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The Caulfield Effect: A Personal Memoir By: Chie Theresa Fujioka on 10/21/2001; 6:49 PM Based on actual occurrences in my life After setting down the book for the last time, I thought over his last sentence Were there really so many phonies and perverts in the world? It couldn't be. I had always told myself to believe the best of people always. After all, if one person talked around how hypocritical someone else was, but if they were hypocritical themselves, what was the point? It wasn't like I believe that people are just totally completely good, but there had to be some kind of good beyond the "innocence" of childhood. I suppose I knew that there was an answer all along, living with my family. I get lonely a lot, realizing that their fun and discussion doesn't really appeal to me. All this time they spent discussing the problems of the human race, unwittingly and without their knowledge manifested in themselves. Maybe in pointing out their phony behavior, I am being phony myself, but let me continue, and the one among you who is blameless cast the first stone. So first, with you, I must be honest. I must reveal every thought of mine, so unlike the filtered whitewash garbage that I try to portray. Who knows, maybe you see through it, like white paint on glass. Maybe not. But since it is the thought that counts, it doesn't really matter, does it? So, honesty I find it difficult to reveal. What if you read this and treat me different, simply because my trying to be good and different, is scary, and phony, and exactly what I myself would fear in others. So again, I come to this element of phoniness. I feel like a contradiction of myself. What I wish not to do, I do, what I wish to do, I do not. I better tell my story before I become so completely disgusted with myself that even writing this oh well, too late. It's funny how talking about why people annoy you as phonies make you see how clearly hypocritical you are, yourself. It really is. So honesty is sort of a lot to ask, no? Well I don't even know how true this will be. To be truthful, I am weirder than I claim to be. If I can be weird in one way to hide my oddities in another, then I am. I'm a mess, but at least I can admit it. Even though the Apple tells me "I'm a mess that he don't wanna clean up," I just don't want anyone to really think I am. I'm short and hot tempered, although if I like someone enough, I won't show it. I have this horrible inferiority complex and basically low self-image. I have a Greek complex. I just made that up, but I mean that I appreciate proportion and beauty, no matter what the gender/species or whatever. And I don't fit my ideal in anyway. Nothing more. And it has nothing to do with my story, other than open the door for me to explain how I love to analyze psychology. Everything there is to analyze, from psychologically affected physical healing (like the placebo effect), to what motivates people to do whatever crazy thing they think of. That explains the Caulfield Effect. Well, anyway, we went for a "vacation" one weekend. For me, I had practically just gotten back from a vacation in Japan, relative to how often we actually go anywhere. It was the first vacation we had as a family for the first time in forever. Of course, there was some element that made it not really a vacation. But it didn't matter since I stayed in the hotel, watched cable, ate out, and was completely bored without the internet. Plus I was kind of lonely, because of the city I was in. He would understand. Actually, that's what I am doing right now, as I sit and watch Blade Runner on the sci-fi channel, among the periwinkle pseudo-velvet covers of a Best Western double bed, feeling lonely because of the opportunity I have, now that it's over. Funny, isn't it. But getting back to the setting, a necessary element of any story of worth anything according to those people who never write anything good reading, it just wasn't a pure blooded vacation. Mom had stuff to do for her job. It was some kind of bike stuff, which a lazy computer geek like me would only want to do afterwards in hindsight. Maybe that is just me because my sister is so much the ideal and standard I know I don't have the guts or ambition to live up to. But it was her typical vacation. She never took one. Either she'd always have too much work to do, or she'd go on the vacation for business reasons. Whoop-de-doo. Now I'm beginning to sound like Melissa from the Real World, of which I saw my first episode today. Again, same comment. Heh, so this evening we decided to eat out after my sister came in second in the 15 mile poker run which I'm not going to even try to explain. We decided to eat out, as if we had any other choice. After a completely sourish tasting whole milk at Cotton's for breakfast, which actually wasn't too bad, and a jambalaya lunch, I was a little hungry. So we went to go to Ma Mama's in New Roads, which was right across the ferry. The ferry was fun, we got out of the car, and walked about. At first, mom didn't want to get out. She always does that. When we want to do something fun, she is always too good to do it. When we go to movies, she says she doesn't want to pay them for some reason or another, and she always finds some bad review of the movie. So while the rest of us got out, she said she'd stay in the car. A few minutes later, she got out. She was always like that. She'd stand on the outside of a crowd for the entire time, and afterwards mourn over not being liked. Maybe I am like her too. Before the ferry left, it belched out a loud not on its horn. Of course that didn't scare me. What scared me was mom jumping into the air. I think she went up a foot. It felt good to move, the wind was so very strong. I'd love to live where the breeze was always strong and cool, and I could sit, and forget about everything. As we stood on the edge of the deck looking into the murky waters, we talked without much point. We joked that the ferry was the titanic and that it would crash into a mud slide. My dad asked how long it was since we rode a ferry. For me, it had been only a few months, which I said, but of course no one even heard me. Later on, when I mentioned it again, they were all very surprised, and couldn't remember me ever saying it. That happens a lot. My parents often call me my sister's name, and sometimes my sister calls me mom or dad without thinking. I really don't have my own name. To a lot of people at church, I am Meg's sister. Well anyway, our musings ended in a chuckle since a little girl got up and spread her arms like Rose. I suppose she'd be Betsy in the movie The Ferry. I enjoyed just standing, letting the wind blow my hair around, and breathing. I wish I felt this free all the time. But eventually, we had to get back into the car and drive to New Roads for dinner. New Roads felt funny to me. The minute I entered it, I felt this feeling of déjà vu. I expected any moment to see the pale yellow elementary school building on the left of the road I had seen so many times