The Truth Stings

Anger, pain, frustration, depression, hope, reconciliation, reluctance, regret--all in one email. The truest I've ever been with someone else and myself. Because everyone needs painful reminders in their life.

So this is now my third and final attempt to send this email, as well as my final edit. I now have to add yet another introduction because things have obviously changed since the first time I wanted to send it and since the second time I wanted to send it. But, I'm going to leave it all as is because I think that it's important that all my emotions are laid on the table, otherwise they are going to continue to eat away at me. I was really hoping to tell you this, or at least give you this email in person so you could understand exactly how I feel and then we could talk about. And, yes, I do understand how early you work and I'm not holding a grudge against you or anything, but I couldn't let this wait until after Christmas because I needed to get it off my mind before I head home to try and enjoy myself with friends and family. In turn, I guess I should apologize to you for throwing all this at you before you do the same, because it's going to mean different things for each of us. But, nevertheless, I just had to do it. If we talk about this later, then we talk. If we don't, I understand. In time we hopefully will.





I know that now, a week later, this email may seem after the fact, but I certainly couldn't have predicted what was going to happen last Monday with --. In any case, I could have easily let this slide, and allowed things to subsequently take their course as they seem to be doing. But, as you know, I am never one to leave things unsaid. As such, I'm going to leave the email I wrote last Monday as is and let you try and read it as it should have been read after the weekend of -- birthday party. It may seem hard to understand what I'm saying retrospectively considering what's happened since then, but I need you to know that what happened with -- bears no effect on what I need to tell you. What happened with him was a crazy and surreal experience, but it is also just that, an experience, and I don't want what follows to seem cheap or contrived, because it is every bit as true and poignant as it was last Monday. So, in so many words....


Of course this email is once again going to start with me saying I don't know how to start a conversation like this. You are, undoubtedly, a little tired of this shit by now--me coming to you with these emails of outpourings of emotion and feelings, but this will be the last for a long, long time.

Though I feel like most of the time I'm pretty good at internalizing my anxiety, yesterday I think I was obviously wearing my emotions on my sleeve. If you didn't notice I'm surprised, but chances are you could tell that after you told me you were dating someone I became withdrawn and noticeably affected. I wish I could say that I didn't care, and that I was happy for you. I wish that I could talk to you about it as a friend. And I wish I could say that I'm over you--but I'm not. And, because I'm not, and because I have become very self-destructive in trying to deal with our relationship and how I feel about you I have to let you know that I can't see you anymore. You're probably thinking that I am being over-dramatic and emotionally hyperbolic, but I think this is the only way that I can attempt to salvage any sort of relationship we have or will have. I just can't watch you date someone else, not yet at least. Because it simply reminds me of something we never had but I so desperately wanted. And after you told me that he was upset you were with me I also realized that I'm not going to become that person in your or anyone else's life. It's just an equation I can't be a part of, knowing that every time we hang out there is someone else who is being made upset by it. And, if we remained "friends," that is a position I would always occupy in your life considering our history, no matter who it's with. I would always be a threat, a sort of temptation I guess, that could compromise both of our relationships because you would of course have the same role in my life. No matter who I'm with, being around you will always remind me of whatever it was that we had and that I still want. So, like I said, in order to overcome all of this I have to work to move you into a realm of friendship, and there is no way I can do that unless I have the adequate space and time to get over you.

If you feel like you've been blind-sided or cheated or mislead or whatever, I understand. But, --, after months of being wrought emotionally by this it is the only thing I can do to get over you. Me saying this probably even seems really contradictory considering I have met someone, but that is even more reason that I have to quit you, because if I don't I'm going to take -- for granted. He is an unbelievable person and I can't string him along while I am still so attached to you with the hopes that something could develop between us. That just makes him an innocent victim in this whole thing and I don't want to be responsible for hurting someone like that. And I need you to know that I didn't actively seek him out, but when that relationship just fell in my lap I had to explore it, because I couldn't wait on you forever. I was prepared to wait a long time, and I already have waited a long time, but it was becoming clear, and it has since become even clearer, that I was waiting for something that wasn't going to come. So I just threw myself into that relationship hoping that it would help me get over you, but, the fact of the matter is, I still think about you when I'm with him. And that is unfair to him and to you, because I won't use him as a rebound or just a distraction because he deserves more than that. Moreover, I can't continue to treat you the way that I have and I need to apologize to you for certain things that I have done or said. I was so embarrassed yesterday when you told me you were seeing someone just because of how I had obviously propositioned you to sleep in my bed with me with the hopes that something would happen. Despite --, I took command of that situation and made the decision to come on to you, and then you tell me you are seeing someone and I realized I had completely misjudged the situation and basically made a fool of myself. And then I just felt so stupid for what I've been doing and who I've become throughout all of this. My actions have become inexplicable, even to myself, and if there is anything I hate more it's not being in control, especially of my own body. I know you can't and really aren't supposed to control emotions, but they have become such a detrimental force in my life that I have no choice but to at least try and harness them so that they don't crumble everything around me.

