Road Rage

On the first free Sunday since the beginning of the semester, I spent much of the day recuperating from a fabulous night in the East Village. With friends, I rediscovered the mindlessness of television. The commercials (ewww!) bothered me. They’re a lot like encountering the Jehovah’s Witnesses. I didn’t ask for the advice on my screen. Why don’t people just let you be who you are? If I’m interested, I’ll head to the dealership to take a look.

We’re a week into reworking the relationship. At times, it feels like the right decision. Other times, I feel that we’re merely putting a band-aid on issues that are so fundamental that we shouldn’t be remedying from over the counter. We are both set in our convictions. The problem is whether we try to force our own “ways” on the other. I have been advocating the laissez-faire approach. Daniel is having a hard time shaking his missionary man façade.

Will they ever just let us be? If we remain autonomous, with our views “tolerated,” does a fate like the Jews of the Middle Ages await us? What’s with men and control?

Having stayed chez un ami, I took three trains and a taxi just to get back up to Columbia. Felice, one of the friends visiting, made a good point. Perhaps, New Yorkers are so commonly disgruntled because we’re always on someone else’s schedule. The train (that I refuse to ride normally) comes when it wants. It detours when it wants. Cabs are harder to get the worse they’re needed. No wonder we’re starving for control. When’s the last time anyone below 96^th street was able to haul ass on a practically empty, four-lane freeway?

Will we ever be satisfied? Is giving away some power the cure for control-crazed folks? I happen to think that the answer is “no.” There’s just gotsta be another way. I’m just not buying it. Concessions are one thing; converting is quite another.