These dull days; simultaneous not

So in the recent days I've been obsessed with Matchbox Twenty, but in a slightly weird way. I found out that they are in fact not on hiatus anymore and had released a compilation album with six new songs in recent years. But instead of checking the new stuff, I immediately retreated to two of their older albums, #2 and #3 to be specific, and with special emphasis on "Bent" and "Unwell."

My appreciation for their music came at that brief, inimitable period of my youth when I discovered popular music but didn't really care about the words that were being sung. It wasn't until later in my tumultuous pubescence that I truly understood the gravity of some of the words that drifted out of my stereo, and by then I had become mired in the likes of Jewel, Goo Goo Dolls, and Vertical Horizon. I was standing still, listening to tired songs on a tired radio, because he was everything inside of me that I wished I could be. Details, details.

I digress. The words in "Bent" and "Unwell" resonated with me particularly well
in recent days, so much so that I used particular lyrics from each as instant messages statuses and as inspiration for tweets. Because, truthfully, I apply greater value to music as a form of poetry rather than as a form of musical expression. And I suppose I agonize and obsess about the words to try to find some way to possess them, to simultaneously declare emotional empathy to and independence from them. To take in all that was to be offered by the music and then be able to cascade its message throughout the course of my life.

Tonight, we walked down the street to sample the fare at Five Seasons Brewery. All along the way, I played the words to "Bent" in my head like a broken record, humming softly to myself between bouts of actual conversation. My mental analysis was in overdrive, ridiculously so. I was thinking myself in circles and reducing the words to meaninglessness. By the time we got seated at our table, I was almost grateful to have the house music blasted into my right ear by a particularly close speaker. It forced me out of my own little world and back into the discussion on beer choices that was going on around me.

Our server arrived, and I ignored him as I hurriedly scoured the menu for something to order. Let everyone else deal with the greetings and niceties, I thought. Luckily, I didn't have to think about the beers too much because they did flights at a reasonable price. All six of us ordered flights, and our server praised our choices but looked visibly flustered. Between all of us, there would be 42 glasses brought to the table, even if they were basically the size of a double shot glass. To make matters worse, we all ordered a different combination of beers, with some overlapping and some not.

By the time he stumbled back out with a heaving serving tray of beer, I still had not thought to take a look at the menu again. I watched the hapless fellow try to identify the varying shades of amber and gold and distribute them accordingly, only to realize he was one drink short. It was only his third shift since beginning work there, apparently. He bustled off to get one amidst a flurry of apology and obvious embarrassment.

He returned with the missing beer, and began to present to me my own six choices. Due to the size of the table, instead of lining up my glasses in a neat line in front of me from left to right, they curved inwards toward me, as to not interfere with someone else. Of course, everyone else thought this was hilarious. The inevitable torrent of comments ensued. And then out of nowhere, the server said:

"Your name is Nate too? Cool, I guess we're all a little bent, huh? Just like those glasses."


And off he went to put in our food orders. I would be lying if I said it was a moment of epiphany for me, but it was meaningful in its own right. I'm not sure if it was merely the combination of so many coincidences that left me breathless: the identical first names, our bumbling natures, the bent presentation of the glasses.

Or maybe it was something more. Maybe it was indicative of a pure and innocent connection that you can make with a complete stranger based on the silliest of things... the similarities in human nature and the human condition that plague and bless us all... the affirmation that each and every one of us must cope with the same things, and that we should find comfort in each other.

Outlines staring back at you

I got bored today and took the eHarmony personality test. This is a bit of what they had to say about my "Openness":

Like someone who can sleep comfortably on either side of the bed, you are equally at home with ideas and beliefs that you have held for a long time and with new ways of thinking and believing that grow out of your intellectual curiosity.

Your sense of who you are and what your place is in the world around you rests on values and principles that are the solid ground you walk upon. You've tested them, they work for you, and much of the time you are content to trust them, that is, until some provocative new idea slips in from a conversation, book or some flight of your active imagination. "Hmmmm. What's this. Never thought of it before." And off you go, exploring.

Since you love to learn, you've always been teachable; you absorb new information, which means you are well-educated in things that matter to you. Sometimes your intellectual exploring will lead you back to where you started; the "next new thing" proves too shallow or impractical to you. But once in a while a new idea or belief will dislodge you from the ground you've stood upon; it is so compelling and persuasive that you step away from the tried-and-true and embrace this notion that is brand new to you.

Because you hold both solid beliefs and are open to new ideas, you are accepting of other people and other ways of thinking and believing. You are flexible enough to listen to something new and different, or something outside of your comfort zone; if it works for you, you'll take it in, and if not, you'll let it go. In this sense, you know who you are: you are neither closed-minded nor wildly open-minded, but walk somewhere near the middle of the intellectual road.


Interesting. I think this is a sugarcoated way of telling me that I'm indecisive, wishy-washy, and possess a terrible attention span.

I don't think I'd disagree.