the lost art of giving a fuck

There’s an inter­lude between the first and sec­ond acts of The Hustler that begins when Fast Eddie los­es all his mon­ey to Minnesota Fats and, as a pro­fes­sion­al con­man with no fixed address, he’s forced to store his belong­ings in a lock­er at the bus sta­tion. He meets Sarah there, then moves in with her after a brief courtship1.

Charlie, his old shark­ing part­ner, final­ly man­ages to find him at her house and is eager to hit the road again, but Eddie remains focused sole­ly on earn­ing enough to face Minnesota Fats one more time. Eddie needs to prove he’s a win­ner, both to the world and to him­self. That’s why there’s noth­ing that can be said to con­vince him to change his mind, and when he finds out Charlie was hold­ing out on him dur­ing the last run — even though it was for Eddie’s sake, even though he had absolute­ly no right to the cut that right­ful­ly belonged to Charlie — Eddie quick­ly becomes enraged, think­ing he could have beat Fats with the remain­ing juice.

“Lay down and die by your­self”, Eddie says, “Don’t take me with you.”

“Just like that?”, Charlie repeats in dis­be­lief after a brief pause.

“Yeah, just like that!” Eddie spits the words with­out any hes­i­ta­tion.

Sarah crying in The Hustler

Unable to help but over­hear, a sin­gle tear rolls down Sarah’s cheek. After hav­ing recent­ly met both men, she could­n’t have enough con­text to under­stand all the his­to­ry they’ve been through. But that does­n’t mat­ter. No one needs to explain to her how hurt­ful those words are. She has no stakes in the sit­u­a­tion; only empa­thy and sad­ness.

It was a moment that made me real­ize how rare it is to expe­ri­ence expres­sions of emo­tion like that nowa­days. Aside from a few instances of peo­ple cry­ing dur­ing a movie2, it’s hard to recall the last time some­one shed a tear due to a tragedy that did­n’t affect them­selves in some way, direct­ly or not.

Vulnerability, ten­der­ness, or com­pas­sion have increas­ing­ly been viewed as weak­ness­ness, while rage and greed are glo­ri­fied and worn like badges of pas­sion. I can’t help but won­der how much the Marvel fran­chise — which has come to define cin­e­ma for an entire gen­er­a­tion — has con­tributed to this by under­cut­ting scenes that fea­ture any poignan­cy with some kind of humour to make them more palat­able (and, hence, prof­itable), at the cost of true emo­tion­al impact. Perhaps SNRIs are to blame as well; most peo­ple I know are on an anti-depres­sant of some kind, the pur­pose of which was described to me by my psy­chi­a­trist as “putting one’s feel­ings in a cast“3.

That’s why I’ve been mak­ing a con­scious effort to con­nect with those with kind hearts and gen­tle souls. People who react with com­pas­sion instead of indif­fer­ence when I’m in dis­tress. People who aren’t afraid to say it back when I end a cor­re­spon­dence with “Love Jeff”. People whose ini­tial instinct upon find­ing out that they’ve hurt me is to seek for­give­ness and under­stand­ing instead of turn­ing defen­sive and angry.

It’s an approach to being social that’s left me increas­ing­ly iso­lat­ed from the world, but also giv­en me an even deep­er appre­ci­a­tion for who’ve remained in my life.

  1. And if Eddie was played by any­one oth­er than a young Paul Newman, I’d like­ly con­sid­er this an immer­sion break­ing detail. [↩]
  2. Shawn dur­ing this scene in Interstellar, me from this scene in The Artist. [↩]
  3. More than once, Heather has told me she’d be cry­ing if it was­n’t for her meds after I did some­thing thought­ful for her. [↩]

tonight we escape

I was touched and hon­oured to be includ­ed in Aaron’s elope­ment, some­thing kept secret from all but the clos­est peo­ple until it was over. The small gath­er­ing most­ly involved fam­i­ly of choice, which is hard­ly sur­pris­ing since I’ve always got­ten along with those mend­ing bro­ken hearts from bro­ken homes. The fact that every­one knew my name (while I was con­stant­ly scram­bling to check my notes) made me real­ize I’m an impor­tant part of Aaron’s life even when I’m not phys­i­cal­ly present.

