Learning sympathy... the hard way

OK, so I hate it when people ask me for money. To be fair it never used to bother me and in fact I gave them money pretty often, but then I moved to a bigger city with a large population of grifters. Let's call them grifters because most of them are not homeless and they are all very organized and their methods are dishonest (for example they ask you to sign a "petition" saying that you support schools for kids with handicaps and then try to get you to give them money, or once a guy "found" a ring on the ground and gave it to me cause it didn't fit him... then he wanted money). To make things worse these people are always pushy, and if you do give them money often times they will be upset that you didn't give them more. In short, people asking for money is now one of my least favorite things about the human experience.

However, one day while I was in Morroco, I decided to try being a beggar for a while. My motivation was simple, I wanted to get out of Morroco. I was two dollars short of a train ride to the the airport so I made a sign on some cardboard and sat myself down outside the train station. I thought it was going to be a sympathy building experience, that I would better understand our homeless friends, but within half an hour an old man gave me fifty cents and a young woman by the name of Yasmine had come a long and offered to pay for my entire train ticket (at this point I've made somewhere around five USD in cash and goods during a period of about thirty minutes, giving me a rough average of ten USD an hour... in Morrocco, where ten USD an hour is easily higher income than 80% of the rest of the nation). We shared a fifteen minute conversation while we road the train to where I could make my connection to get to the airport, during which time she fed me and gave me some extra change and then suggested we exchange info in case I ever came back to Morocco and I wanted a place to stay in Casa Blanca. It was too easy. It built no sympathy whatsoever.

That is until today. Months after my trip Yasmine and I had the following conversation through Facebook chat:

Yasmine:

hello

Me:

hi

Yasmine:

how are u to day

Me:

not great

hard day

Yasmine:

ok

i miss u so mutch

END CONVERSATION.

Suddenly all the random phone calls from Morocco make sense. You know the ones where your phone rings and you the number has the country code +212 and you answer and then someone is trying to speak to you in Arabic and you don't understand so they start speaking French and you still can't really understand what they're saying and then they hang up. Wait, you don't get those? Probably because you never gave your number to a Yasmine in Morocco because you felt obligated after she had fed you and bought you a train ticket.

But the important thing is that I learned that had never occurred to me. Homeless people are putting themselves out there everyday, out into a world that is a hell of a lot crazier than they are. Now I'm not saying we should go so far as to admire the courage that must take, but I am suggesting that we could all give them a little more sympathy. I know I will.

DUMB VS. DUMBER #2

OK, it's been a long time since the first installment of Dumb vs. Dumber so I'll explain the rules again. I present two different groups of people that are generally accepted as stupid and we post votes in the comments of which of these groups is dumber than the other.

AND THE CONTESTANTS ARE...

Qur'an Burners


VS.

Indians

(Pictured here also burning a Qur'an)

Pearls

Sometimes I'm an oyster and sometimes you're a bird, and sometimes
While I'm making pearls you're out flying into windows, and I think
How is it that you never see these things coming?
True I'm careful, you say too careful, well I don't know
But the thing about pearls is that they are awful patient work,
It may take months, it my take years, but
You've got to take your time to get it right.

And sometimes I'm an oyster and sometimes you're a bird, and sometimes
While I'm making pearls you're out shitting all over statues, and I ask
Why can't you keep these things to yourself?
I don't share a lot, maybe there's not a lot to share, I don't know
But the thing about pearls is that they are awful private work,
I could never really share them until they're ready, cause
you can never really show them until they're done.

And sometimes I'm an oyster and sometimes you're a bird, and sometimes
While I'm making pearls you're out swarming with your flock, and I hope
One day you'll learn to be OK on your own.
You say I don't get out much, well where is there to go, I don't know
But the thing about pearls is that they're awful lonely work, Believe me
I wish I could find something worthwhile to do
That didn't mean sitting at the bottom of the ocean by myself.

But sometimes I'm an oyster and sometimes you're a bird, and sometimes
I know you hate it when I close myself so tight, but I swear
If you ever get me open...
Then I'll die.

