Brookyln Complete

6/28/14

Brooklyn, New York

Reader, what follows is a story about 4 cigars, a National Park Site, 9 National Historic Landmarks, a county legislature building, the better part of a gallon of water from my water bottle, a plate of fried chicken, some very sore body parts, and an 8-hour trek through Brooklyn by train, bus, foot, and bike, all in a quest to say “Brooklyn/Kings County Complete.”  I woke up right on schedule and was out of the house right on schedule.  The plan was to do Brooklyn Complete all in one day, finishing up at Borough Hall at around 3:30 PM, polish off the downtown Manhattan NHLs, and be back to my apartment at 4:30 PM.  I knew the schedule would not hold and was expecting more like a 6 PM return home, but now it is looking more like 7 PM.  I realized that it would be better to get breakfast first, so I got bacon and coffee, my favorite breakfast, from my favorite place.

After a few missed connections, I thought I would be half an hour behind schedule before I hit my first site.  However, it worked itself out, and when I got on the bus, I wound up sitting sideways in the seat facing forward, and it looked (and felt) like the way a commander on a military vessel might sit.  I certainly was going to war, going to war against the sites in Brooklyn required to say “Brooklyn Complete.”  I kept saying it that way in my head, but “Kings County Complete” might be more accurate.  It is a fluke of the way the counties in New York City are that it is easier to say all five Country Completes than the city Complete.  It would be a lot harder to Complete every town in Westchester than to Complete Westchester.  With the five boroughs, it’s the opposite.

I got off at Floyd Bennett Field and found the VC.  Floyd Bennett Field was New York’s airport, and there is a story that Mayor LaGuardia landed in Newark once, even though his ticket said “New York.”  He told the captain to take him to New York, and they flew to Floyd Bennett Field, which I believe was just a naval air station at the time.  This was it.  It would be the last stamped brochure I’d need in New York State.  By New York Harbor brochure would not quite be complete, since there are a bunch of other Gateway stamps I need, but this would be the final brochure.  In fact, once I return to Saugus for the brochure, I will have all the brochures for the North Atlantic region.  Also, it just puts me Albany away from saying “New York State Complete.”  I did my business at the VC, went outside to take a picture, and lit up my Aroma de Cuba.  Since it was pointless to just stay there to have the cigar, I walked to Jacob Riis Park, another part of the NRA, to finish the cigar on the beach.

After I was done, I got the bus back.  My next stop was the Wyckoff-Bennett Homestead, followed by the Wyckoff House (same Wyckoff) and the Jackie Robinson House, which would entail over an hour of walking.  I lit up an LFD at the first site and stayed a few minutes longer than necessary, since this was really a house worthy of being an NHL.  I believe both houses were 400 years old, maybe older.  It was a long walk, and I barely had any cigar left by the time I got to the Jackie Robinson House.  I sat on his stop for a few minutes before getting.  I had a fitting local meal at Kennedy Fried Chicken.  I asked the guy to refill my water bottle, and I must have mumbled because he asked if he wanted me to throw it out.  Of all the doomsday scenarios I have imagined for losing my water bottle, that was not one of them.

After my meal, too exhausted and sore to walk, I caught the bus that would take me to Green-Wood Cemetery, an NHL with some very old graves.  Of all the places that have banned me from smoking my cigar, one might think a cemetery would be one of them.  It was not.  They had an extensive list of rules, and it did not include “no smoking.”  I lit up my Undercrown, and no one stopped me.  They had a plaque by each entrance, but it was oversized, so I’m not sure if it counts as an official plaque.  I had to stop a few times, since I was so tired, and I followed the penalty kicks for the soccer match.  I still had plenty of cigar left by the time I finished, even with my breaks, and got to the subway station, so I just ditched it.  By the time I got off the train, I was back in what I call “inner Brooklyn,” and there was a Citibike station right by the train station, so I grabbed one and made my way to Quarters A, Brooklyn Navy Yard.  I lit up my Opus X, a great cigar worthy of saying “Brooklyn Complete,” and hit in rapid succession Plymouth Church of the Pilgrims, The Brooklyn Historical Society, and St. Ann and The Holy Trinity Church.