I don't mean to come off as accusatory, because this is largely my issue. But I also don't think anyone is without fault. Considering this isn't the first time we have addressed our relationship, it might seem redundant to bring it up again--but even after I told you last time how much I liked you and you responded and told me how you felt, I still feel like it was unresolved. Especially because of the way we still carried on our relationship in a very similar manner as it was before, just without the sex. But you can't deny that there was a palpable sexual tension between us when we were together and though we had labeled ourselves as friends, it still felt like there was something more going on. But maybe that was just my wishful thinking, and if it was, it just proves that I obviously have some work to do. And if it wasn't, then it still stands that it's unhealthy for us to be around one another unless we are actually going to be together.

I don't know how you are reacting to this, but I don't want you to think I am being insincere or harsh, because this is truthfully the hardest thing I've ever had to do. As I sit here writing this my hands are shaking and I'm fending off tears because I never ever wanted to lose you. And I hope I don't. Though it's hard for me to even fathom what it would be like to not basically be in love with you, I pray that I can get to that point, because I'd hate to live the rest of my life without you in it. The way I see it, you and I are unequivocally bound to one another just because of what we went through together. You basically held my hand as I came out to the world and decided to be who I have to be in order to be happy, and I am forever indebted to you for that. I can't say if you feel the same because you are obviously on a different side, but, because of how you helped me, I know that I'll always have a place for you in my heart, and once someone gets in they stay forever.

All of that finally being said, I have to say goodbye to you for now. It kills me --, absolutely kills me to do it. You're always going to be the one that got away, and I honestly think we could have had something great. But, if it wasn't mean to be then what can you do but move on? Hopefully with enough time and enough healing I can have you back in my life in an appropriate way that is beneficial to both of us. I'm so sorry -- and I mean that with the utmost sincerity. I'm sorry for the past and I'm sorry for whatever political mess this will cause in the future. The last thing I want to do is jeopardize anyone else's relationship whether it's yours or mine or even -- and --. So where things go from here I can't really say...we just have to let time do its thing.

Please, please take care of yourself. If you begrudge me that is fine and entirely expected. Be angry and upset and critical or even apathetic--but just know I have to do this, --. If I want to survive I have to.

With deepest love,
Seth

Dear Marc Jacobs....

Stop being naked all the time.

We get it--you started working out and have a marginally good body.

Guess what: You aren't the only one. In fact, despite your efforts, you don't look like, say, Chris Evans, who has every right to be shirtless at all times.

Get over yourself. I mean, seriously. We like you for you clothes, and could really care less about you physically.

And, let's be frank, your face is kind of busted. Whaaa Whaaa.

Yours,
Seth

An Open Letter to Usher

Dear Usher,

Stop. Killing. The. Planet.


As it is that I work at a high fashion magazine, my boss, the Editor-in-Chief, is invited to pretty much any event involving fashion. That being the case, the time is upon us for the release of Usher's new fragrances for men and women. Today my boss received her invitation for what is sure to be a star-studded-face-fest, and after getting my hands on this...thing...I have concluded this: it is not global warming, it is not the oil industries, it is not we non-recycling humans who are destroying he planet. No, it's USHER. OK, well actually it's the fashion industry and their flagrant insistence on spending too much money and too much material on ridiculous invitations and press materials for their bullshit products. And after receiving the invitation to Usher's "evening of elegance, glamour and theater," I can be silent no more.

I went to reception to pick up a bag for Robbie thinking it was just another gift from another designer. I get the bag, note it's shape and weight, and realize that, because no one gifts jewelry, the box in the bag is probably what I think it is. I open the bag and this is what I find:



The circular emblem of text reads "IT IS NOT HOW FAMOUS UR - IT IS WHAT UR FAMOUS FOR."

"Dear God," I think. I open the box. It gets worse:



"Please, please tell me this includes a book, a CD, candy, gold...something," I continue.

Alas, it does not:




"Usher, you stupid stupid pig fucker," I finally bemoan. Inside this leather bound box was an inch-thick, hard plastic, ornately decorated invitation that could easily kill someone if aimed at the head correctly. Not only that, but you will notice it was pretentiously placed in a velvet inlay that required the pull of a satin ribbon to remove....

WHAT. THE. FUCK!

I mean, seriously...tell me you are kidding with this shit! First of all, ur Usher and ur releasing a fragrance; not a new fashion line, not a new store, not anything remotely deserving of such wastefulness as say, I don't know, ur own wedding? No, you make this obscene, trite, regretfully tacky invitation for the launch of a women's and men's scent that will presumably smell like a floral car freshener and a concoction of those ingredients which you consider manly such as pine, vanilla, musk, aviators, fur coats, bling and your own nymphomaniacal sweat. I just need one good reason--besides, of course, that ur the almighty Usher--that it is even remotely necessary to waste so much on something that will be thrown away in a week? It goes without saying that you have to invite a good handful of people because, ya know, ur Usher, but shouldn't that make you a little more reserved with your chosen invitation? In a Hollywood society that has latched onto the idea of "going green" like a fat girl to a corndog, it amazes me that Usher would blatantly present something so improvident.

Usher, however, only serves as another notch on the let's-waste-money-because-it's-fashion post. I can't tell you how many times I've received press material from designers or jewelers about their new lines. In fact I've got a press kit from Pom Pom in my cubicle right now that rivals Usher in wastage. Now I'm all for saving the polar bears and what not, and I don't portent to be the most bio-friendly person on the block, but I will say I am becoming more aware of what needs to be done, and it truly has become offensive what these PR companies and fashion houses will do to promote their shit. We know it's out there. We have computers. We have Style.com and we read fashion magazines. I don't need your 40 pound book ensconced in a plastic case, Gucci.