After the briefest civ­il cer­e­mo­ny I’ve ever expe­ri­enced, the rest of the guests arrived at the pub for din­ner and drinks, dressed in match­ing blue hues, tints, and tones. We had a lit­tle speakeasy to our­selves with our own ten­der behind the bar, hid­den behind an assum­ing book­shelf, where we could order more vit­tles as we saw fit. It was the per­fect venue for a casu­al wed­ding and a night of unpre­ten­tious cel­e­bra­tion.

wedding ceremony
wedding kiss
after the wedding ceremony
old fashioned cocktail
Jeff and Heather

Liliana, or Lili, as she's known

When Byron crossed the rain­bow bridge, we knew the fastest way to fill the holes in our hearts was to adopt a new kit­ten, anoth­er crea­ture into which we could pour our love. It was­n’t long before we start­ed apply­ing to res­cues, but with the pan­dem­ic in full swing, peo­ple had been snatch­ing up all the pets from both shel­ters and breed­ers alike. Heather even­tu­al­ly found a res­cue orga­ni­za­tion in Smith’s Falls with a goofy look­ing cat avail­able for adop­tion, so we made an appoint­ment to meet him as soon as pos­si­ble.

Unfortunately, he remained a per­pet­u­al loaf in a dark cor­ner dur­ing all the hours we stayed. Without being able to inter­act and phys­i­cal­ly check his con­di­tion, we decid­ed not to take the chance. A few oth­er kit­tens were also wan­der­ing around this mod­est coun­try house-cum-cat-gym, includ­ing one with dilute cal­i­co colours that remind­ed me so much of Dolly. She rolled onto one side to present her bel­ly as soon as I start­ed pet­ting her, and I knew she was the one right then.

Lili at the shelter

The day we met her, with­out any idea of what to call her. She was­n’t list­ed on the shel­ter’s web­site because she was­n’t yet old enough for the surg­eries required for adop­tion.

Lilana Vess from Magic: The Gathering

And her name­sake, Countess Liliana Vess. Even though she’s a mas­ter necro­mancer and heal­er, her use of mana strict­ly remains in the black domain, which seemed quite fit­ting for Lili’s mys­te­ri­ous nature.

The inspi­ra­tion I get for pet names usu­al­ly comes from cre­ative influ­ences or per­son­al heroes, but this time we went with a char­ac­ter from the Magic: The Gathering uni­verse. It’s a hob­by Heather and I have shared for so long (and into which we’ve poured an embar­rass­ing amount of mon­ey) that it felt appro­pri­ate to have a name relat­ed to some­thing we both enjoyed. And since we tend to think of our cats as roy­al­ty in some way — espe­cial­ly since they treat us like fur­ni­ture — it also made sense to name her after a per­son of nobil­i­ty.

There’s no way any­one could mis­take her for Dolly though. She’s the small­est cat I’ve ever owned, like­ly because she’s not moti­vat­ed by food in any way. With Dolly and Byron, it would be a con­stant bat­tle to keep them off the coun­ters1. Cooking any kind of meat would have them beg­ging at my feet, scream­ing to get my atten­tion. Dolly would even knock uten­sils out of my hand if I was­n’t pay­ing atten­tion. She’d eat flies, spi­ders, bee­tles, while Byron would some­how con­sume foam balls, rub­ber bands, objects that were both inan­i­mate and ined­i­ble. Lily, on the oth­er hand, is only inter­est­ed in her reg­u­lar meals and the occa­sion­al dry treat. Not bacon, sushi, but­ter, or any oth­er form of kit­ty kryp­tonite.

Lili on my lap

Our after-din­ner rit­u­al (the start of which is sig­nalled by the sound of dish­es being put away), when she climbs on me for some ear rubs or time with the de-shed­ding brush. She prefers it when I stiff­en an arm to make a guardrail for her lap-bed; oth­er­wise, she’ll keep walk­ing loops and refuse to get set­tled.

I like to think that the warm purring against my bel­ly aids in diges­tion, so it works out for us both.

Her per­son­al­i­ty could­n’t be more dif­fer­ent either, as she’s quite aloof and inde­pen­dent com­pared to how clingy Dolly was. Her favourite place to sleep has always been under the bed, so we usu­al­ly don’t see her for most of the day. She’s so shy that she’ll hide there the entire time guests are over, which is why Heather and I are the only ones who tru­ly know her and how affec­tion­ate she can be…when she’s in the mood. And unlike all my oth­er cats, who are accus­tomed to being picked up and cra­dled like a baby sev­er­al times a day, the only way she accepts being held is if I’m sit­ting with my knees up, with her lying back against my thighs so she can get both her chest and bel­ly rubbed.