After that, I made my way to Borough Hall, the last stop in Brooklyn.  I dropped off the bike and took my picture in front of the building, saying “Brooklyn Complete” and “Kings County Complete.”  That was that, and I sat down to write this entry, which I will now close.

Maine: The Return - New England Complete?

6/22/14

Scarsdale, New York

Home, sweet home.  The place where I have spent more time than anywhere else in the world and may not see again for three months.  The philosophical theme of this trip was to discover what this thing people call chemistry is and to explain it without using a Clarence Thomas definition.  I think I did, but the issue was asking the right questions.  I like to say that I spent years developing and honing my aesthetics (in re: physical, female, human beauty), only to discover a year or so ago how meaningless it was.  I then spent the past year or so developing a philosophy of love, only to recently discover how meaningless it was.  On both topics, I solicited my father’s opinion, since I respect his ideals of beauty, and he knows more of love than anyone else I know.  With the first, he kept reminding me that there were more important things than beauty.  I didn’t believe him, until I did.  With the second, he told me that this mutual respect and shared values definition of love was not enough, trying to explain without saying it by word the importance of chemistry.  I didn’t believe him, until I did.  Just as you cannot build a relationship on physical attraction (beauty), so too can you not build a relationship on emotional attraction (love).  I thought the answer was that there needed to be a combination.  I was wrong.  As I explained Friday night, there is a third variable: chemistry.  I just couldn’t give a good definition.  The one I came up with, the interaction of “style” definition, was good, but it did not seem sufficient.  What then was missing?

It took me the whole weekend to properly figure it out.  The proper line of questioning is this.  Why do you want to be in a given relationship?  Because it makes you happy.  That was a good answer, since I hold Happiness as the Final Cause of our existence.  Why does it make you happy?  Because you enjoy being with her.  That, too, was good.  I hold enjoyment as one of the only two things that can cause happiness.  Maybe after starting a family together the enjoyment gives way to fulfillment, and that is where the shared history aspect that Andrew provided comes into play.  Okay, that leaves the question of why you enjoy being with her.  The answer is because you get along with her (too vague), because she accepts your flaws (something people off confuse that with love), because you get jokes that only the two of you get, because your neuroses balance each other (the Monica and Chandler example), because you can call each other out on shit without getting angry (the Jim and Cheryl example), because you find the way she shakes her head when she says no in response to you being deliberately obtuse (the “style” example).  People often conflate many of those things with love, but that is the very definition of chemistry, and it is as far as philosophy can go.  Anything further would delve into the realm of psychology.

When I woke up this morning, my breakfast was in the midst of being prepared, a kosher, Atkins-friendly breakfast: sautéed onions, lox, and a bowl of scrambled eggs.  I was left to cook the eggs, since my aunt did not want to overcook them, my mother having told her that I like my eggs runny.  We said our goodbyes and headed to the car, stopping at Peet’s for coffee along the way.  When we got in the car, I put on my music and commented to mother in re: the brochure that was 12 years old that one thing hadn’t changed in the past years.  She knew that I meant my love of Avril Lavigne.  It was a 20-minute drive to Saugus, plenty of time for my mother to drive me crazy with her backseat driving, pointing out cars 50 feet ahead of me and other things that I had successfully avoided for the past 50,000 or so miles without her help.  When got there, I was stokekd to get my last New England brochure and that final stamp on the MA brochure I had been collecting for 12 years.

