"End of the Day" Beck

I'm supposed to hear back about my stupid job tomorrow, wondering what kind of cockamamie plans about my new position and pay they've hatched. I've said no, and they've reconsidered their offer.

I will still say no.

The better part of my 8-hour workday was devoted to the careful selection of a Powerpoint template. I changed the colors around and then resourcefully parlayed copyrighted material into my very own, one-of-a-kind bullets. This is the kind of attention to detail that easily impresses the casual observer, and the average viewer of my presentation. It's the clean lines and cohesive identity of my visuals that will convince them of a material that is largely absent. In the battle between style and substance, style always wins. Substance without style is boring drivel that few are willing to interpret on their own. Style without substance is--at the very least--entertainment, and that's enough for most.

"Pink Bullets" The Shins

Two important conversations this past weekend have exposed the lopsidedness of my confidence. Tie my hands behind my back, hide my passport and stick me in a third world country and I'll be fine. Leave me in an interview wearing only tube socks and a wife-beater and I'll manage. It's putting my hand gently behind a girl's back, a subtle gesture of guidance and protection--I'm told; it's the awkward negotiation of personal space; it's the offering and the subsequent rubbing of cold hands; it's the steady pressure of my chest against her shoulder, as I hold the umbrella; it's saying, "No, you don't have to drive me home, my company will pay for a taxi." These are the things that make me sweat and stutter.

"Fix You" Coldplay

Earlier this week, I had dinner with somebody who--in a moment of clarity and reflection during yoga--realized something. At the age of 26, she had done much of the growing she was going to do. Her personality had gelled into its final shape. Beyond the incorporation of new slang, the appearance of some wrinkles, she saw in that wall-sized mirror, under those unforgiving gym lights, the woman she was going to be for the rest of her life.

"Baby Britain" Elliot Smith

Oh boy, what a mess, this stuff on my hands. I hope it wasn't premature when I said I had avoided all trauma that could've pushed me over the edge. Said that about a month and a half ago to a woman taking anti-depressants for four years.

According to the tests, I am in very good shape.

A friend drove by and said, "You're like digging at the sand and you think there's something 150 feet deep."

And I thought, "Why dig when I can just lay out?"

There was no traceable signs of parasites in my stool.

I never feel ready for shit, and yet here they come marching my way. I thought it was going to happen tonight, in the middle of a room, people sweating all over me, me breathing their nitrogen, and me in the corner, half-naked and chest heaving, the shape of my face narrowing and then I said to myself, "Who is this?" And I did not recognize the man in the mirror, the narrower face, the weirder right eye.

The last time this happened, I saw horns coming out of my brow, and my pupils elongated.

Before then, it was at my apartment and the shadows came and I found myself curled up into a ball in the corner of the room.

I don't have any STDs. I'm not diabetic, not hypoglycemic.

I said I'm not interested in distractions, but I fear what I may discover once I shake everything off. The instinct is to run, I've been told, to stop the system and evacuate. And if I could just be in that hut, on the bed, with a big bottle of water, some fruit and cigarettes and a thick book. The way I must cope with the factors in this world, those things I perceive threatening; I cannot do enough yoga, or drink enough water, or talk to my friends. I am continually having to improvise defenses and I don't know if I'm going to run out of ideas.

And I want to stop saying, "I'm OK, I'm OK, I'm OK."

I want to believe, truly believe that I am a man worthy of love, not as a reward for my goodwill, or for my successes as an employee, a traveler, a son, a friend. Love is not a consequence, it is a right.

And they said my heart is slow. My strong, strong heart that beats 60 bpm.

"Fix You" Coldplay

When you get what you want but not what you need.

"Olsen Olsen" Sigur Ros

I've known for quite some time now that everything I've always wanted to know I've known from birth. It's that thing that I feel in the stomach. It leads me down lit paths and some dark ones. It allows me to trust some strangers but not others. But as I got older, it was also this sense that experience and supposed wisdom began to challenge. The answer is to unlearn what we know, to strip away the fears and assumptions that eventually weighed down and muffled this guiding force.

Jared was a barista at Diedrich's. I've known him for two years but we've exchanged less than a hundred words to each other. My earphones and menacing I'm-working-right-now glare has precluded a more involved rapport. He got another job, I think at a Vans store somewhere south but tonight I saw him again behind the counter.

"What are you doing here? I thought you left."

"I did, but I'm back."

"Since when?"

"December."

I keep fighting for what I don't have. Keep wanting the unattainable. And it seems a bit silly now that in the presense of so many obstacles, I continue to choose self-deprivation.

"Where have you been? Haven't seen you around 'til recently."

