The Partner, our friend Missy, and I crammed into Missy’s car the Friday before Vic’s birthday and drove out to Penn State. Missy and I took turns driving and I was really hoping it would go a lot better than last time, but no, Ohio still sucks to drive through. As we didn’t arrive at their place until early Saturday morning, we all pretty much went to bed as soon as we got there.

Saturday morning proper we ate breakfast, drove around a bit, then headed out to the bars.

Here’s the thing about State College/Penn State: a lot of the bars won’t let you drink the day of your 21st birthday.

I’m sure you’re probably thinking, “What the fuck ever.” But I am not kidding. I thought Vic was kidding when she told me. I thought the bartender at the first bar we went in was kidding when he said they wouldn’t serve her shots, only beer. But then he took Vic’s driver’s license and wrote all her info down, then he got out a fat permanent marker and put big X’s on her hands so she would be forever marked as a Celebratory 21-year-old. I questioned his sincerity again and he told me again he could only serve us shots, and not her, because it was her 21st birthday. Then I told him his bar could fuck off, we’d go elsewhere, because we did not just drive nine fucking hours from Indiana to celebrate her 21st birthday without any fucking birthday shots. In Indiana, I said, we give FREE birthday shots.

But nearly every bar, bar and grill, and restaurant with a bar refused to serve Vic liquor. Some would only serve her if it’s been 26 hours since her birthday. Some places would serve her beer but not liquor. One bouncer wouldn’t even let us in, telling us, “We can’t do a 21 tonight. We can’t let you in.” And in the whole fucking city I couldn’t find one bar that would serve me two shots at one time.

State College bar owners, you suck.

Once we resigned ourselves to having to walk around searching for the bars that would serve us, the night went pretty well.

View the entire set here, or at Flickr:

Today, however, was an extremely foggy day. The two-to-three inches of snow we got Sunday night did not like the Monday warm up. Our drive home this early evening was INSANE, with near-zero visibility mixed with semis and idiot SUV drivers attempting to go 75MPH. I’ve driven through whiteouts and heavy fog before, but never anything that lasted more than 30 minutes. It was I-can’t-fucking-see-a-damn-thing-foggy the ENTIRE drive home. My nerves were completely shot by the time I turned the car onto our road.

The upshot is that most of the snow from last week melted, and even though our backyard is now a lake, I’ll take it.

The Chef, flipping me the bird (although, I can’t remember if I am the one who took this shot or not):

The Partner, so not amused:

We were all pretty damn drunk by this point in the evening, about 3am:

Me, looking like I’m about to cry:

But I’m actually discussing existentials with J and ready to cut someone:

The beautiful J, who caused the above expression:

View the entire set.

The Canadian-Down-Under: Uh, it’s about 2 in the afternoon, 2008.

The Partner: Wow, it’s like time travel.

Me: We’re talkin’ to the future!

The interesting aspect of it all was our seeming difference; the truth was our similarity.

While some can acknowledge certain realities, others can acknowledge others’.

We edit ourselves to fit “appropriate” paradigms.

I didn’t know the word ‘paradigm‘ until I looked it up. I didn’t truly know the word ‘paradigm’ until I saw it utilized, several times, in several different contexts, at which point I looked it up again, to learn the meaning, the ways in which it was used.

That is how it goes, is it not?

We know ourselves. Until we don’t.

We know ourselves to be true. Until we aren’t.

What we show to Others, is the key.

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At our gathering tonight, someone suggested that bloggers (one in particular, but it extends to all of us) hold an Honesty Tuesday (or whatever-day), in which we re-told a story honestly: perhaps it was something we posted a week ago, or two days ago, which wasn’t quite “honest”: it embellished, it skewed, it strained, it jumped the fence; it lied. We lied. We made the story, for you, our audience, more interesting. And so, on Honesty Tuesday (or whatever-day, say, Monday), we tell you the truth.

On Wednesday, 13 June 2007, I said I cleaned the office. The Partner, being as he is, objected. Said I was lying. Said I didn’t clean.

I repeat, that which I said before:

… last week I slacked and didn’t do much of any cleaning.

I did not say “I cleaned” that week. I said I “didn’t do much” cleaning that week. Which means, technically, I did not clean.

That is my Honesty Statement**.