We walked into the VC, and I asked if they had any brochures.  He hesitated, and I knew even before he said it the bad news.  I almost fell apart.  The four trips we had taken, all the crazy runs, the driving, everything, and they didn’t have the brochures.  I stamped my MA brochure, what was supposed to be a triumphant moment for me provided neither fulfillment or enjoyment value, but I did it anyway.  No one else in the world would have understood just how disappointing that moment was.  I lit up my Heisenberg as we started to walk around.  It was a mistake.  We should have just turned around and headed back to Boston.  She has just come home, so I will now pause.

We walked around a bit, but my heart was not in it, and we couldn’t get back in the car until my cigar was done.  We weren’t on a time crunch, but it was direct trade between the time we spent at Saugus and the number of NHLs we saw in Boston.  Eventually, I recovered, and I realized that my definition of checking off an NHL included “a stamped brochure.”  The implication was always the official NPS brochure, but, for now I would settle on the stamped MA brochure.  I knew I would be back in Boston for my NHLs and to grab the brochure next time I visited my aunt, so I wasn’t going to let this little setback stop from saying “New England Complete” today.  After the cigar, we headed to Boston, deciding to park behind the State House.  I will now have to pause again as my food is here.

I say decided to park, since I am incapable of parallel parking.  I pulled up alongside the car, put it park, and opened the door, telling my mother that she had to do it.  The space was only about 3 feet longer the car, and I was able to guide her through it.  My phone was still in range of the car’s Bluetooth, and I saw her trying to turn down the volume, so I decided to mess with her by turning it up with the phone.  We made our way to the State House, and we took a picture together.  I also took one of myself.  I lit up my Trinidad and announced, “Massachusetts Complete, New England Complete.”  She asked about the Saugus brochure, and I added “for now.”  I’d be back for the brochure, and I would be able to say it properly.  I then added “on to the Landmarks,” and on to the Landmarks we went, seeing 27 of Boston’s 57 most famous and historic sites, from the Old North Church where Paul Revere had told them to hang “One if by land, two if by sea” to the Old State State House where the Boston Massacre occurred, stopping for lunch (ham and cheese) and my mother to catch her breath (I asked her when I had become the better hiker of the two of us).

Of the 27 NHLs we visited, including one that was a disctrict, we got 12 plaques, a great ratio, and we managed not to kill each other, in spite of not being able to include the building she wanted to see and having to take a taxi to her train.  In my defense, Google Maps had mislead me, and I had thought that her stuff was a lot closer than it was.  Or maybe I just got the geography wrong.  It didn’t matter, she made her train and was able to see the building, which she had actually previously visited.  As we ended the first batch of NHLs, my cigar was starting to burn me.  There were two sites left, and I knew it would be down to a matter of less than a minute of I could get the pictures with the cigars.  I took my picture with the first one, and the cigar was burning my mouth.  I then got the second one, and I was about to ditch it when I saw the plaque at the first one out of the corner of my eye (they were next door).  As soon as I took the picture with the second plaque, I spit out the cigar, not even able to get in my final 11.  I remarked that this was one of only four cities in the country where you could do this.  She supplied DC and New York as the other two, forgetting the city where she grew up: Philadelphia.

We walked to the Old North Church, which was when I got my lunch, and they had a nice gift shop.  I got a little replica of the church, and we took our much needed Us.  I commented how everyone knows “one if by land, two if by sea,” but no one knows which one it was.  I put up my Black Market took my pictures, and we were on our way.  The goal was 10 plaques, so I was very happy with my 12.  After we parted ways, I took a picture at the City Hall, putting me one step closer to saying “Boston Complete.”  I did say that, if I didn’t count the ships, it was Boston Half-Complete.  I walked back to the car with some cigar still left.  I Texted Danielle pictures of the four churches I had visited, asking how many I would have to visit in the same day to lose my Jew card.  I don’t think she got the joke.  I pressed the button that said “Go Home,” and so I did, driving without stopping until I was.  After settling in and struggling with a computer more than half the age of that famous brochure, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

Maine: The Return - The Longest Day

6/21/14

Mars Hill, Maine (Mars Hill Mountain)