"Yeah, I work downtown, in LA, so it's hard to get over here."

What I wanted to say, but what the established boundaries of our relationship could not allow was, "I'm sure it's nice to be where it's comfortable."

I will be turning down an opportunity to make more money, to increase my profile, to be in charge of something important. And in weighing out the pros and cons, it was the intangible gut feeling that tipped the scales. I am turning down a challenge and this is not in my nature. I am backing down and this hurts my pride. I am declining an offer and those around me won't understand. And in a way, I also don't understand it, but understanding is not always necessary for knowing.

"Love Vigilantes" New Order

Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes (this is when "Vigilantes" began to look wrong), Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes, Love Vigilantes (this is when "Love" began to look suspicious).

There are so many things running in my head.

Yes, it's time to own your past. This time, it's up to you. How a person like me, saved from a dumpster in Metro Manila (thanks to my mother's keen hearing and ready detection of children in distress) ends up where I am today. I'm smiling inside and I feel so 1989. And I say, "Coachella for the weekend with me! And, "I do not need this job. You see, I am a smart man, not a desperate one!" And "No thanks, Mr. Koo Koo Roo, I only want one side dish today, not two. You see, today's the day I choose how my life goes."

"Your Cloud" Tori Amos

What cannot kill you makes you stronger.
There's a lesson in here waiting to be learned.
God won't ever give you anything you can't handle.

I always had problems with these concepts because they seem like the rationalizations of the poor and oppressed; of people who keep finding themselves in the means of an end that may never come.

I'm thinking heaven was created because there really is no justice.

"Ceremony" Joy Division

Thoughts are those flashes between the synapses. It's the reaction between the chemicals, between the crap in my skull that defines me. That's a reductive conclusion; I've long suspected and now firmly believe that there is no difference between mind and body.

My camel pose was strained last night. I could not lift my hip as high as I normally do during rabbit and I could not manage the usually proud arc of my half-moon pose. Anxiety is stored in the mind, I once believed, but it slides down into the lower back, into the shoulders. Because I keep falling short of coping with the emotional counterpart, I dealt with the physical head on.

I was the last one out of the room, and if it weren't for the next class coming in, I could've stayed longer. The teacher took her shower then came back in. I said, "It's amazing how a tough week can really show up in your body."

"Don't worry about it Jose, you did great. Just don't be a stranger."

A professor once took me aside and talked to me. "It will never be easy, Jose, but it does get easier."

Wanting to solve all the problems is a noble goal, but one that may be too lofty to reach within one lifetime. I guess that's why we get several tries. In the meantime, I chip away at what I can.

And I'm fine now.

"I Will Follow You Into the Dark" Death Cab for Cutie

At 15 I thought by 17, for sure by 21. By 19 at 25, which I knew was the age when they'd let you rent a car without a youth fee. By 23, I had glimpsed it, and the murky photograph, worthless to most who held it, reminds me of the way my arm dangled off and dropped the book on the floorboards. It was the second story balcony, and I had no idea what I would face the following day. I read as slowly as possible and fell asleep.

The first thing he said--I believe it was six in the morning--was, "Did you get some?"

I smiled and said no.

We looked older, sure, the red and purple lights of the bar, more forgiving than the sun, which penetrated even the high altitude mist. Yes, you could tell her age if you looked at the skin around her eyes and yes, you could tell from the slack of my face that I probably had not been drinking enough water.

To want something I'm convinced it's a need. To need something it challenges my faith. To say nothing and walk away. When you walked inside that room and felt the heat of a disturbance that had since passed. The residue of movement, the fingerprint of something frenetic. Despite what the untouched bedsheets indicate, you felt--and knew--that something had just happened there.

If life is a sinusoidal wave, and amplitude is the degree to which we allow ourselves to feel. If the x-axis paid close attention to the years 15, 19, 23 please add 27.

"Warning Sign" Coldplay

It's funny how things creep up on you. Nowhere in my Excel worksheets did I plan for something like this, and that's why I know God favors irony in delivering his to-do lists. I've made a decision that has been long in coming and it brings a great deal of relief as much as it does a new array of fears. It's these times that count, when you're up against something that you can't wrap your brain around, with hidden dimensions you can't anticipate, with unmapped pitfalls. The sudden loss of breath, the caving in of your stomach. It's these times when you could so easily slip back into the known that you must push on. The onset of fear is a blessing because it tells you clearly which way to go: Don't turn around (it will follow you), don't sneak past it (it's much smarter than that), just walk through it (because that's what fear is most afraid of).