So, Usher. If it truly is not how famous ur, but what ur famous for, I think we've got you pegged. Lead on, Wasty McWasters, lead on.

Seth

How to Save the Polar Bears

By now most of you are probably aware that I am on a big "save the polar bears" kick. I've posted the heart wrenching video from Planet Earth in which a male polar bear swims 60 miles to find food, only to come upon a hoard of walruses that he cannot overtake for food. Beaten, gored and tired, the polar bear digs a shallow hole in the ground, lies down and dies. I've cried every time I've watched it, but I only have myself and my fellow humans to blame. Because of shrinking polar ice caps, food is isolated and spread out, making the fight for survival that much more difficult for a species that will likely be extinct in less than 50 years.

Need a reminder of the tragedy? Here ya go:



Now, what are we going to do about this? Through a number of discussions with fellow polar bear sympathizers, I have come up with two plans. OK, well two besides the obvious plan of just being more aware of what we do to our planet. Post-Al Gore, Leonardo DiCaprio and Captain Planet I don't need to sit here and tell you what we have to do to try and save the Earth and all the amazing things on it. But, if I can offer a couple of plausible, albeit "unconventional" alternatives, allow me to do so:

1. Monthly Food Rations for the Polar Bears

But where will such food come from you might ask? At the brilliant suggestion of a one Mr. Benjamin Pryor, it has been proposed that every month a boat is sailed to the poles loaded with murderers, rapists and pedophiles. Seedy politicians and Britney Spears are welcomed as well. Starting with the most severe of offenders, they will be given proper rations and supplies to survive for a number of days until they are eventually mauled and eaten by polar bears. They will of course be given no weapons or anything available to use as defense. Their clothing and supplies will be sprayed with some sort of odor, perhaps beef bullion or eau de seal to attract the bears. Considering the state of the polar bear food situation, it shouldn't take long for the bears to become adapted to the monthly delivery, ensuring that these criminals will be dispatched in a timely manner. Also, it was favorably suggested by Andrew Heim that the delinquents' hands be removed to not only safeguard baby polar bears from pointy fingers, but also keep potentially crafty individuals from gaining an advantage over the polar bears.

2. Walrus Handbags

Confused? Let me elaborate. And please forgo any barbaric allusions, as I am simply trying to save the goddamn polar bears. If you noticed in the video posted above, one of the toughest obstacles for the polar bear to overcome in his attempt to kill a male walrus was the walrus' extremely tough, impenetrable skin. Their epidermic state being as such, my collegue, Dontre Conerly, noted how fantastic their skin would be for handbags. "That shit would last forever!" he exclaimed. And he is right, it would last forever, and would also aid in the polar bear food crisis. Let's point out the obvious: there is no shortage of walruses in the world. That being the case, human intervention--with all our arbalestic ingenuity--could easily neutralize a walrus, take its hide, and leave a healthy meal for one or two polar bears. Now, I'm not talking about a mass poaching of the walrus; only enough to a) provide food for struggling polar bears and b) create a new fashion craze that would take the heat off of other valuable, but overused hides. By carefully rationing the amount of harvested walrus skin, it would ensure a degree of luxury to the subsequent bags, meaning they would be elusive and prices would be high. With a hefty price tag attached to the bag, it would translate into large profits from which portions could be donated to the save the polar bear cause. Basically the creation of the handbags would continue what nature started ages ago before the ice caps started melting. We have interfered with and disrupted the hunter-vs-prey process, therefore we have no choice but to become a part of the process to ensure a restored balance. Humans become the symbolic ice bridges that the polar bears use to get back to their food.


I think with careful planning and government support, either of these entirely tenable plans would work. Because polar bears need our help. And all it takes is a little sacrifice to make it happen. I mean, the polar bears are making sacrifices for us, right? It's only right that we do the same.


Seth

Eric and Seth: Book and Book-ability

I had quite an interesting Facebook Wall conversation today with my good friend, Eric Mueller. It's funny, yeah, but also sort of interesting if you think about it. Enjoy:

Eric Mueller (Santa Fe) wrote
at 12:47am

If you read a book online does that still count as reading a book?

Hmmmmmmmm...this is going to keep me up tonight

Eric Mueller (Santa Fe) wrote
at 12:51am

Like, you can read the news from a newspaper, and you can read the news online...but you cant read the newspaper online

Eric Mueller (Santa Fe) wrote
at 9:58am

You can however "bookmark" web pages

The plot thickens...(pun?)

Seth Plattner wrote
at 10:18am

Hey, take it easy over there. I've already got enough on my plate without the conundrum of the validity of cyber literature.

But, one must also consider: what constitutes the reading of a book and/or newspaper? The physical act of turning a page? Or simply the intake and organization of words? And if it comes down to just page ingestion then we could easily argue that, if a book is read online, we are still in fact reading webPAGES....

Good God look what you've done to me...

Eric Mueller (Santa Fe) wrote
at 10:44am

Yes, yes I came across that same theory earlier on as well
But the internet is a little different. In the real world, what is and what is not a book is quite clear.