If ever there was a time to say, “Oh yeah, that’s the stuff,” it would be now.  Sitting atop Mars Hill Mountain, puffing on an ESG, watching the first sunrise in the country (lower 48) on the first day of summer, this is truly a blissful experience.  I am literally typing blind, so I will need to go back and proofread.  I don’t even care the damage staring directly at the sun might be doing to my eye.  It was a treacherous and steep climb, but it wasn’t that long.  My cell phone flashlight provided ample light, and the path was easy to follow.  Once I got to the ridge, I lit up my ESG and walked along to the summit.  I got all the way to the top with plenty of time to spare.  I saw that people had carved and burned their name into the lean-to, so I did the same, leaving my mark.  There was plenty of time until sunrise, but I wasn’t sure about the best spot.  I didn’t think I would be able to see the sunrise from the true summit due to the tees, but the clearing a few feet below was perfect, so I found the best spot.  It was really clouldy, and I feared that I might not get to see it.

Then, it happened.  At 4:36 AM, I saw the first glimmer of the sun through the cloud bank, 2 minutes before West Quoddy Head, and I knew that I was the first person, of 300 million in the lower 48 states to see the sun rise today, the first day of summer.  It was truly magical.  I took a bunch of pictures and sent them to practically everyone I know.  Just one small note before I close.  The previous entry was written at about 2 AM last night.  I say last night since there a few things that can cause me to change the date on the entry, such as sleeping after midnight, seeing the new day on my watch face, watching “Married… with Children” on TBS, or the sunrise.  Since I hadn’t done any of the others, by the very nature of this adventure, I can now do this entry with a new date and call the previous one last night.  I was about to leave when I remembered that I wanted to write this entry, and then I saw the sun rising fully above the cloud bank, so I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now go back and edit and close before I finally take my nap, though I’m not sure I need it, and might just head straight to St. Croix Island IHS.

At sea, Mink, Blue Hill Bay

When I was driving last night, every time I told myself that there was only X time left until I got to the mountain, I would always have to remind myself that it would then be followed by the hike to the top of the mountain, the hike back, and then this hellish 11 hours of driving.  Hellish is an understatement, and I am only halfway done with the driving.  Here aboard the boat that will take me to the Ranger Station that has the last stamp I need for my Acadia brochure, I can scarcely believe that I was in the office just 24 hours ago.  After I closed, I made my way back down to the car, eating a Quest bar en route.  I lit up a Jugar cigar I think it was closed, planning to take my nap either at St. Croix or after the cigar.  Big mistake.  As soon as I lit up, I knew that I would not be able to finish the cigar without falling asleep at the wheel.  I had about 2 hours to spare for stops and Dutch time, so I pulled into a rest stop, put my cigar on top of the car, and set the alarm for an hour later.  I don’t know if I fell asleep, but I was wide awake 20 minutes later.  I stopped for gas and then went to the McDonald’s drive through, getting the steak and egg, along with a coffee.  I’m quite sure it was the first time I ever had McDonald’s and a cigar while driving.  I finished the cigar and was soon at St. Croix Island IHS.

I had to be very careful not to accidentally drive into Canada, since I did not want to deal with the hassle of crossing back and forth and dealing with BSA and CBP.  The gift shop at the VC was lacking, but I got the stamped brochure, which was what mattered.  I lit up my Padron and walked along the path.  There was no public access to the island, but you could see it from the end of the path.  For better or worse, I had established a precedent, checking off an NPS if I can see the site if it is not publically accessible, so long as I get the stamped brochure.  Then, another long drive to the ferry dock, more naps, and lunch at a lobster shack.  That might be one of my favorite things about Maine, all the roadside shacks.

