a history of me

We had another pre-dawn fire alarm, the third of the semester by my count. I presume these are not drills anymore, but what are they? Pranksters? Faulty alarms? Actual fires? Which of these is worse? Irregardless, I just want them to stop. It is too cold here in Albany for me to spend another half hour standing outside at 3:30AM.

I clicked onto the New York Times' website this afternoon and found a wealth of articles in this week's Magazine Section. It's all about Movies, which I love and hate almost simultaneously these days. I recommend reading most of the material, rather than any one article, but this got me thinking about something I have in common with the New York Times.

Part of this goes back to brunch this afternoon where I found myself sitting alone despite recognizing at least six different people in the dining hall. Some of them were sitting at tables with no more room, some of them I didn't feel comfortable approaching because I had a very casual association with them, and two in particular walked past me to sit somewhere else. I ended up eating alone at a table for six and feeling pretty crappy, partly due to the poor French Toast and lack of available orange juice, but mostly due to the overwhelming feeling of loneliness I was experiencing. What's interesting here is I had been feeling pretty good just minutes earlier when I walked into the dining hall and recognized so many people which made me feel the exact opposite of loneliness.

After I finished eating I spent at least ten minutes sitting in my seat in the hopes that someone else might walk in and join me, I gave up and returned to my room. It's odd how my roommate's presence actually makes me feel more alone because he is so fucking friendly and spends so much time with his friends or on the phone with his girlfriend to whom he can't stop professing his love in spoken word as well as song. His presence (and music) also forces me to "hide" in my own room behind my headphones, the only escape I have, the only door I can close between me and him (he and I?).

Where does the New York Times come in (or better yet, when do I make my point)? In reading some of today's articles about the oddities of American cinema or the dearth of Asian stars in Hollywood, I realized that the Times was touching on problems I had recognized and regretted yet offered no real solution. The Times can outline everything that's wrong in the world but can't answer even the smallest problem. That's how I feel. I always know what I'm doing wrong but I can't seem to fix it. All I do is think about stuff that I don't like and feel bad about it. The Times and I should adopt the slogan "All problems, no solutions." I could make that into a T-shirt even.

Where am I going with this? Do I have an answer? Of course not. I've realized that this blog is as much a record of shit I do as it is a means of working out the twisted wiring inside my head. It's not a true diary as it's written to be read publicly rather than sit under my pillow. It's closer to a message board or forum in that I'm trying to translate my life into a discourse. If I got more feedback I could even open an actual message board where everyone could post and talk about whatever they wanted. I'd like that.