too much has been made, that is, inside my own head, of the need – ay, the pressures – to be something more – especially during these summer weeks – a period that is supposed to be constructive and rewarding.

of course, try going six straight days of inordinate beer consumption and self-pitying over never-to-be-materialized romances — the pressure just mounts and you find yourself whining. well, i did.

all the partying – from the restaurant/bar, lounges, downtown loft, asian party scene, my own single – ended with a familiar late-night afterparty gorging at Gameeok, where me, Albert, Rich, and new aquaintance Lawrence tried to laugh off a night of Sausage Squad patrol at an MK party in the Canal Room. “At least your girl wasn’t heavier than you,” Rich, shaking his head, told me. “I’m never coming out without any girls again,” Albert, usually on the passive side, declared authoritatively. the sulong tang and bin dae dduk helped to distance lingering memories of standing still amid a dance floor wondering if we could summon up the courage to dance with a stranger.

the night ended with Rich trying to convince me to become a trader – even to the point of prophesizing that i will become one. lots of money, lockroom testosterone, intensity, excitement, long hours, no real skills needed, etc. — can’t say for sure that i’m totally opposed to the idea, but then again, will there be much to show for besides a handsome bank account balance? or is that all one needs in this world?

which brings me back to the pressure i’ve been feeling. the pressure to be more. i don’t really know what the driving cause is – i tell myself that it’s a deep-seated insecurity of being worthless – and my comparative habit of wondering why i am not as “successful” or “accomplished” as some of my peers has me discontent and dissatisfied — all while handicapped in a mental way so that i just lament at the realization but do little to correct it.

but of course, i am being silly. i look around and realize i am being unnecessarily jittery and over-worked about myself. calm down!

so i tried, and to a degree, it worked. i needed coffee badly and it was already past 9pm on a monday that i didn’t have work thanks to the birth of our awesome country. i promised myself i would drink decaf because i have work tomorrow and i can’t stay up too late. starbucks was closed early, but luckily, i found nussbaum & wu on 113th still open. a small decaf – the first time i’ve ordered it for myself (my parents always drink decaf) and a small cookie to nibble on – i sat down in what was virtually an empty room save the white woman chattering on her cellphone while going over a bunch of papers a few tables away. i plopped down on a four-person table and opened up my bonfire of the vanities. about ten minutes into my reading, i recognize the familiar guitar tabs and realize it’s john mayer singing why georgia on the radio. “am i living it right” is the line that i take to heart and wonder if all the self-imposed pressures and dissatisfaction is worth it. then it’s back to the book, where i devour all tom wolfe has to paint about new york in the eighties — and i realize that i love it so much more because the characters – namely the three main ones – are so easy to relate to on a personal level. McCoy – the bond salesman in an extramarital affair and serious legal trouble – loves the material life and puts an emphasis on the appearance of living large. Kramer – the Jewish assistant district attorney who works in the Bronx and went to Columbia Law – has a race-consciousness and muscle/macho consciousness that is perfectly depicted in his prized possession of hard sternocleidomastoids. Fallow – the British journalist for The City Light who can’t keep away from the alcohol and looks condescendingly upon America – is judgemental (like the extra “e”?) and very aware of his inability to ward off a destructive lifestyle. for me, the trinity of these characters have kept me on my feet with every page, on one hand wondering how skillfully they were crafted and on the other hand wondering why it is that i feel so close and even sympathetic to these less-than-virtuous white men. perhaps new york, the setting of this book, has something to do with it . or maybe i am relating to what it is to be american, minus the korean adjective (although they do mention korean grocers at least once so far). yeah, that’s right. is there such a thing (“american”)? maybe i am beginning to believe that there may be.

i walked out of nussbaum about 20 minutes after ten and felt good about a few things. good that i had found a nice reading spot on a weekday. good that i was feeling calm and not as anxious about life. good that i had read a few chapters outside the bathroom stall or subway car. good that there was nobody really watching except myself, so i can cut myself a break.

i guess these self-critical, feel-good, gonna-be-better entries are lame in the sense that the conclusion is always predictable. but since they’re harmless, i don’t mind…. so here goes… who am i? what is it that i want? am i happy? i don’t know. but for the moment, i’ll be who i am, and play it by ear.

today at work, they brought in an assistant professor from stern (b-school at nyu) who specialized in communication in a corporate environment. professor schramm, if i am spelling it correctly, presented to some of the human resources staff members what he would do for NFL employees with his three-session workshop. it was interesting to see what kind of skill sets he proposed to focus on and topics ranged from lower-level employees interacting with superiors, getting/giving feedback, taking a look at different methods of communication, and more. throughout the meeting, having all these “communication skills” listed and explained had me thinking about my own communication ability… or the lack of it.

the more i think about it, i recognize a great deficiency in the way i communicate with others. it’s too embarrassing or almost self-effacing to just list it all here because i might end up feeling cleansed from this blog confessional – buy anyway, i’ll just jot a few points.

