Quite Possibly, Our Last Post Ever

Hello WordPress.

It’s been a long time, and perhaps some of you are wondering what happened to us.

Don’t worry, we’re not dead or broken up.

Actually, quite the contrary, Emily and I are engaged now. I proposed to her in July, on Pfeiffer Beach at Big Sur, y’know, the place with that cool looking rock.

Anyways, as the title suggests, we are most likely moving on from this blog. The nonexistent activity for the past 6 months probably gave that away.

Why? Well, a lot has changed in our lives, apart from getting engaged. We’ve both quit our jobs. I sold my house and most of our possessions a few months back. We’ve decided to see the world and spend a year traveling the globe.

That’s right, we’ve adopted the nomad life. We’re pulling an Alexander Supertramp, minus the isolation and general financial irresponsibility. We’ll be jumping around from place to place, and when we come back to the USA, we’ll be more evolved, refined, and better versions of ourselves (hopefully).

Oh, and we’ve started our own travel blogs! If you’d like to follow our travel blogs, please find us here:

Emily: http://happynfull.com

Chris: http://shotofglass.com

We really enjoyed A Couple Talks. It was pretty a therapeutic project for myself. I needed an outlet like this during a time of my life that was full of discontent and angst. I knew something wasn’t right with my situation back then, so I decided to make a dramatic change and experience life in a new way.

Thank you all for reading this blog, it was really nice to know that some of these thoughts and opinions written here resonated with people out there.

Live your life to the fullest. Don’t be afraid to take risks.

Peace and love,

A Couple Talks.

For Anyone Out There, An Update

On the blog front, Emily and I have been quite stagnant. 

To put it bluntly, we’ve been lazy fucks when it comes to writing. 

For all two of you that may be wondering, we are still together and doing well. 

Here’s where I tease: a lot of change is in the works. We are up to some significant stuff at the moment. I’m not quite ready to put it out there, but I will soon. 

There’s so much inside of me that wants to come out besides my shit, but I want to wait until the time is right, like my shit. 

For now, all I can do is wish you well and ask you to stay tuned. 

I am tired, I am delirious, I am anxious, but I am excited for what’s to come. 

Cheers. 
Chris. 

Your Greatest Piece Of Art

Emily and I went to the LA Art Show this past weekend. The show was 200,000 square feet of eclectic paintings, sculptures, mixed media pieces, and live performance pieces, both foreign and local, traditional and contemporary.

In general, I was pretty impressed with the art. Of course, there were a number of how the fuck did this get here pieces, but overall it seemed like the caliber of art was high.

Art. What is art? It’s one of those super-vague, overly subjective questions that can bring forth answers akin to nails on a chalkboard.

Perhaps What is art? is not the right question. Perhaps the real question is, What is the purpose of art?

Art, if I may pontificate, is meant to elicit a response. The viewer should, in some form, connect with the art, and as a result, a feeling or a thought should come forth. If I look at a painting and think, I have no idea what this is, then the painting isn’t for me.

I bring all this up because there was one piece that elicited such a response, so much so that I’m still thinking about it now and, in fact, am writing about it in this very blog post.

Here it is:

Jean-Michel Basquiat

Basquiat. What can I say about this man that hasn’t been said already. His art transcended. He brought a new perspective and unique style to the world in a time where the New York scene was bubbling with the fullness of punk rock and the infant stages of Hip-hop. He dated Madonna before she became Madonna. He left this world too soon.

Basquiat. Yeah, his art was great, but look at his life. He was a slave to his addiction. As singular and one-of-a-kind as he was as an artist, he was also yet another heroin addict.

I have to say, that’s pretty weak.

When we think about art, hardly do we ever solely focus on the art, but instead we also view the artist with a watchful eye. It’s as if the artist is just as much a part of the art as the canvas and oil. There should be some congruence between the art and the artist’s lifestyle, shouldn’t there?

So what do I make of Basquiat? Yes, his art was awesome, but his life kind of sucked. Being addicted to heroin sounds pretty god-awful to me. Reading a bit on his personal history, his childhood and adolescence was full of turmoil and strife.

Should I be inspired by Basquiat, for all the timeless pieces he created, or should I look upon him with sorrow, wondering what could have been had he been able to conquer his demons?