I keep telling myself that permanence is an illusion. Whether or not I did well on my SATs, well we were taught in high school to believe that it determined our lives. What school we went to, what major we chose, which job we chose, which relationships we nurtured and which ones we let go. Perhaps my friend is correct: Past and Future are illusory; Now is the only thing that's real. And I suppose what I need to do now is keep taking each step, one at a time, with relative disregard to where I may be heading, but confident that when each step is made in good faith I'll eventually land in a spot where I'll be fulfilled.

I've done this before, and all the things I keep inside, the secret weapon memories that make me believe that this, too, will turn out just fine.

"Thieves Like Us" New Order

I've accepted a business analyst position on a trial basis. I can't remember ever being this frightened in my life. When I get back from my trip, I will be thrown headlong into a situation I'm not qualified to handle. And because, clearly, I have not the substance for this job, I have to rely on mind tricks to get me through this. I'll let you inside my head:

Jose, please remember, that even as this situation appears daunting, you:

• Will try your darndest, and when you do this, you have a track record of avoiding embarrasment
• Are at your best as an underdog
• Were offered this position: If you fuck up, it's actually their fault for asking you to do it

I've had razorblade butterflies in my belly for days. I can feel the caldera of my stomach ulcer expanding. And still, these are the kinds of up-against-the-wall situations that enlivens dulled primal instincts and wakes my inner tiger. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!

Hahaha. OK, this is really stupid. Here's the deal. I don't know how to do this, so I'll learn it and do it. Done.

"The Upper Peninsula" Sufjan Stevens

This song reminds me of simple things. I wonder if my preference for small, clean things is really just an aversion to the complex and ambiguous. At what point does a reaction become an action. I have been thinking a lot about what image people project, and how, at a certain point, truth loses currency. It's the stuff left after interpretation that we end up believing. So, success is managing others' expectations. Work has been difficult, but this show must go on.

"Baby Now that I've Found You" Alison Krauss and "Angel Doves" Mindy Smith

Bluegrass sung this way is that warm feeling of having just eaten a stack of pancakes and sliding back in bed.

This vicious tilt in the Earth's axis, bringing these ungodly winters. I need more sunlight.

"Age of Consent" New Order

Last night before Memoirs of a Geisha, I saw the trailer for Marie Antoinette. Sophia Coppola, that weirdo, chose to use this song and a punk-Pretty-in-Pink-new-wave font to push what will inevitably be a stylish but meaningless movie.

It was utter perfection.

I know somebody who used to be a hostess at various Chinese bars. There, she learned how to engage men for hours, and to manipulate them out of their money. She confessed this to me over pizza. She put her two younger sisters through college, paid for one of them to go to Europe and sends her two kids to private school. She now makes shitloads of money in the business world and negotiated two raises within her first year on the clock. What respect I felt for her ability to play-the-game or do what-a-girl's-gotta-do or some other hyphenated cliche was outweighed by this question: How can I trust anything she says?

Geisha create a fantasy that envelops you; making you believe that you are the architect of this world is their most dangerous illusion. Efficient manipulation is marked by the willing participation of the victim.

Ever since I got back from traveling over a year ago, I have been different. I'm not sure how, exactly, but I feel I am watching things very carefully. It is not the awareness of a curious mind, nor the vigilance of a paranoid-schizoid; it's something else, like I'm preparing to meet something head-on.

"Agua" Jarabe De Palo

Here's my last rejection:
Thanks for sending your sample chapters. Unfortunately, I do not feel that I could be the best advocate for your work. Please keep in mind that mine is a subjective business, and an idea or story to which one agent does not respond may well be met with great enthusiasm by another, and I encourage you to continue writing to agents. Hopefully you will find someone who will get behind you and your work with the conviction necessary in the present market.

Best wishes.

Sincerely,
W.C.

I actually love getting these rejections. I mean, what else can I do, right? Can't possibly do what I'm not capable of. My deadline for sending out queries is at the end of this month, and I'll give myself a nice pat on the back for having given it all I got. I'm going to turn in my published chapters to some compilations and we'll see how those go.

I have nothing else to say.

Aimee Mann's last album.

Last night I went to Newport Beach. There's a pier there that has functioned as my touchstone.

When I was in Catalina sometime in college, a student from Evergreen University asked me what it was that drew me to the ocean. It was part of her documentary. I said the ocean's rhythm is ours. The crash of the waves, the complexity of the undertow, the seeming placidness of its surface -- these mixture of forces mirrors what happens inside us. I go to the ocean because it reminds me of me.

Her assignment--from an apparently liberal college--was to use public transportation to travel down the coast from Oregon.