When she wants atten­tion, she’ll walk into the room and demand it from me with pierc­ing meows, or flop onto her side with an exag­ger­at­ed stretch (what I call “giv­ing me a sweet roll”). It’s a rit­u­al she’ll repeat a few times, with a huff thrown in every now and then to let me know her dis­plea­sure, if I’m not giv­ing the atten­tion fast enough.

It comes as no sur­prise that she gets along with Percy, since he has a habit of groom­ing every­one — regard­less of size or species — as if they’re a lit­tle sib­ling. Still, a dom­i­nant streak will run through him every now and then, usu­al­ly man­i­fest­ing as an attempt to clamp onto her scruff and mount­ing her like he’s in heat. We don’t mind his attempts to chase her since he’s get­ting rather tub­by, while we sus­pect she’ll always remain the size of a kit­ten.

Admittedly, I’m still get­ting used to her reclu­sive­ness, espe­cial­ly com­pared to my pre­vi­ous cats, who all spent the major­i­ty of their time in my pres­ence. I always appre­ci­ate hav­ing a feline with­in arms-length so I can touch them when­ev­er I need a quick hit of dopamine, which means mak­ing sure there are always com­fort­able nests for them near­by. With Lili though, she’s always the one to ini­ti­ate, and inter­ac­tions are decid­ed­ly on her terms. As soon as she’s had enough of me, she’ll quick­ly leave and dis­ap­pear until she’s crav­ing atten­tion again. Combined with my aban­don­ment issues, it means I nev­er have the heart to get up or move once she’s decid­ed to sleep on me. Fortunately, Heather does­n’t mind being the bad guy, and will pick her up so I can remain the favourite par­ent.

  1. Leonard died too young before I could tell what kind of per­son­al­i­ty he had, while Percy is some­what in between. [↩]

this passage through the flames

This one has been hit­ting me par­tic­u­lar­ly hard late­ly, a wind­ing, dis­so­nant pulse that nev­er fails to draw me to a dark and calm­ing place. Gojira’s albums are filled with aggres­sive, intense pas­sages that explore themes of trau­ma, mys­ti­cism, and death, but none of their songs feel as heavy as this, no doubt influ­enced by the pass­ing of the Duplantier matri­arch1. Yet through­out, as with most of Joseph’s lyrics, is a sense of hope and opti­mism in the face of the chaos that con­stant­ly threat­ens to drown us all.

I’m at a point in my life — again — where it’s good to know that music can still bring me to tears. I long believed SNRIs had robbed me of the abil­i­ty to cry in those small moments between life-chang­ing crises.

It’s a solace I glad­ly accept when sleep is a rose that rarely graces my gar­den nowa­days. Even when I stay up beyond the point of exhaus­tion, I begin to stir short­ly after pass­ing out with thoughts swim­ming in my head, anx­ious and ter­ri­fied before I real­ize I’m already awake again.

And when I can’t con­cen­trate on the things that used to bring me joy, when all I can do is sit in the black­ness of my room, drunk, stoned, and sedat­ed, I’ll take any com­fort I can get.

  1. Mother of broth­ers Joe and Mario Duplantier, the lead vocal­ist / rhythm gui­tarist and drum­mer. [↩]

pana-vision

I chose to brave New Year’s alone this year. The tim­ing of my seda­tives worked out where the option of tak­ing one was avail­able, but I even­tu­al­ly decid­ed against it. Isolation was some­thing I need­ed to face head-on, when every­one else was cel­e­brat­ing with friends and loved ones. If I could make it through (rel­a­tive­ly) sober, I could sur­vive the great­est fear I’ve had since I was a child: aban­don­ment.

alfie

At the casu­al box­ing day gath­er­ing I had the plea­sure of meet­ing Alfie, Cristina’s dap­per res­cue mutt who deals with the same social anx­i­ety issues as I do. Maybe that’s why we got along so well.

Probably also the fact that we were both dosed up.