1. rushed – i think especially with people i don’t know too well or people who may be “above” me – i.e. professors, supervisors, etc. – i am more concerned about ending the conversation than maintaining it. slow down!

2. lecturing – yes, i am one sanctimonious mofo. i’ve been told that i preach a lot and i lecture people as if i am superior or “know better” when in fact i know jack shit. so yeah, unless it’s like a little kid who is clueless and really really needs guidance, i should just chill out with the condescending, know-it-all approach to communicating.

3. ramble – i like to think that reading a lot has made me more interesting, but i have realized that my inability to articulate (or to regurgitate) the information has made me even less interesting because people can’t follow what i am trying to say. being incoherent and unmemorable renders anything insightful or stimulating in my head pretty useless. i hope my written communication isn’t as convulted, but then again, i’ve seen my AIM convos and they’re just as jumbled and pathetic as well.

i remember when i was in first grade, about 10 months after i had immigrated to the united states from korea – the phone rang at home and i picked it up and answered in korean but could not really understand what the korean person on the other line was saying. i struggled to reply, so my mom took the phone and answered it. she later yelled at me for being an idiot who could no longer understand korean nor speak any english. she was right – it was a tough transition period for me as i forgot korean and struggled to learn english. fifteen years later, i go to an ivy league university and flaunt big words from time to time, but in reality, i’m still awkward, uncomfortable, and unable to communicate effectively. but this time, it’s not a matter of knowing the language — i think it’s just a matter of being honest… to myself… and to everyone else. no further elaboration — i’ll let you speculate — but yeah, a stupid mouth.

while reading the foreward by tom wolfe for his 80s new york novel, the bonfire of the vanities, i came across an interesting point that he was trying to make: that the task of writing fiction, namely in the novel form, requires a great deal of reporting, and that recording things can furnish a writer with materials to use. wolfe suggests that “literay genius” was is made up of “65 percent material and 35 percent the talent in the sacred crucible.”

material, material, material — what is it? my understanding of the word, at this point, would most likely include:
>> personal experiences – the people you’ve met, the places you’ve been, the things you’ve noticed
>> the things you know – the product of our education, the things we absorb intentionally i.e. films, television shows, pop songs, etc.
>> Imagination – the result of subconscious creative forces that somehow synthesize the two things above and create something that, in our unreflective, conscious minds, seem totally fresh and new

i guess if “material” can be broken down to the things i have mentioned (or anything like it), then this pursuit of material entails tailoring a lifestyle that will maximize the collection and retention of such material. perhaps that is why journalists are often ready-equipped to become writers because of their various world experiences, their tendency to jot these experiences down, and a way with words. for a cubicle-bound schmo such as myself, i think the accumulation of material will require more self-initiative. that may mean re-examining the everyday walks in the city to find details worthy of writing, reading sensational stories in the daily news and taking note of how it affects the way i view the world, or traveling around the world and keeping a perceptive mind rather than going into shutdown-tourist mode. it’s been truly foolish of me to think that i can just sit in my room and just make things up as i go along. i guess some people with great literary talent can take such an approach, but from personal experience, i have seen my limitations.

i guess what i’m trying to determine is how important it is to record the things in my life, and if it is importnat, to what lengths i should go to in order to maximize life so that experiences are fresh, interesting, and even eventful. tom wolfe noted that we now live in a world where there is no such thing as reality and what exists in its place is absurdity. of course, we often feel that life is just a string of predictable events that ultimately produce pre-packaged results — but maybe he has a point. maybe if every waking moment in my life can be useful material for a writing project, then every moment alive is worth living. is it a forced attempt to make life more interesting for myself? a therapeutic measure perhaps? well, as long as i can buy into it, i can’t see where it may hurt. the material hunt begins. i guess i ought to wish really hard for that 35 percent talent.