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.
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