I did not clean. The week I said I didn’t do much of any cleaning, I truly didn’t.

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Who is to check us? Us “bloggers”?

_____

I have been interested in “blogging” since at least 1998. I started my own “blog” in 2000, at least.

So, how much have I lied over the years?

How much have I “embellished”?

I know of few bloggers — in “real life”. Those I know, I cannot out, for it is their story. It is not for me to correct.

How do we, as “bloggers”, self-regulate, self-censor, ourselves?

How do we tell the “truth”? (Of which, thank you Dr. Kantor, there is no One Truth).

Shall we rely upon those we personally know? Those in our offline lives?

What is this offline life?

Are we not preaching some sort of True offline life when we type these words and “publish” them to you, our reader(s)?

Goffman (1959), in his ever-wise believing, likened us all as social actors, our lives to the stage, to drama; hence, ‘dramaturgy‘.

We play our part. We act our part. We follow our part. We append our part. We write our part. As dictated.

As “bloggers”, who are we? I post pictures of myself. Of my friends. Of my surroundings.

Who am I? Why do you read me? (As text and still images, of all things.)

Who are You and who am I?

Is this, this text in which we interact, some sort of true exchange?

Are we building one another?

Do we build ourselves?

What effect does this have? –This effect of being able to edit ourselves? –As we are to present ourselves, in this blog atmosphere? –This ‘blogosphere’?

I am a ‘blogger’. I write shit/stuff/words/prose/poems/journals/articles. I read shit et al. I leave comments. I give myself screen names, nicknames, blog names; I sign-on. I write as I am in many/specific stages/contexts/stances/presents.

I am an actor. This is one of my stages. You, whoever You may be, are my audience. I adjust myself for You, to You. You Read Me.

I hit the ‘backspace’ button and what I wrote is gone. I type anew. What does this affect?

What does this mean for us? –Whoever ‘us’ may be.

_____

I Read You.

You Read Me.

Perhaps we acknowledge each other. Perhaps we identify each other. Perhaps we agree with one another.

But played out in “real life” (Real Life), we don’t.

What does this mean?

How do we combat this?

I watch an episode of “The Sopranos” with friends, and what?

I go home to My Reality, and what?

Each one of us: we live our lives, pretending things are great, pointing out that which is not so great but kinda-okay, or that which truly sucks, and what?

It is 2007 and I attempt to read everything that has come before me, and what?

I contemplate?

I write?

Write what?

This dribble?

I jump through more hoops, and wind up in academia?

And what?

I am searching for the answers; I have I found none, so I continue, almost in vain; but I Point Because I Am Singling You Out.

_____
*Chef, you seem to know what’s going on. Congrats on the move-in.
**Please point out others.

The things is: it makes folks uncomfortable. I haven’t found a lot of folks who genuinely like talking politics, even though it impacts their daily lives.

Tonight, I was able to pick at a neighbor’s brain. Dave, he was born in Saudi Arabia. He went to “English Schools”. So, when I meet folks who have been educated outside of the US (where I was educated), I’m always interested in how and what they were instructed. But they, like Dave, are always hesitant. –Such as having fears that I will judge them as privileged, or elite. But it is a sincere interest on my part: I was educated here, in the US, in Indiana, in public schools, and I know how it went for me. I have friends. I talk to them. They’ve gone to public schools, some of them. I know how it was for them; and so I’m interested in what the differences are and what really works. To get folks knowledgeable, to get them interested in the daily realities of their lives. Not sports bullshit. Not celebrity bullshit. But, for example, to know that Mitt Romney or, especially, Tom Tancredo are fucking asshole fascists. These are the things we should know.

So, I start asking questions.

Like what they’ve learned about “American History”. And beliefs. Such as, do they “believe in a creator“? (Although we profess to have separation of Church and State, we really don’t so much.)

How do we handle these things?

Am I so extreme as my opponents? –That I even think of them as opponents? (E.g., Shouldn’t someone without a uterus who wants to control uteruses be seen as an opponent by someone who has/had a uterus? I ask you.)

Should we not just collect social surveys, and social data, but utilize this data? Analyze this data? Critically? And make suggestions for improvement? That helps not only ourselves, but others, equally?

Am I so disillusioned?

You know what else?

I’m not doing any homework tonight because tonight is going to be full of great food and disgustingly intoxicated friends.