I have important memories of this pier in Newport Beach. I imagined what I normally imagine at the ocean: How deep is it? How far does it go? What happens when it gets angry? What happens if it decided to stand up all of a sudden? In what would be an imperceptible flinch in its massive body, it could swallow me whole. In the dark, the ocean merely adopts the characteristics I project.

A Tibetan monk checked my charts and said I was a naga in a previous life. Another psychic that lived on top of a jewelry store in Jaipur said I need to stay away from natural bodies of water. Somebody tried to drown me when I was a small child. When I was 12 and experiencing my first real anxiety attack, I heard the competing voices of a devil and an angel in the white noise of my shower.

There are times when I understand things with real clarity. I undertand the patterns that surround me, and patterns are patterns, and learning to define them empowers you to see where they will go. Part of growing up is coping with these patterns, part of living a full life is embracing these patterns and understanding that a system that ebbs will flow.

"I was in bed last night and I thought, I'm almost 30." I said this as a friend and I were driving towards the pier.
"Don't say that," my friend said, "because I'm almost there too."

I'm going for this.

"We Be Burnin'" Sean Paul

This is how much money I've spent in the last two days:

• $11 for lunch at Koo Koo Roo's
• $47 for a dinner at a nice restaurant
• $31 for my dry cleaning
• $18 for the string job on my tennis racket
• $14 for lunch today at a Vietnamese restaurant
• $3 for Java Chip Frap at Starbucks

This is too much money to be spending and I will need to cut back.

I saw on ESPN.com today that Paradorn Srichipan, Thai tennis star with one of the finest one-handed backhands around, shaved his head and retired his racket to take up the life of a Buddhist monk.

There are people who are of this world. I mean they just fit right in. These are the Donald Trumps and the Princess Dianas among us. Then there are people who seem to continually fight this world. These are the Che Guevaras and Yoko Onos. And then there are the Drew Barrymores and Dalai Lamas who seem as if they're simply passing by.

Right now I am thinking about 5 years down the line.

"If Your Love is Real" David Gray

The best thing that happened this week was running to catch my train home and waving at the passengers because I missed it by 30 seconds. And then the train stopped and the doors opened and I went in and people grumbled. I never felt so special and wanted.

Last night, I hung out with a couple guys I used to work with. I've shot better games of pool. We talked about work, about ambition, about going back to school. Ambition is strange. I feel a little weird when people say "I want to..." because sometimes I get very excited for them, and sometimes I know they're not going to do anything to get it done. But I have to respond the same way.

I work with very rich men who handle the money of those who are even richer. I spend time in their offices fixing their computers, explaining to them what replication in Lotus Notes means and fixing the synchronization process between their local address books and an online CRM that we use. But what I really do when I'm in their office is absorb their photographs, the books they've chosen to display, the "You're the best dad in the whole world" school projects that soften their personalities. I respect these men because of how they treat me. They, moreso than the others I support, respect my time. I'm observing as much as I can.

Here are some common traits:
1. Respect towards others
2. Quietly, methodically, and patiently consider data
3. Exude things like "busy" and "on-the-go" but are never dismissive. When you're in a conversation with them, they are fully engaged.
4. Concise.
5. Easily admit when they're wrong or when they don't understand.

"Smoke" Ben Folds Five

This song is from 1997. I have memories of Newport Beach and of Christmas that year. I also remember being very nervous about film school. During orientation, we were made to feel special. The 45-or-so of us that got accepted, they said we were part of an elite group. They used words like legacy and history. I have few friends from film school now. None of us has any interest in it. And we think people who talk about movies need to find better things to do, like get a job.

I was ironing my shirt tonight and I flashforwarded to my living in my own apartment. I did not like the feeling.

A friend from work talks about his big plan to sail around the world when he retires at 55. "It's the only thing that keeps me going," he said over lunch. He got pad thai from the C-graded joint at Grand Central Market. He took one bite and threw it away.

I don't understand why people work. I understand how work starts out as a game in which one feels compelled to excel. And then I understand how work becomes a means to gain small luxuries like a car or Ecco shoes or a Yonex tennis racket. And then I understand how these small luxuries turn into a "standard of living" that one feels compelled to maintain. And then I understand how work is no longer a game, or a means to an end, but a tether. I don't understand why people sign up for this. Is it because there's nothing better to do?

I said, "Houses, wives, work, cars--these are all distractions." My friend, who is married, agreed.

I believe most of us keep ourselves busy with work or play or following soap operas and the football season or waiting for the upgrade or next year's promotion because if we sit still we'll discover that underneath all these accessories, we're really very dull. Most of us are creatures of context, not substance.

I wonder if we've already made our choices.