February 22, 1999

For someone half as smart you’d be a work of art
You put yourself apart
And I can’t help until you start

February 22, 1999
Character sketches have always interested me. The opportunity to see how another person views people I know or even myself. I’ve never been very good at creating character sketches, though. There are so many adjectives that describe my friends which I can’t even begin to name and grasp for use in classifying them. Probably for the best.

My friends continually surprise me. As soon as I’ve finally settled on the fact that I know everything about one of them, a new nuance to their existence comes to light. A new perfection (or imperfection — same thing). A very insightful person once told me that only after our friends fall from the pedestal that we place all new, interesting people we meet on do we begin to truly know them. Only when we realize our friends’ imperfection can we begin to build the perfect friendship. Another very perceptive friend of mine said that I should not worry about being the perfect guy for any girl because “perfect isn’t interesting for either the guy or the girl.”

That’s what I love about America. The vastness of it. The millions of imperfect people running around displaying their foibles and making mistakes and causing each other pain. Pain not dulled by its meaningless in the grand scheme. But perhaps increasing the meaning in our own lives and actions. Adding to the weight we each carry through life and marking our day of passing as more important if only because we struggled through a life with so much baggage.

Friends are a way to share the load. Hanging out and describing out travails to a sympathetic ear. Getting drunk to forget in a safe place surrounded by trusted people. People who make you laugh when all you really want to do is cry or hit the wall. Help moving the bodies.

We knocked another couple back
The dead soldiers lined up on the table
Still prepared for an attack
They didn’t know they’d been disabled

Then there are certain people who only want you when they want you. Only when they need someone to blame and complain to do they come looking for you. We all know them. Some of us are a little more trusting than others, though, and mistake these people as friends. These are not friends. No, these are our truest enemies. If ever there were an enemy of the world, these are them. Those who con us into believing they will be there for us in the same way we are there for them but instead only use us to rail on. Never giving us the opportunity to make use of their professed “listening skills.”

I want to sit in a sidewalk cafe with all my true friends on a warm American morning.

You got a look in your eye
When you’re saying goodbye
Like you wanna say hi.

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