However, online I'm afraid is quite the opposite. How can you tell the difference from a book online and just a long typed story? Is it a book just because it says it is a book?
Does actual physical publishing in the real world validate it's..."book-ness" online?

If you pay to view it online does that make it a book? If so then are blogs and forums, that you pay for to view, books? To go further, books can have multiple authors, as well as editors. Forum moderators and admins have to power to edit what is said on blogs and forums…

Eric Mueller (Santa Fe) wrote
at 10:44am

Then you have the Public Domain to take into mind. Centuries of Literature, ancient libraries composed of thousands upon thousands of authors; everything from that written world can be digitized on a single webpage…for free. Is it then one book, or many, or is it just a series of long written stories?

Now here comes the big brain twister. Is it, in this digital age, that a page now consists of books rather than a book consisting of pages?

Seth Plattner wrote
at 10:53am

But, in following your argument, if pages may now consist of books, we are lead right back to your previous observance: books can now be compiled on pages, but do those pages, though made up of books, in turn become books (again)? Of course, as you pointed out, it simply depends on what defines a book. I'm afraid we've found ourselves in a dialogue of circularity.

We need to publish and essay on this. Are we revolutionaries?

Eric Mueller (Santa Fe) wrote
at 2:31pm

I think I have come to the conclusion that a book is the name of the physical object of the complied story in the physical world.

If you read a "book" online it is not a book, because it is only the digital manifestation of the story and not the physical object - a book.

So in short: Online, it should be called a story/fiction/non-fiction/

or whatever else genre it is, not a book.
For example: “Oh man I just read some really good fiction online today.”
Not: “Oh man I read this really crappy book online today.”
For a mixed example, (using both the digital and physical world) “Wow that was such a great story online. I think I’m going to buy the book later on today.”

Does that fit?

Seth Plattner wrote
at 2:34pm

I believe we are settled.

That was intense...

Eric Mueller (Santa Fe) wrote
at 2:42pm

So therefore, if someone asks me, "How many books have you read recently?" I will have to say none...

Great

Withdrawal

Seth is...

Beaten Worn Ripped Scarred Slashed Hurt
Ached Trodden Warped Scratched Mutilated
Bruised Neglected Shattered Trampled Weakened
Broken Shredded Forgotten Slapped Marred
Torn Burned Whipped Crushed Dissolved
Smashed Mangled Erased Discarded Starved
Pommeled Obliterated Slaughtered Nullified Scorned
Hated Ravaged Maimed Crippled Deformed
Wounded Scraped Paralyzed Battered Wrecked
Gnarled Lashed Faded Gnawed Destroyed

Spent

Utterly Spent

Who are You (According to Grease 2)?

After introducing my roommate Aja to the immeasurable joys of Grease 2, we've concluded that there is only way to separate the world into two, very polar, very black and white groups: Those who like Grease 2 and those who don't. Usually everyone tries to avoid labels and say things like "It's not that easy to just separate people into two marked groups," or "There has to be a gray area." Well, with Grease 2 it is precisely that easy, because everyone who has seen or will see it always knows how they feel about it the minute it ends (or, in my case, after Michelle Pfeifer sings "Cool Rider").

So ya like it or ya don't is basically what I'm saying. And derived from that opinion is the type of person you are. What we decided is that if you don't like it, you can be characterized as a stick in the mud. Someone who doesn't realize the value of intentional camp. One who thinks that movie prowess is equivalent to only appreciating the art house indie or the studio darling. That person who can't watch G2 and understand that, despite it's over-the-top cheesiness, there lies an actual thread of thought and wit: Michelle Pfiefer's chic and entirely modern wardrobe? Fabulous! The cinematography in "Who's That Guy?" Sexy! The Heller-esque absurdist satire meant to reveal the inherent inanity of the wartime in which the movie is set? Brilliant! Ok, that last one may be a bit of a stretch, but, I would still argue that the movie has some cinematic merit if you just watch (again, I site the red-wash lighting in "Cool Rider" that only enhances Pfeifer's badass Stephanie Zinon).

Now, those of us that watch the movie are the ones who can have fun at the movies. We can appreciate a campy crap-fest because it was made for precisely that reason--to be ridiculous and funny and even better after a few beers. We understand that to take G2 as a serious feature is to entirely miss the purpose of its creation. To compare it to the original Grease is simply idiotic, only guaranteeing that one would miss the value of G2. The true movie genius will also understand that, in the face of tradition and witless dedication, G2 actually has the better soundtrack. Watch both movies back-to-back, wait an hour or two, and just wait and see which soundtrack you start humming.

This is our assessment. No, our truth. Those reading know we're right, and most of you likely fall into the latter category simply because you've heard someone else say "Grease 2? What a shitty movie." your response: "Oh I know, it's so stupid." When you're really saying in your head "But it's just so fabulous!." Watch it again with one of your best friends, someone you know won't judge you and see how much more tolerable it is when you have your guard down, when you know that you are just going to have fun watching. As soon as it's finished, grab your ball and shoes, head down to the bowling alley and have your own sing-a-long with "Score Tonight."

Seth

Simple Pleasures....

Some thing that just make me smile...

Saturday in New York, 70 degrees, sun shining.

The changing aspens in Colorado.

Colored match heads.