After I had lunch, I lit up an LFD and got back on the road.  My mother had sent me an email about another summer trip, which threw a wrench in my entire summer travel schedule.  I was going to respond at the red light, but I saw a notice on console that said incoming call from [her number].  I pressed a button, and her voice came crystal clear through the sound system, and she could hear me fine.  It was amazing.  I suppose most modern cars can do it, actually.  We ended the conversation agreeing that that this would hardly be our last trip to Maine, since we both loved it so much.  For her, it is the beaches and the water.  For me, it is the mountains and the trees.  With about 15 minutes left to the dock, I realized that I was starting to fall asleep.  Twice I almost nodded off and swerved into the shoulder.  I didn’t want to pull over so close to the dock, so I used all of my remaining energy to focus on getting safely to the dock.  I was there soon enough, and I bought my ticket.  I then went back to my car and passed out for about an hour, definitely falling asleep this time, waking up refreshed.  The five-hour drive back to my aunt’s house tonight should be tough, but there are no more time crunches, just the one on the island.  As soon as the boat took off, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

Brookline, Massachusetts

Today is the longest day of the year, and it sure as hell felt like it.  It has been 40 hours since I have slept in a bed, only getting a total of 2 hours napping in the car, and, in the 32 hours since I left the rental car station, I have done 1100 miles of driving, smoked a dozen cigars, and hiked for 4 hours.  I have seen a glorious sunset, and I have gotten two very important NPS stamps.  I have not, however, been able to properly define chemistry.  I am unwilling to give it the Clarence Thomas definition, so, for now, I am stuck with the interaction of “style” definition.  I will continue to consider it as I drive tomorrow, but I think the proper question might better be left to the psychologists and not the philosophers.  It is not yet midnight, and I can scarcely believe that the sunrise was this morning.  It seems so long ago.  The whole day was a blur.

After I closed on the boat, I went to the gift shop to get a replica of the lighthouse on the island.  They didn’t have replicas, but she tried to give me directions to walk to the lighthouse.  I pretended to listen politely, not telling her that I had no desire to see the lighthouse unless I would be adding a replica to my collection.  I then proceeded to the ranger station to get that final stamp.  I will mention, however, that, I realized that I did not have the park headquarters’ stamp, but I actually don’t think they have their own stamp.  This trip is supposed to be a parallel to the one I took with my mom last year the same weekend.  During that trip, I had smoked the Cubans I brought back from my Passover trip, so it was only fitting that I lit up a Cuban from this year’s Passover trip as I announced, “Acadia Complete,” adding “for now” in case I needed to get the HQ stamp.  I went on a little hike, managing to step in some deep mud and getting my shoe very wet and dirty.  I made my way back to the boat with plenty of time and ditched my Hoyo as I was waiting.

The boat ride back was unadventurous, and stopped at a restaurant for dinner.  I got a fried seafood platter, which was overpriced and not that good.  I should have just stopped at one of the shacks.  They were out of blueberry pie, which was just as well, since I stopped at a little bakery for coffee and a blueberry cobbler.  I ate far more of it than I should have, saving some more for after I finished the Aurora I had lit up.  I was trying to coordinate with my mother for our plans tomorrow, but she had found herself in the quiet car.  Rather than moving to a regular car, she thought it would be a better idea to email back and forth with me, as if driving 1100 miles on almost no sleep was not hard enough on it’s own.  At the next stop, she moved, or so she said, and then we got disconnected.  The service was back up, but she was no longer picking up the phone.  She instead sent me another long email and had moved back to the quiet car, not she had any desire to sit in the quiet car.  Finally, she said that she didn’t really care what we did and that I could just plan something.  I asked her why she didn’t just say that in her first email.  The reason I bring this up is that I know “winging” it never works, and I didn’t want to have to plan either late at night when I got home or in the morning, which would cut into our day, and trying to plan it by email was as dangerous as it was inefficient.  My frustration over this was quickly turning to anger at her irrationality, and it wiped out all the pleasure I had gotten from the day.  Recency always trumps primacy when it comes to emotions.  

