I am a ninja.  In reality, I am a klutz.

In my mind, this post was a whole lot cooler.  I guess that’s the problem with some *really good ideas*.