Soft pillows.

The perfect cup of coffee (cream, 1 1/2 sugars).

"Banana Wind" by Jimmy Buffett.

When someone holds your thumb.

Guilty pleasure movies.

A dirty martini w/ blue cheese olives.

Horseback riding.

Thinking the same thing as your best friend.

Taking a cat nap with a cat.

Azaleas.

Holding feet while cuddling.

Cupcakes.

Writing a really great sentence.

Reading a really great sentence.

Milk.

A good commercial.

Laughing when you're not supposed to.

Dogs.

Campfires.

Belting showtunes in the car with a friend.

Cold pools on hot days.

A smile from across the room.

Smelling cologne/perfume that reminds you of someone.

Great outfits.

Tea and scones.

Floating.

"I miss you."

Late-night sushi.

Meeting someone and knowing they'll be in your life forever.



What are yours?


Seth

The Fray: A Year Later

I'm a little slow on the uptake here, so please forgo the judgment--I'm well aware.

Nevertheless this post is a manifestation of opinion, mostly formulated this morning while I watched The Fray's AOL Music Session.

Let me interject here and give due credit to AOL for their Music Sessions. If you aren't watching them already you should be. Seriously, they have every artist from Neil Diamond to Dashboard Confessional and they are wonderful, intimate performances of the best the artists have to offer.

As I was saying, The Fray. I tried for a long time to avoid this band, not because I didn't like their music but because I just kept hearing everyone talk about them (and isn't interesting how every person in the world was the first to discover them?!). Not to mention "Over My Head (Cable Car)" was all over the radio. And I will openly admit: I tapped my foot to it, I bobbed my head, I belted it in my car, I knew every word...I loved it. However, the pangs of conforming kept me from buying the album and I moved on, or tried to. And then along comes "How to Save a Life." Poignant, beautiful, catchy and ultimately tied to one of the most addictive TV shows in history, Grey's Anatomy.

Obviously these guys and their managers know how to work a formula, and if it bothered me at first, it was something that I just had to resign myself to, because I like them. There I said it. And ya know why me, my mother and every other emotional soul out there loves them? Because they are the band you wish wasn't mainstream. They are the group you wished you stumbled upon on MySpace music or in some second hand CD shop. They are the band you wished you could say "Hey have you heard The Fray? No? Well listen to this," to which your friends would respond with awe and admiration for your uncanny musical prowess.

The Fray is not this. But they sound like they are, and that's why I can't help but adore their music. Perhaps some, or most, of this is tied up in my existence as an emotional junkie, one who is never afraid to wear his feelings on his sleeve or the find the next sad song to express how I'm feeling. I respond with a great deal of relevancy to their lyrics--most recently and tortuously to "Look After You" which I can't stop playing because it so describes my life right now. And I know they are sometime sappy and a little too addicted to the song that sends a message, but even if that's not your fare, everyone can still relate to it publicly or privately.

Beyond content is the aesthetic of their music. Pianos, violins, acoustics: all those instruments that only serve to aggrandize the emotional punch of the songs. The most effective "instrument" though for me is Isaac Slade's voice. He cracks it in all the right places; he pushes it when it needs to be pushed; pulls it back when appropriate; and, his tone is so undeniably sexy that it becomes the perfect addition to The Fray Formula which produced The Fray Fixation for The Fray Fans. And--ugh--I am now amassed forever with The Fray Fans.

I feel like I'm in The Fray's Anonymous meeting. "Hi, I'm Seth...and I like The Fray." But isn't that first step to reconciliation? I feel proud of myself and, yes, I like--oh Hell--I love The Fray.

Random Lists

Though most of you don't know it, I'm sort of a list maker. I'm always thinking about the Top 10 this or the Top 5 that, and occasionally I jot them down--and spare me the Reality Bites comparison. I know I'm not that original. Avril Lavigne inspired the original post, so I present, with no precision, some random lists.

*none of these lists are in any particular order. I'm too indecisive to differentiate. I like what I like.

Top 10 Recorded Vocal Performances:
10. Bartender - Dave Matthews Band
9. Defying Gravity (Wicked) - Idina Menzel
8. He Touched Me - Heather Headley
7. Star Spangled Banner - Whitney Houston
6. Since U Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson
5. Not Ready to Make Nice - The Dixie Chicks
4. I'm With You - Avril Lavigne
3. Romulus - Sufjan Stevens
2. Time to Say Goodbye - Andrea Bocelli (the one with Sarah Brightman isn't bad either)
1. The Flesh Failure - The Actors' Fund of America Benefit Performance

Top 5 Writing Utensils:
5. Paper Mate Sharpwriter (the yellow ones with the twist up lead)
4. Pilot Precise V-7
3. Ticonderoga lead pencil
2. Any Mont Blanc Fountain Pen, preferably the Meisterstück
1. Sharpie Marker (on large surfaces)

Top 5 Cereals:
5. Captain Crunch
4. Count Chocula
3. Fruity Pebbles
2. Cinnamon Toast Crunch
1. Frosted Flakes

5 Thing that Make a Perfect Saturday:
5. Latte
4. Shopping in Soho
3. An afternoon movie
2. Great dinner with great wine
1. A few drinks with friends

10 Songs that Make Me Cry:
10. Night After Night - The Sounds
9. Sailing - Christopher Cross
8. The First Day of My Life - Brighteyes
7. Amazing Grace
6. Angels Among Us - Alabama
5. I'll Cover You (Reprise) - Rent (seriously, I've cried all 15 times I've seen the show).
4. Look After You - The Fray
3. Colorblind - Counting Crows
2. Say Hello, Wave Goodbye - David Gray
1. The Luckiest - Ben Folds

Welcome Back

If you leave New York, you ain't goin' nowhere.