It was then that I saw it.  A sign that Augusta was 10 miles away.  I had planned to include Augusta with my October Canada trip so that I could start off the trip by saying “New England Complete,” but it seemed foolish to put it off, especially since all of the New England trips had been ones either partially or entirely with my mother, so it would be fitting for this one to be the one where I said “New England Complete.”  I called an audible, which I almost never do, and I quickly entered the State House into the GPS, which showed a 8:12 PM arrival, but when was sunset?  My phone did not have data service, and I was frantically refreshing it.  That’s when I saw the blue lights behind me.  My heart stopped.  Was I being busted?  Nope, he kept going past me.  I breathed a sigh of relief and then saw that sunset was at 8:26 PM.

I suppose that before I continue, I should note that my cousin just walked in to the kitchen where I am writing this entry.  She is absolutely gorgeous, and she seems to have only gotten prettier since the last time I saw her.  She is certainly no longer the little girl that I used to tease.  Okay, back to Augusta.  I will also add that I was planning on writing an entry from Augusta, as I like to do from each Capitol, but my laptop was at 8% the charge when I checked on the boat, so it had to be less now.  At 5% it won’t function.  It was then that I realized I had brought the wrong charger.  I didn’t have to look at it.  I remembered from when I put it in the glove compartment, but I didn’t realize it until then.  I knew that I would have only chance to tranfer the Travelogue off somehow, but how to do it?  As soon as I got into the city, I saw a scaffolding over the dome, and I was forced to laugh, knowing that it would ruin the picture, though it would not stop me from saying “Maine Complete,” which I did, adding that it would be New England Complete tomorrow.  All the anger and frustration I had felt disappeared and was replaced by the thrill of being able to say “New England Complete.”    I also had successfully managed to copy the Travelogue to my phone, the laptop dying seconds later.

I lit up my Gurkha, which I knew would be the last cigar of the night, ditching it as soon as got over the New Hampshire border.  By the numbers, I spent 26 hours in Maine, 4 hours for the sunrise, 4 hours for the stamp, 1 hour eating and gassing up, 2 hours napping, and 15 hours driving, not to mention the 4 hours of driving that took me to Maine and the 1 hour from the border to Brookline, for a total 21 hours of driving over the course of this 32-hour jaunt.  I gassed up, got lost, made it towards Boston, took a wrong turn, which added a few extra minutes, and finally found myself in the Synagogue parking lot.  As I was leaving the parking lot, I almost walked right into a pole.  I commented to myself on the irony of driving safely for 1100 miles only to walk into a pole.

I walked to their building, reminding myself that it was the second identical looking building on the block.  I walked in and was about to press the buzzer when I realized that it did not say “Hamilton/Block.”  I walked out, saying, “Oh, so it’s the THIRD identical looking building.”  Sure enough, it was.  My mother, aunt, and uncle were all waiting for me, and my aunt was practically a zombie.  She perfunctorily asked what I wanted to eat because she is a good host, and, since this is a bacon-free home, I settled for cheese.  She also set me up with my cousin’s (not the gorgeous cousin, her brother) laptop, but it was a Mac, and it could not read my phone.  I wound up emailing to myself, and just deleting everything but this entry and last night’s.  I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get to sleep, perchance to dream.

Maine: The Return - The Math of Romance

6/20/14

Mars Hill, Maine

In my unpublished Day -1 entry, I promised that the Day 0 entry would contain some mind-blowing and earth-shattering philosophy.  The above dateline is the perfect one for this.  Here at the base of Mars Hill just past 2 AM where the first sunrise in the U.S. mainland will soon be occurring on the first day of summer, I can present what my new philosophy.  On Tuesday, I was asked about my philosophy.  I said that my philosophy was one of love, and the follow up had to do with happiness.  I answered that love and happiness were the same thing, but that was an incomplete answer.  Love has a lot to do with happiness, and it can be a major Cause of happiness, but there is more to life than that.