It did­n’t end up being any­thing spec­tac­u­lar. Just a night with a gen­er­ous three hour win­dow to catch up on Nolan’s lat­est work1 and some extra time to fin­ish a cam­paign in Halo’s Master Chief Collection2.

Normalcy end­ed up being a gift I did­n’t real­ize I need­ed. The approach of each hol­i­day sea­son has been a loom­ing spec­tre ever since I cut the pow­er cord off a stand­ing Ikea lamp and made a noose to hang myself from the ban­is­ter 10-ish years ago3, and the anniver­sary effect still hits me hard.

Being alone was a way to prove to myself that I’m not so help­less now, that I don’t have to be trapped in a past that still haunts me. I’ve come a long way since that fate­ful morn­ing, when I was inter­rupt­ed by two cops who would­n’t leave unless I agreed to let them dri­ve me to the hos­pi­tal. Developing a wider emo­tion­al vocab­u­lary, nur­tur­ing healthy rela­tion­ships instead of tox­ic ones, work­ing with a ther­a­pist every month, and con­sis­tent­ly step­ping out of my com­fort zone so I can learn and grow are all things that have giv­en me bet­ter tools and resources to sur­vive.

opening presents

A new set of match­ing paja­mas for the whole fam­i­ly each year is the kind of tra­di­tion I’ll nev­er get to have for myself, a fact that was much more painful for me to accept before I start­ed look­ing for ful­fill­ment in ways that don’t depend on oth­ers. Instead of feel­ing a tinge of sad­ness, I can now enjoy and appre­ci­ate expe­ri­ences like this.

Spending Christmas with Aaron and his fam­i­ly this year cer­tain­ly stayed any feel­ings of lone­li­ness.

When I told him how scared I was of being iso­lat­ed over the hol­i­days, he insist­ed I stay with them or risk dis­ap­point­ing the kids. It was a touch­ing threat, as well as a sign of how pro­tec­tive Aaron is of the peo­ple he cares about (and some­thing I would­n’t have noticed until Heather point­ed out).

A few years ago, I might have believed it was a ges­ture out of char­i­ty or pity. Now I’m con­fi­dent enough in my self-worth to know the invi­ta­tion was extend­ed because he gen­uine­ly enjoys my com­pa­ny and believes I’m a pos­i­tive influ­ence on his chil­dren (who have referred to me as “Uncle Jeff” ever since they could talk).

hand drawn Christmas cards

I col­lect my birth­day and Christmas cards, one of the few tan­gi­ble things I receive from the dwin­dling fam­i­ly I have left, and prob­a­bly a sign that there are lin­ger­ing inse­cu­ri­ties. Hand-drawn ones like these are par­tic­u­lar­ly spe­cial; I feel seen when some­one appre­ci­ates the meals I make them or my gam­ing abil­i­ties or sim­ply myself as a per­son.

To be loved by chil­dren and ani­mals — beings who are too inno­cent to have ulte­ri­or motives for express­ing such feel­ings — is some­thing I’ve come to cher­ish a great deal after a life­time of emo­tion­al manip­u­la­tion.

Being around four kids and five adults left me so wired that I had to leave a night ear­li­er than planned so as to avoid burn­ing myself out, even if years of unbear­able lone­li­ness meant I des­per­ate­ly want­ed to stay. It was com­fort­ing enough to see me through one of the most dif­fi­cult nights I’ve annu­al­ly come to dread.

When I thanked him after­wards, he told me it would mean a great deal to every­one if I joined them each year, but no pres­sure. Having a place to go, but more impor­tant­ly, know­ing it’s because my pres­ence would be val­ued instead of an oblig­a­tion due to rela­tion, has giv­en me a feel­ing of accep­tance and belong­ing I thought would be for­ev­er beyond my reach, and a sense of hope I believed was eter­nal­ly lost.

  1. Oppenheimer was the first of his films that was­n’t my thing, but as with Scorsese, Malick, Anderson, Tarantino, and Villeneuve’s oeu­vres, I’ll always be pay­ing atten­tion. [↩]
  2. I’ve nev­er owned a Microsoft con­sole, so while some mechan­ics and lev­el designs are extreme­ly dat­ed, I’m still enjoy­ing my delve into the his­to­ry of such a huge cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non as the Halo series. [↩]
  3. Dates and mem­o­ries tend to be very hazy around that time, espe­cial­ly when I try not to think about it too much. [↩]