I stole that quote; from whom I have no idea. Nevertheless, I find it presently poignant now that I am back in the city that I prematurely left almost exactly a year ago. To say I didn't go anywhere would likely be hyperbolic. Professionally, sure, I was a waste in Denver. Emotionally and mentally, though, Denver was a wake up call, so it was good for me in that way. But, considering the momentum I had built in New York--graduating with high honors from NYU, interning at SNL, solidifying a group of amazing friends--when I left I left a lot behind.

Though, as city life would have it, coming back to New York proved to be just as--maybe even more so--fervent and opportunistic as it was when I left. Within two weeks of leaving Denver I was already back in the city interviewing for a job I subsequently got, expediting me into the northeast before I even had time to reflect. I had contented myself with being home for a while, enjoying the friends, family and freedom of Arkansas. But, as opportunity comes at you with a battering ram sometimes, I had no choice but to leap the chance to reclaim a life I was afraid I was losing.

Interestingly enough, being back isn't quite what I expected. When I left I was a student, a youngster, a 22 year old kid who thought that everything would just fall into place. I spent my last months of college writing papers at the last minute and drinking more alcohol in a week than I had in previous months. It was uncharacteristic but fun, and I don't want to give the impression I regret it. But, a year later, a year older, a year more mature or maybe just more aware, New York isn't NYU. We all have jobs that require 7 a.m. wake up calls. 9-5 is a schedule that doesn't exist here. Some of us are lucky to leave work by 7 p.m. Yes, kids, this is the real world. Of course we still go out and no doubt we are still young (the operative word here) adults. But when I found out I was coming back so soon I had to ready myself for a New York that wasn't familiar. I didn't come back to a dorm; I didn't come back to a class schedule and I certainly didn't come back with a healthy checking account balance. I was entering into a city where it was time for me to finally fend for myself, for better or worse. Whereas I used to return to New York apprehensive because I had just spent a winter or summer break at home having fun with friends only to be thrown back into school work, now I was distressed precisely because I no longer could identify with that life anymore. This was, is, new and unexplored territory.

Forgive me if I sound whiny. That is hardly my intention. I simply have to verbalize the whirlwindeness of this experience. Like anything and everything, it has sent me into a recess of reflection, so, alas, this blog. I am, most definitely, glad to be back here. Different is good; and I know I have so many amazing things in store for me being back here. Not only with my job, but with relationships and personal development. Like anything good for you, it takes a degree of adjustment, and that's exactly what I'm doing. Even though I wasn't keen on the idea of adjusting to a place I thought I was already mine, I am, without a doubt, adjusting.


Seth

To Denver...

It is the eve of my departure from the Mile High City and, being the contemplative writer I am, I feel it needs some commentary. As most of you know, it hasn't been the easiest 7 months of my life, but it also hasn't been the worst. I'm trying out this whole positive thinking thing, so what follows is my oratorio to my time out West.

To the skiing. To the mountains. To the powder. To the out of bounds. To the Rumsey's cabin in Breckenridge. To their double headed steam bath shower. To their remarkably soft sheests. To Breck Brewery. To Joey, to Meg, to Sarah, to Steve, to Sean, to Elise: the weekend crew.

To Kona Grill. To reverse happy hour. To sake bombs. To barbecue pizza. To meeting new friends and finally knowing old ones.

To The Stadium. To dive bars. To Rumseys. To never having to pay for a drink. To drunken debates. To Journey. To the DU kids, who showed me a college life I never knew.

To LoDo. To Uptown Tavern. To Downtown Tavern. To Vesta. To Everclear margaritas at Rios. To The 16th Street Mall. To Mad Greens. To Starbucks with Meg and Sarah. To The Celtic. To Delaneys. To mini bowling.

To a town that surprisd me. To people that I will forever call my friends, even if I expected not to. To coming to know, to understand, to accept myself and to those who love me for it. To the one who showed me the way; who told me it was OK. To the one I'll never be able to thank enough, but will try anyway. To learning from mistakes and laughing at them later. To realizing that life is about exploration; about trying, and sometimes failing. To falling and getting back up stronger than before, ready to continue. To never regretting anything, ever. To anticipation. To dissapointment. To reconciliation. To happiness. To everything and everyone. To Denver.

Today then tomorrow

I'm perfect.

My hair, a muted sepia with natural highlights of chestnut and lowlights of chocolate, swoops and spikes in just the right places. My eyes shine with the same rich color, only strengthened by the long feminine eyelashes that frame the dark globes inside white void. My nose is thin on the bridge and appropriately flared at the tip and nostrils; it flows easily into my dark pink lips which pout just enough to make everyone that sees them want to kiss them. With the crack of a smile a row of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth appear punctuated by a set of canines that are at once unsettling, yet also intriguing. My chin rests comfortably at the conjuncture of a mildly sloping square cut jaw line. My skin, rosey in the cheeks and a peachy porcelain throughout, contours to my face in all the right places: taught, smooth and clean. This head sits comfortably on broad, strong shoulders that are ready to take the world from Atlas, and what holds it all up is a body that is healthy, proportioned and impeccably dressed.