I like to tackle the harder philosophical questions, and I will do just that in this entry.  What is the purpose of life?  That’s an easy one.  Rand would say the achievement of our desires, but that is not a Final Cause.  Why do we want to achieve our desires?  To make us happy.  Happiness is the Final Cause of our existence.  Aristotle and the Greeks talked about happiness being some end game state of happiness, but I reject that.  There are exactly two things that can make us happy: fulfillment and enjoyment.  When I published my first entry, I thought it was a misfire, but it happened to contain the most important bit of philosophy in anything I have ever written.  This fulfillment/enjoyment dichotomy is the very definition of happiness.  Every single action you take in life should be because it leads to either fulfillment or enjoyment.  Every desire you achieve gives your either fulfillment or enjoyment.  In her arrogance, Rand misses that.  Having addressed that question, it is easy to see that love fits in very much by providing both fulfillment and enjoyment.  A philosophy that tries to explain what gives you fulfillment and enjoyment would be as impossible as it would be useless.  Everyone has their definitions, evaluations, and judgments of what gives them fulfillment and enjoyment.

However, a philosophy of love can be far more practical.  Love may very well be the single greatest factor that can cause happiness.  Rand says that love our response to our highest values, nothing else, and I’m inclined to agree with her.  Mutual respect and shared values.  That’s what love is.  And I’ll bet my reader thought it would be as hard to define love as it would be figure out the purpose of life.  Great, we have a definition of love, but, so what?  Most (?) people spend the better part of their life in love with exactly one person, and it is, more often than not, not the person with whom they share the most values and have the most mutual respect.  I explained that such a system would completely eliminate sexual orientation.  It was not, however, until my drive today that I put it into words.  Quite simply, you cannot build a relationship on love.  Love alone is not enough.  There has to be something more.

A couple of months ago, my brother and I were having rum and cigars, and we tried to come up with a function to define sexual attraction in terms of physical and emotional attraction.  Some high school math will follow, so I hope my reader does not get too lost.  The actual question on the table was to determine the physical and emotional ratings required of a woman to want to engage in a one night stand.  Ignoring a scalar, the question reduces to coming with such a function, s = f(p, e), then setting s equal to 1 and solving for p in terms of e, which becomes a bounded curve in the first quadrant of a Cartesian plane, using the axes.  Outside the curve sexual attraction is there.  Inside the curve, it’s not there.  Before my reader tells me that not everything can be reduced to math, I respond that anyone say is lacking in sufficient mathematical ability.  Everything reduces to math.

My thought process was the Objectivist viewpoint, placing far higher emphasis on emotional attraction.  I argued that anyone who places higher emphasis on physical attraction suffers from a lack of self-esteem.  However, I was really answering the question of whether or not I would want to be in a relationship with said woman.  To me, it was one in the same.  If I wanted one, I would want the other.  However, that interpretation that you can evaluate a potential relationship in terms of a function with 2 variables, however you decided to assign values to those two variables, led to some contradictions, and it was not until recently that I resolved those contradictions.

Before I explain the contradictions, first I should give an explanation of what I mean by physical and emotional attraction.  Emotional attraction is easy.  It’s my definition of love, the shared values and mutual respect definition, whatever you value, whatever you respect, that’s the emotional attraction.  Other people might try to define love differently, but they are then conflating it with lust.  Love cannot fade as long as the values and personalities that lead to the respect do not fade.  Lust can.  That leaves physical attraction, which is the aesthetical appeal, however it is defined by each individual.  An interesting aspect of that that I recently was able to finally verbalize is what I call implied emotional attraction.  It is really the familiarity argument.  You are attracted to someone because she reminds you of someone whom you have found emotionally attractive.  It is what it means to say that someone looks smart.  I will not delve deeper into that aspect of physical attraction, nor will I discuss issues of facial structure and shades of forms.  I have discussed that in previous entries as much as I can.