And this leads me to my actual thought: For any creative person out there, the greatest piece of art should be life itself. If the art is badass, then the life should be badass as well. What’s the point of creating the next Mona Lisa or composing the next Bohemian Rhapsody if life sucks? At the end of the day, where did all the great art lead to for Basquiat, or Kurt Cobain, or Amy Winehouse?

Don’t get me wrong, I still find Basquiat’s art to be invaluable, but he’ll never be someone that truly inspires me, because he couldn’t figure out how to compose the most important piece: life.

It’s just a thought. Fucking art.

 

Chris.

I Can’t

Two words.

When you really think about it, we are the killers of our own dreams.

For a lot of us, if we’re asked the question, Are you doing exactly what you want to be doing with your life?, the answer is some version of No.

And for most of us, the reason is simple – It’s your own fault.

Think about this: how many times in the past week have you said or thought to yourself, I can’t? It might have been about something small like, “I can’t go out tonight because I have work tomorrow morning,” or “I can’t go over and talk to that girl because she’ll reject me.” You may have also said it for grander issues like, “I can’t quit my crap job because I’m in too much debt,” or “I can’t come out of the closet because my family will disown me.”

We get into this mode where we trick ourselves into thinking that outside circumstances are preventing us from doing and becoming what we want, but really we’re the ones blocking ourselves.

Look, I’m not above this either; I do this to myself just as much as everyone else. I can’t. I can’t. There’s too much goddamn I can’t in my life.

If you’re reading this, do us all a favor: the next time you say I can’t to something, check yourself for a second. Really ask yourself what you can and can’t do.

I’ll try to do the same.

 

Chris.

The Paradox Of Expectations

Oh WordPress, how I’ve missed you.

Actually, no, I haven’t. I’ll come clean; I almost forgot the password to this account.

Guess you’re our illegitimate stepchild after all.

We go into blogging with the mindset that we’ll keep it up and post regularly. I mean, c’mon, surely we have at least fifteen minutes a day that we can spare to blog, right? Right?

No, we do not. We’re too busy watching the same Vine loop a thousand times on our phone or stalking our ex-lover, ex-friend, ex-coworker, ex-whatever on Facebook.

If you’re new to blogging, just know this: one day you’ll hate blogging.

I listened to a podcast episode of NPR’s Hidden Brain the other day. This episode featured Aziz Ansari, and they discussed a concept known as the paradox of choice.

We love having options, but is there such a thing as having too many options?

I do get frustrated when I can’t decide on an entree at a restaurant that has a million dishes to choose from, as opposed to In-N-Out Burger, where I know exactly what I want since there’s only three items on the menu (secret menu notwithstanding).

How about dating? Is it good now that Tinder, Match, and eHarmony have given singles an endless pool of matches to choose from? I don’t know; it seems to me that the increased dating pool has left singles less satisfied with who they’re currently dating and more curious about what other, better options are out there.

 

The creator of the paradox of choice, Barry Schwartz, says that there’s a simple solution: lower your expectations.

Lower your expectations? The hell?

 

I don’t know about that. Lowering expectations can lead to taking less chances, and what is life without taking a chance or two along the way?

I would revise the solution this way: manage your expectations. Be careful not to expect something to be the best thing ever, yet don’t completely give up going in. Find that nice even ground that suits your personality and situation.

Like this blog. I expect I’ll post again once or twice before the new year. I’m not saying I’m going to do this everyday like I used to, but I won’t be forgetting my password anytime soon either.

 

Chris.

Hanging On By A Thread

Back in the year 2000, I was a senior in high school. The year consisted mostly of college applications, goofing around in class, and playing sports. Any pressure of doing well in school was alleviated; the work, or damage, was already done, so it was left up to the college gods to determine my fate, as it were. I had a good time.

A big reason for why my senior year was enjoyable was my friends. There was about seven of us that did pretty much everything together. We’d play basketball, go bowling, go to the movies, and hang out on the weekends, and during school we would be in the same classes and have lunch and breaks together. There was a real sense of camaraderie and brotherhood, and though college was on the horizon where our paths would diverge, we felt like the bonds that we created during our formative adolescent years would carry our friendships through a lifetime of different experiences.

Today, I am still friends with only one of those high school guys.