I'm perfect.


I'm perfect.


Im perfect.


Imperfect.


imperfect


my hair is dull, thick and coarse--only manageable when manipulated with gobs of product. my sunken eyes are wrapped in swollen eyelids, barely able to reveal the forgettable brown irises that envy the blues and greens of the world. the bump in my nose ruins my profile. my lips are dry and cracked, constantly arid from years of over-balming. when feigning a smile, bleached teeth, recessed gums and a jagged tooth reveal the mouth's insecurity. a pudgy, pointed and often blemished chin dangles from a slacked jaw. the skin that shrouds this face is pale, bumpy and all-too-often flushed and sweaty with fear and self-consciousness. my misshapen head, which is plagued with anxiety, restlessness and pessimism, barely balances on shoulders that take on too many responsibilities, too many problems, too many "yes'" and not enough "no's," too many emotions and too many whip lashes. below is a weakened, soft body that holds a scarred heart, a compulsive stomach, and a deep-seeded anger that threatens to ruin my world; and nothing that covers it can fix it.


I'm perfect.

Sticky

I took this picture at my older brother's wedding reception party. On the left is Ross, my twin, and at the right is his girlfriend. I was browsing photos and it inspired the [completely fictional] story that follows.

Her glossly legs stick to one another, pasted by a cohesion of mid-May heat and humidity. Her feet, swollen and slightly blistered, bob to the music, which keeps the straggeling guests, who are all too drunk and happy, languidly moving on the patio. The grass is beginning to cool; she inches her toes over the edge of her flip flops, bends back the flexible sole and runs her feet over the blades. Having had just the right amount of champagne and wine, the texture of the grass--which would normally tantalize her sensitive skin--feels good. Now comforted by the aesthtic confection that surrounds her, she leans into him, her moist body heavy on his. Her wine glass feels heavier, awkwardly aqueous as the ebb and flow of the thick liquid heaves with her wavering hand. She rests the foot of the glass on his knee, knowing his steady disposition will keep it, and her, at ease. He smells good--musk, cologne, sweat, hair product. She leans in deeper, her chest at his back, and she exhales across his neck.

He braces himself on the corner of the lounge chair, prepared to absorb the full weight of her body. He feels her breasts pressing against his shoulder, conforming to the creases of his back. Her breath is thick with the smeall of fermented grapes. Her chin plunges into his left deltoid, the pointed bone sending a ticklish jolt up his spine. He has loosened his tie and rolled his sleeves knowing that tonight he will become the fulcrum to her wilting frame. The black loafers he bought for this night are speckled with wine and whiskey, dulled in the moonlight, dirty and proud as they brace his tired legs. He grasps his beer with tightly folded fingers; his right thumb gingerly abrades the neck of the bottle. A freshly cut fingernail methodically peels the edge of the label while his inside fingers slip on summer condensation. He smells the grass and smells her. He is at once annoyed but also at ease knowing that she needs him. Drunk--or even not--her body, her head, her shoulders, her thin arms and cinched waste would be disoriented without him. He knows he loves her, and he is certain she loves him. Actively touching her or even acknowledging her intoxicated advances would ruin this moment, maybe even ruin them. As she fades further into a wasted drowsiness he knows what he must do. Planting his feet, squaring his shoulders, he takes a sip of his beer and takes a deep breath. He turns his head and exhales on her, knowing that the next intake will be breath of alcohol, of grass, of her.

Why I Love Pop Music

You hate pop because it's lame. You hate pop because it's studio produced fluff. You hate pop because it saturates the radio. You hate pop because it has no depth. You hate pop because, well, it's pop. And me? I love pop music.

Now, don't get me wrong; I am well aware that the aforementioned protestations against pop music are entirely true. But that doesn't mean I can't like it, right? But we don't listen to pop music to hear the latest philosophies on life. Nor do we listen to it to find or relate to some profundity about our emotions or experiences or opinions. We listen to pop music because, for that brief three minute interlude of music by artists so prolific as Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake or Beyonce, we have fun. Admit it. "Sexy Back" bumps the sound system at the dance club or on the radio and you start moving. Some blast from the past hit like "Tubthumping" randomly plays on your iPod and you can't help but smile because, like it or not, songs like that inadvertently attach to our memory. For my generation and those close to it, the influx of cheesy pop in the mid to late 90s seemed like an invasion of de trop TRL trash and one hit wonders. But, I dare you to put on "I Want it That Way" and not remember you and your boys parodicaly singing it to a crowd of screaming girls at a school dance.

To be the resident music snob who can't enjoy anything unless it comes from a band with a pretentious, often times undecipherable name means one thing: you're insecure. Every type of music has it's purpose, and pop music makes no mistake in its intentions. It's there to make you jump up and down. It's there to make you forget all the melodramatic shit in your life. It's there for those drunken 4 a.m. nights when you can finally let go and just fucking have fun.