I will now discuss the contradictions.  The first one is that it does not make sense for sexual attraction and romantic desire to be one and the same, no matter how much you hold to the fact that a man of unbreached self-esteem is incapable of sexual desire divorced from spiritual values.  The second one is that by my curve, if you are married to someone right on the curve and meet someone that is even further from the origin, it would be only logical to cheat on your spouse.  I tried to explain that away by saying that honor and commitment were values, but that doesn’t really work.  The last contradiction is one that I wrote about en route to Tokyo, I believe.  It is that two people whom I truly respect have argued differently and efficiently against it.  My father keeps talking about how well two people get along, which is just another name for this thing called “chemistry.”  Then, Ryan has this idea about “style” playing into it.  The second time he mentioned it, I knew immediately what he meant, thinking instantly of three girls I had met to whom I was immensely attracted based on their “style.”  It’s really just what I have previously called “mannerisms.”  Thinking of those three girls, I had responded that you cannot base a relationship on attraction, but that is wrong.  I just defined attraction wrong.  What was missing from equation was a way to incorporate chemistry.

Surely the way two people get along has to play into romantic desire.  Why would you want to be in a romantic relationship with someone if there is no chemistry, no matter how pretty she is, no matter how much you love her?  Maybe it does not play into sexual desire, which answers the first apparent contradiction, but it certainly does play into romantic desire.  I will further explore chemistry in my next entry, but, for now, I want to focus more on what I will call “The Math of Romance.”  Instead of having s = r = f(p, e), you have s = f(p, e) and r = f(p, e, c).  That means that you instead have a surface in 3-space.  Outside the surface, romantic desire.  Inside, no romance.  Using such a definition allows for history and familiarity to be incorporated into chemistry.  Granted, one should try to choose for their mate someone with as high of an r-value as possible, but it is much easier to incorporate history and familiarity, honor and commitment into f(p, e, c) than f(p, e).  That said, I want to use Ryan’s definition of style as my basis for chemistry, but I am not sure how to yet.  It’s a good thing that I still have a long drive planned for tomorrow.

Ah, the monster drive today.  After a productive day at work and getting my usual pre-departure Chinese, I left early to catch a 2:53 PM train, which got me to NWP around 3:30 PM.  I tried and failed to sleep on the train, and there was a delay with the customer in front of me at the car rental place, but I had my traditional first cigar, the Davidoff Nic Toro lit up soon enough.  I hit some really had traffic, but Zino and Avril kept me sane.  My second cigar was an LFD, and the third a Flor de Antilles.  I knew that I would want to minimize my nighttime driving, so I did not want to stop before it got dark.  I realized that it would just start getting dark as I reached the Welcome to Maine sign, and I was right.  It was still light enough for a good picture, and there was a great place to pull over.  I took my much needed first official U of the trip at that point.

Danielle had texted me while I was driving, and the Bluetooth connection allowed the phone to read the message to me.  I responded with the picture of the Maine sign.  I got back on the road and decided I would stop after the cigar for gas, real food (other than the Quest bars I had brought), and a nap.  I got a little lost, and the gas station was closed.  I wasn’t even able to fall asleep, but he advised me to go the 7-11 down the road, where I got a hot dog, a diet Dew, and a coffee.  They had blueberry coffee, and I knew I had to get it.  With the first sip, I remembered once again, as I had been all trip, how much I loved Maine.  It might be my favorite place in the country outside of New York.  I lit up a Rocky Patel Thunder, which smoked too fast.  The rest of the drive was blur.  All I remember was that I managed to hit 100 during an empty stretch and that my last cigar of the drive was the Avo, which was excellent.  After getting lost a little bit in Mars Hill, I found myself at the base of the mountain, and I walked around a bit, but it was pitch black, other than a few lights and so many stars.  I then went back to my car and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, since it is getting light out, and I need to make my way to the summit.