I wish you understood, that if I could,
I would gladly go regurgitate some worms
If it meant that I could fly.
If it meant that we'd belong,
If it meant that I could soar by your side, but sometimes,
I am an oyster,
And well the thing is...

I've got this pearl that I've been working on.

- J. S. Guy

HERE IS A FUNNY POEM THAT I WROTE A LONG TIME AGO BUT I NEVER POSTED IT BUT NOW I AM POSTING IT AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT OH AND BY THE WAY IT IS A HAIKU

One, Two, Three, Four, Five
One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Se...
onetwothreefourfive

They don't make 'em like they used to.

Remember when the internet was young? I do. I remember the time when email wasn't a valid form of communication and if someone picked up the phone you would get disconnected.I remember having to wait for like 10 minutes for this picture to load one line at a time.






Worth it.






While I don't miss incredibly slow loading times or phone jack modems. The glory days of the internet did have a certain wonder to them. Everything was new, everything was special, we didn't need Youtube because we could spend hours watching gifs. gifs. and more gifs!

Way to go Youtube. You've robbed us of our sense of wonder.

How did it get like this.

I am 27.
I am a virgin.
My best friend is 5 years old.
About an hour ago I sat at the train station waiting for a train and reading Better Homes and Gardens... in French.
It wasn't actually Better Homes and Gardens, it was the French equivalent, My Garden and My Home.
Except it was French so it was actually Mon jardin et ma maison.
And I wasn't really reading it I was more like flipping through it looking at lawn tractors and wondering if any of the brands were still around.
It was the Mon jardin et ma maison from April 1975.
Sorry, "Avril, 1975."

The last time I kissed a girl was 7 weeks ago.
She was from Denmark.
We were in Morocco.
We snuck into a hotel to swim in their pool, then we went back to our hotel had a siesta on the rooftop terrace.
I told her that I believe in God and I believe that through the atonement of Jesus Christ all men can find the power to change themselves into something better than they are.
You know, reach beyond their potential, become more than the sum of their parts.
She told me she doesn't believe in God, that she thinks when you die there is nothing.
Then we made out.

About 10 years ago I was 16.
The last day of my sophomore year a friend and I decided to walk to a party.
We didn't get there until 3 AM.
The party was over.
We didn't want to walk home so we snuck into a neighboring house that was still under construction and slept in the basement.
We thought it was hilarious.
When we told our friends they thought it was crazy.
We did too.
Hilariously crazy.

The day after I kissed the Danish girl I met Sophie and Mathilde.
They were both from Marseille, France.
They were both about to start their first year of teaching physics and chemistry at middle school.
Seven weeks later I got lost trying to find their new apartment in Epinay-Sur-Sienne, a suburb of Paris.
On my way back to the train station, after giving up the search for their apartment, I passed through a neighborhood that seemed strangely familiar.
It was almost like I was back in America, like my location had suddenly changed when I had turned the corner, the way it does in dreams.
I was filled with the fear that my life was just a dream and that I could wake up at any time, only I didn't know what I would wake up to, because I had no idea how long I had been dreaming.
Then I realized that the location hadn't changed, I was just sensing the all too familiar feeling of the unfamiliar.
That was roughly two hours ago.

11 weeks ago I boarded a night bus in Paris at roughly 3:30 AM.
I fell asleep.
When I woke up I had just missed my stop.
I started walking.
Around 5 in the morning I found some grass and tried to sleep for a few hours.
After fifteen minutes an airplane woke me up, and then a girl on a bike.
I didn't think it was hilarious.
I didn't think it was that crazy either.
This type of situation seems to be occurring more often.

I am 27.
I am a virgin.
My best friend is 5 years old.
About 50 minutes ago I sat at the train station asking myself, "How did it get like this?"
"When did I start thinking all of this was normal?"
...
I don't know.
Then the train came.
I tucked the "Avril 1975" issue under my arm and boarded.

It's all the same to me...

How is bisexual a sexual preference?

I guess I always thought that bisexual was more like if you were filling out a profile for a dating website and it asked if you were interested in men or interested in women, and you marked "No preference"