in dreams. Everything was the same as the dream, except that there was no school, only an empty field. Perhaps, one day in the past there was a school. My family just laughed at me, when I said déjà vu. I didn't tell them it was a dream or anything, but they said maybe I had been there in a past life. Which means, you're silly, to them, since they don't believe in reincarnation. They don't realize how many times I've had déjà vu, and everything happens the same way as in a dream. I know I could never tell them. Dinner was tiring. Not only was it overpriced, which put my parents in a bad mood, but the oysters were too small, the waitress supposedly leaned over too much because she had bad hearing, and they asked if we were enjoying it too much. At least that was according to my family. At least the waitress was making sure she heard the order right. At least she listened, unlike the rest of my family who usually never heard a word I said until I had repeated it about 7 times or until some one else said the same thing and I mentioned that I had just said that. The food tasted good, although it was too rich for me. Meg was grumpy from being sore in the butt, and every time I tried to be happy, would snap at me. I was relieved when we finished and left. But then, as we left the lot, we saw the cutest puppy under an SUV. However, having mom say, about 10 times, that it would die, depressed me. She never understands when not to say something. She gives bad news right after a party, gives her bad opinion on the things you like the most, reminds you of some job to do when you are trying to relax and enjoy the moment. So, on the drive home, I shelled up and shut up. The drive home made me weary. They began it by asking me all sorts of things about he with whom I recently broke up. Again, I got the feeling that they had no feelings at all. I could smell the alcohol on my sister's breath as we drove down the dark, winding road back to the ferry. I kept looking out the window and saying one-syllable responses to every question asked of me to keep from crying. I don't like showing them my emotions because they laugh at me when I do. I will comfort them as much as I can, but they never try nor will meet my need. As we drove into the ferry line up, they watched the woman in the car ahead putting on makeup and spraying her hair. Although, I admit, I don't like it when people do that, I hated them criticizing her and calling her stupid. My sister mentioned an ad for insurance that claimed to protect customers from them: the people that didn't pay attention in the car. The lady on the ad was putting on mascara. I asked, "What about lipstick?" Silence ensued for a minute. Mom was always putting on her lipstick in the car. The line slowly moved ahead, annoying my dad. I've always wondered why people like staying still more than moving at a snail's pace. My dad got very impatient. I am impatient too, but I try to subdue it. When I said, "Patience is a virtue," which is what I tell myself for control, Meg said, "Patience is over-rated." Ouch, hadn't they at one time or another preached me upon the subject just a few days before, as a fruit of the Spirit? I wanted to get out again on the ferry. I didn't want to spend the whole time sitting in there listening to their criticisms of every thing. But before I even got to ask, they called everyone not in their car crazy. My sister said that she'd kill whoever opened a window or got out. None of them wanted a hovering moth to come in. Again, I shut up. Suddenly, I asked what would happen if you crossed a moth and a mosquito. Meg, the bio-scientist, immediately told me it wasn't possible because of the number of chromosomes. She always takes my random rambling and tries to bring me down to earth. I knew that. I meant genetic engineering. If you had an innocent looking moth, which landed on you and began sucking your blood, what would you do? Mom said, "Gross!" I guess I was just feeling really depressed and lonely. Whenever I am, I start thinking about death. I had to lighten the atmosphere to keep myself from going too far. I said that it would be called a "mothquito." That made them laugh, joking about "lithps." I'd like a blood-sucking moth. I curled up again, and looked out the window. Even today, Meg admitted that we just had too much family time together. Family time is supposed to be a good thing. As we again passed down the road, toward 61, I looked down Royal. You could see his house. I didn't say a thing because it just doesn't matter now. The car kept going, and so must I. Ignoring the commentaries about different types of people who do things which are wrong, but are just like us, I looked forwards to sleeping, and forgetting everything. I just want to forget myself and be young again.
RE: The Caulfield Effect: A Personal Memoir By: Chie Theresa Fujioka on 1/4/2001; 10:46 PM Mark, this is a memoir-fiction. It is true. But the time of thought is mixed around to make it more synchronous. I put what i felt into words of thought later as i thought about it more... it was fiction before i edited it, not after. oh i think im mixed up too.
RE: The Caulfield Effect: A Personal Memoir By: Mark Morgan on 1/4/2001; 10:56 PM No problem, Chie. If you want, I'll recategorize it as "essay". Only take a couple of minutes.
RE: The Caulfield Effect: A Personal Memoir By: Chie Theresa Fujioka on 1/5/2001; 12:12 AM Oh i dont know what it should be. It is a memoir, not esaay not fiction. oh just leave it as fiction
RE: The Caulfield Effect: A Personal Memoir By: Evan on 4/7/2001; 6:38 PM My advice to you is to learn to ignore other's opinions of you to a degree. I don't care so much about other people think or say. Just take everything with a grain of salt. It works pretty well and I get along with most people (there are a grand total of two people who I do not get along too well with). You probably need to perhaps spend a little time away from your family. The saying "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." might apply to your family. Also try to look more on the positive side of your family's attributes. Sure they have flaws but there should be a good side to everybody. Too much time together can cause one to ignore the good and begin to harp on the bad. I spend way too much time with my brother but I'm sure he has some redeeming qualities. I have no clue what they are but I'm sure he has them. Also everyone Does put up a facade and hide their true feelings but I've never understood the whole concept of a phony as described in The Catcher in the Rye. This is probably due to the fact that people fear what others would think of their true feelings and are subject to embarassment over what they feel. Of course I guess I'm a bit hypocritical since I too have a little bit of difficulty but I don't usually feel too much embarassment (except on the dating scene but that's probably due to the fact of my inability to internalize the appropriate courting procedure) but I do feel some degree of it.
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