Pop has seen many faces since its inception and subsequent increase in popularity with artists like--yes, that's right--Elvis and The Beatles. Yet, most of us are quick to leave pop back in the 90s, forgetting that pop is quickly becoming less about bubble gum dance beats and more about sappy guys with pianos and guitars. The Fray looks a little less credible now, huh? But don't let that be your first inclination, because hardly does it matter that more and more bands are being snatched up by major record labels and becoming engulfed in marketing campaigns that would seemingly strip them of their individuality. All I've got to say to that is...who effing cares? If you like their music, you like their music. Screw your image; it's probably not as cool as you think it is anyway.

So, let go of your fucking hang-ups and pop in Britney Spears, Third Eye Blind, Eminem, N* Sync, The Beatles, All Saints, The Rolling Stones, BB Mack, Christina Aguilera, Jay-Z, ABBA, Elton John or any band out there whose songs you know by heart whether you want to or not. You're gonna have fun. I guarantee it.

Seth

Post Birthday Musing

Yesterday's birthday post was a little doleful. A day later and I'm feeling a little jollier.

This little quip was taken from one of two birthday cards I received; but it's absolutely perfect.

dwell happy

dwell hopeful

dwell on something meaningless

dwell on something meaningful

dwell beautiful

dwell on thursday

dwell thoughtfully

dwell purposefully

dwell on


Said perfectly. Dwell on everyone.

Seth

Happy 23rd, Seth

Today is my birthday, and I suppose it needs some commentary. I am now 23...two years from 25...almost halfway to 50...almost a quarter century old. Talk about perspective. I say all the time "I'm so old," but am I really? I feel like I did when I was 18, but I know, I hope, I've matured. Others tell me I have, so I trust them. Perhaps I'm just hanging on to those days when I had the type of responsibility that isn't really responsibility. And now, I am finally about to dive into the real world, into what seems to only be a monotonous sequence of repetition. That's why I feel old I guess.

March 6th, 2007 is half way over and to say it's been a productive day would just be lying. I've talked on the phone today more than I have in the last 3 months. I've been constantly clearing out my inbox of e-mails from Facebook alerting me that I have received yet another generic--though very satisfying--happy birthday wallpost. Text messages come every now and then. It's sort of exhausting accepting all the good cheer. But, what I would be like without all of it isn't something I want to think about, because I love being loved. There, that was something positive about today. Maybe I should just leave it at that before my mood starts to plummet.

Tonight will be a low key evening: simply dinner, drinks and friends. There are a few of you I wish were with me right now--you know who you are. But, we'll rendezvous en spirit. It's been a giftless day so far, but, what do I need really? Besides the Journey: Greatest Hits DVD...

Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday, dear Seth, Happy Birthday to me.


Seth

If You Really Want to Know...

Care to know who I am? Read the excerpt below taken from The Secret Language of Birthdays. As much as I want to resist everything it says, it's pretty much completely true...eerily true.

March Sixth - The Day of the Beauty Lovers

An irresistible attraction to beauty is central to the lives of March 6 people - less often an aggressively forceful or passionate attraction, but rather a subtly magnetic one. March 6 people find themselves drawn toward certain people, situations, environments, music, drama and art that please their senses. They themselves often have attractive powers of their own which they may not fully realize. Easygoing March 6 people need to spend time getting to understand this power and how it can work for them if they wish to be more successful in their careers and progress in their personal development

March 6 people may be going along peacefully in a certain direction when something or someone catches their eye, and though they may view this thing of beauty but for a brief instant, they cannot get the image out of their mind. Irresistibly they are drawn to it and before they know it they are caught. Perhaps this is due to their unconscious sensitivities or even psychic powers and the nature of romantic attraction and how it works. March 6 people tend to project their own series of internalized and idealized pictures out on the world, or at least an unconscious set of strong expectations. Especially when viewing that which strikes them as beautiful, they often do not see what is really there, but rather what they wish to see. Perhaps what they see reinforces and complements their internal needs. Thus they may, like Narcissus, be actually falling in love with their own reflection.

Many March 6 people are highly aesthetic creatures, willing to devote their lives and if necessary sacrifice themselves to their ideals. They themselves are capable of inspiring great admiration, even adoration in others. Such attraction might be called irrational were it not for the fact that it often satisfies concrete, objective concerns and needs.

For March 6 people, all forms of sensuous experience - textures, sounds, colors, smells and tastes - combine in a kind of bouquet which buoys their spirits but sometimes overwhelms them. Some born on this day may well becomes slaves to their desires and attractions, but for many March 6 people the purely sensual does not satisfy their need to adore and appreciate beauty. They need to do far more - to idealize the objects of their affections, and once having done so, to share their life with it, perhaps even merge with it.

Unfortunately, disenchantment and disentanglement are two possible painful results when an initial ecstatic period of involvement has faded. For those born on March 6, learning to be objective in handling their attractions and attractiveness is key to their maintaining control over their lives and fulfilling their potential as human beings.

Strengths: Aesthetic, Attentive, Devoted
Weaknesses: Complacent, Oversensuous, Adrift

Falling in love to easily and too often may in fact be and expression of disaffection with oneself


Yeah, that's me. All me.


Seth

The First of Many

I decided I need something a little more professional than Xanga or, gah, MySpace. Consider this my more mature blog....but don't hold me to that, because I'm not.