urban petty bourgeios

So, I’m staying inside tonight, which doesn’t feel as bad as staying in on other nights, if only because I’ve been so actively dating. I was supposed to do some work for a client, which, by the way, I told them I’d have by EOD of today but completely failed to deliver. Whatever. It’s nice out, it’s hard to justify working, and who the hell wants to grind out some consulting work on a Friday fucking night, however behind you may be? I’m psychologically and spiritually unable to bring myself to bite that particular bullet. Anyway, I’ve been nibbling on little pixie sprinklings of Vyvanse broken out of their capsules, which probably alters my mood and certainly makes me worse at chess. The thinking here was that it’d give me the motivation to tackle this mound of work, which was instead used to watch Whit Stillman’s 1990 film Metropolitan. What a great film; the dialogue was a bit unnaturally literary, but it was quaint and pompously funny in a very special and unique way. After reading about Whit’s own upbringing, it’s clear the film is incredibly personal and channels his own urban haute bourgeioisie (U.H.B.) vignettes of youthful entanglements and melodrama. The charmingly stuffy humanity of it all was endearing and refreshing; it runs in a similar emotional vein as the romantic comedies and “older” films I’ve been recently devouring.

Why am I watching so many “older” films? It’s hard to say, but there is something essentially alive and warm and human about some of the films that were created as late as the early aughts. There’s a comforting connection you feel to the characters — in some sense, it’s almost like you know them personally, much in the same way you’d develop thoughts and feelings about well-developed characters in a work of literature. In that sense, these films are much more literary - they don’t become just vehicles of analysis, cheap moralization, or tiresome explication, they bring together so many aesthetic fragments, images, sounds, humanisms, and turns of phrase in some beautiful bricolage gestalt of life that is at once more cohesive and diffuse and transcendent than the sum of its parts. It calls to mind my lay readings about Jakobson’s categories of linguistic function, particularly its poetic function. When we say something is poetic, it transcends its literal self and grasps at this ineffable sublime that we recognize easily and immediately in our hearts but flounder to articulate in any vulgar analytical Apollonian framework. In much of the same way, the arc of our spiritual lives is poetic — the trace of the sublime is evident by its absence in the fragments, signs, billowing shreds of corporeal reality we jumble together day by day, and occasionally, through some divine moment of grace, the genius-idiot (should I say savant?) is able to invert the usual signs and breathe into the world a spark of this divinity to nourish our souls. The meaning in our lives that we strive towards is that which exceeds combinatorial vulgar logic; it is not countable, it is not finite, in a very real sense, the usage of the word sign is also an impoverished one and pollutes the truth with more Apollonism. In a very roundabout, verbose way, I’m saying the connection you feel to the characters in works of art are of this same ineffable essence, and the virtue of a work can be found in its ability to produce an authenticity of feeling and intimacy with its characters. Do you feel like you know these people? The Other is a terrifying concept, but Art can bridge this chasm.

Whether I can vomit up this higher poetry of my own accord is highly unlikely, so maybe it’s OK to travel in the little petty circles of my own thoughts, insecurities, boredoms, lonelinesses for now, and have faith that it will happen as it will and only possibly can — all possible states will collapse in that one moment into a certainty and I will choose as I will choose. So, while I content myself with that, the usual discontents snap at my ankles: I’d like more friends here, I wish I had more of a social life, dating has been fun but has also been speckled with rejection and its own disappointments and insecurities, I’m spending too much money, and I’m not creating or writing or making music. I’ve basically completely prioritized social thrills over anything else in my life, which is probably not healthy since it’s consisted mostly of dating and not something that’s reliably building a healthy social foundation here in the city. Strategies I’ve thought through on that front: part-time classes starting in fall, making more music/art/writing and slowly ingratiating myself in that circuit through classes or meetings or organizations or through whatever institutions that may exist, attending shows or exhibits or displays more consistently (perhaps as some sort of member?), attempting to smooth things over with the people at work and fostering friendships there (?), or just fully doubling down on the bourgeois yuppy thing and attempting to nurture the little connections I have into something more, knowing that their scope is circumscribed by that world. Maybe the answer is all of the above, and to stay patient.

On the dating front, it’s a bit of a bummer, I’ve noticed that my dates with two girls I was particularly into did not materialize into second dates, despite thinking it’d gone well. It may have to do with other factors that are completely outside my control (an ex, where we’re at in our lives, etc.), but I also think there is some finesse I need to develop. In particular, I think in these cases I overshared, or got too comfortable, and instead established an excess of familiarity rather than erotic-romantic mystery and strangeness. It sounds so so cliché, but the attractive brooding and reticent man is a trope for a reason. So, maybe I’ll give mystique-building a go and try to brush up on what it means to generate attraction as a man: 1. Moving and speaking more slowly, confidently, and deeply 2. Sharing some details but also focusing on them and keeping some mystery or general vagueness 3. Keeping it light and fun and avoiding taboo heavy topics; it’s a date, not therapy 4. Staying attuned to body language, and reading cues that indicate a desire to have me move closer and spice things up 5. Avoiding rote interview-style dating, jokes, fun, good stories, lightheartedness — these are all key elements, but hard to pull off well if you’re tired from going on a zillion dates a week. Probably a helpful mental list for me to keep in mind as I brush up on these skills; maybe even I can learn to be a little (ethical) Don Juan out here. It’s a unique and perfect time in my life to be learning these skills and probably one of the best places in the world to grow on this front. Might as well get after it, stay tuned.

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