It’s an all too familiar story that for the most part all of us can relate to – losing touch with high school friends. But it’s not just friends from back in high school. The truth is, no matter what stage of life we’re talking about, the friends we make and have can and will likely fall by the wayside. But why is that? Are having our lives go in different directions the reason for this? Is it because people change and are no longer the same version of themselves as they were at a particular time?

I think those are all valid explanations, but the one I believe in the most is this: friendships are fragile, and oftentimes a single instance can break them beyond repair.

It’s not as if I had a huge falling out with my high school friends. That was a case of time growing people apart. But let’s look at the friends that we have amassed in our lifetimes, and more specifically, within the last five to ten years. It could be a comment someone said, or what someone did or didn’t do in a certain situation, but little moments in time can have damaging effects on friendships. Maybe a one-time friend made an offensive comment or perhaps someone left us high and dry in a time of need; whatever the case may be, people are quick to bail on friendships.

It’s a combination of things, I suppose. As we get older, our personal thresholds for bullshit decrease. We become more set in our ways and oftentimes less compromising on certain principles. Our time becomes more valuable and in turn we become more selective on whom we choose to spend our time with. Whatever the reason may be, all of our friendships, no matter how close or strong they may seem at the moment, are all hanging by a thread. And the thread can break at any time.

I don’t write all this to paint a grim picture of humanity (even though I tend to be a misanthrope). I write this to point out that we should appreciate the people we call friends today. It’s human nature to take people for granted, so while we are in the good graces of those we call friends and vice versa, let’s do all we can to stay friends.

 

Chris.

Soon Enough, I’ll Get Fingered

I know what you’re thinking.

No, I am not going to prison.

But yes, you did read that right. In due time, a finger will be up my ass. Is it by choice? Well, let’s just say that’s debatable.

What is life but a mere collection of unique experiences? Shouldn’t we be expanding our horizons, seeking opportunities that will lead to a higher state of enlightenment?

Seriously, get your mind out of the gutter. This is not a sex thing.

I went to the doctor recently. I’m one of those types that never go to the doctor. Dentist? Yes, I get my teeth cleaned regularly, but doctor? Nah. I hadn’t seen a doctor in about eight years. But I’ve been getting migraines and I hurt my wrist at the gym not too long ago. I also figured it would be a good idea to get my blood drawn to see what filth lives inside of me.

The doctor, an older Indian gentleman, asked me how old I was, to which I told him that I’m 33. Hearing that number come out of my mouth sounds a little strange; I honestly forget that I’m not 30 anymore from time to time. Then, the doctor said, Well, you don’t have to get your prostate checked yet, but soon enough. Nobody likes getting that checked. Then he went on to laugh for a brief few seconds.

Like I said, a finger up my ass.

It’s inevitable, not necessarily the finger, but getting old. As I was getting my blood pressure and heart rate taken, I sat in the doctor’s office thinking, This is my life now – doctor appointments with prostate examinations on the horizon. I could have sworn I was that douchebag at the club hitting on random girls with negs and demonstrations of higher value just last week. Where did the time go?

But I guess that’s life. I suppose we ought to savor the moments we have now, be in the present. Do things get better with age? I don’t know. I have no idea what the future holds, and perhaps that’s partly why the present is so great, because we don’t know.

I do know, however, that soon enough, I’ll get fingered. That’s all the future knowledge I need for now, thanks.

 

Chris.

New Coworkers Are Awful

Am I a good person? Clearly, I am not.

I question people who don’t question themselves. How can anyone be so sure of his quality as a human being? Oftentimes I find that those that can make such bold proclamations like I’m a good mom, or I’m definitely capable of getting the job done are the exact opposite of what they’re saying.

I don’t ever want to hang out with someone who never doubts himself, someone who lacks the introspection to question how good of a person he really is.

Just as I say these things, I must admit – doubting myself sucks. Don’t get me wrong, I want to be a good person. I mean, don’t we all want to be loved? Isn’t that the whole point of all this?

The other day, I met a new coworker. Let’s just call her Gina (either pronunciation, conventional or the one from The 40-Year Old Virgin, works here). She’s a woman who, from the looks of her, is in her early forties. In an office where the standard energy level of the employees is at a steady 4 out of 10, she bursts onto the scene at level 9. Her smile is about as fake as Giada de Laurentiis’s, made of plastic, just like Vicki of Small Wonder fame.

That’s all I needed to know right there. She hasn’t even said a word yet. She could be Mother Theresa reincarnated. Not a fan already.

She says Hi, nice to meet you! as if I’m a mentally disabled child – slow, loud, and deliberate. Is this a joke? Is she just fucking with me? I want to tell her to STFU, I honestly do, but of course, all I can muster up is the standard level 4 Oh hey, it’s nice to meet you. Welcome. I can feel my vagina growing. And of course, Gina continues to drone about how excited she is to be here and how she’s so looking forward to working with everyone here. Bitch, please. Your bullshit smells worse than my farts. Actually, they don’t; my farts smell really bad.

I go home that day and I think about this brief exchange. This woman never did anything to me. In fact, she was nothing but polite when we met.

So why do I hate her so goddamn much?

Clearly, I have issues. I must be a horrible person. As time goes on, my inner-misanthrope seems to grow stronger and stronger. Instead of seeing the good, I am subconsciously trying to find any reason to dislike anyone I meet. Perhaps this is indicative of my own self-loathing ways.

But then, during the next day of work, another coworker comes by and says, That new girl Gina, what’s her deal? A-ha! So she is hate-able. Okay, I am not alone. Phew.

I think, to a degree, everyone wants to be likable. Hell, I don’t want to be anyone’s Gina. I don’t want to be the subject of anyone’s hatred just from a mere glance.

At the same time, I can’t control how other people feel. As Trent told Mikey in the diner (Swingers reference), I don’t like some people, and some people don’t like me. Come to think of it, I’m sure that I am someone’s Gina.

So what’s the conclusion? I guess it’s that Haters’ gonna hate. Yes, it’s a bit corrosive to the soul to hate people, period, let alone for unjustified reasons. But hey, drinking is corrosive to the liver, and yet, I still drink beer because it tastes so good.

Trust me, you wouldn’t like Gina either.

 

Chris.

Two Week Recap

I haven’t been on WordPress for the past two weeks.

I wondered what I’ve been missing and what my fellow bloggers are up to.

Here is the overall theme from what I’ve gathered from five minutes of perusing my feed:

 

Men are still creeps.

 

Got it. Thanks for the update. Good talk.

 

Chris.

Football, I Just Can’t Quit You

It’s been two weeks since my last blog post.

I’d love to say that I’ve been busy feeding the poor, saving the manatees, or doing 10,000 push-ups – pretty much anything productive.

The truth is, I haven’t done a damn thing besides watch football.

Hey, I can look at things objectively – spending an entire weekend watching football is about as ridiculous as waiting in line for the premiere of a Harry Potter movie in full-on Ron Weasley cosplay as an adult (and no, I have not done that). I know Emily loves my obsession with football. When she’s saying something to me during a game and I don’t even turn my face away from the TV to look into her eyes, she thinks I’m the biggest loser ever. And I am.

Let’s think about it – football is a sport marketed as being masculine and full of bravado yet straight males all over the country completely ignore their beautiful girlfriends and wives to watch grown men, in essence, wrestle each other over a ball.

In a weird twist, comic book nerds think I’m such a loser for watching gratuitous amounts of football, because surely collecting mint condition action figures and obscure limited edition issues only released in Japan is a way better use of time.

I get absolutely nothing done when football’s on TV. I’ll move a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer and let it dry only to have it sit in my dryer for the whole weekend. I’ll hold in my piss until I can’t anymore because I don’t want to miss a play. My exercise for the day is getting into my car and driving to get carne asada burritos. I won’t shave at all so by Sunday night I’ll have the classic ironicly-thin Asian man mustache. I know, I know, I’ll stop – the ladies are getting too hot and bothered. Don’t want to get y’all too aroused – I am taken, after all.

Look, I know it’s dumb, but like Jake Gyllenhall famously said, I wish I knew how to quit you, football.

Hell, I’m watching a show about football right now as I write this blog post. This is sick. I’m a sick person. Then again, I’ve probably already established that by now, haven’t I.

This kind of symbolizes what’s going on in society today. As individuals, we have the potential to accomplish quite a bit, but what do we do instead? Watch someone else accomplish things on TV.

I’ve made up my mind – I’m going to turn this damn TV off.

After these highlights.

Chris.