Twilight

My thoughts on Twilight...

I have never seen the movies. I read the first book a couple of years ago. At the time, it seemed like the type of story I would have liked at that age and that made it kind of comforting. I read the second book more recently. Now, that the storyline is coming back to me, I'm having mixed feelings.

Romanticizing vampires is nothing new. They have always been an outlet for humans' psychosexual issues. Especially in more sexually repressive times (like the one Dracula was written in).

Humanizing vampires and making them sympathetic is a little newer. I remember it as far back as Anne Rice and FCC's Dracula. It makes for an interesting story, but I can also understand the criticisms that Twilight promotes some very unhealthy relationship dynamics. It does worry me a little to see that marketed toward teenage girls (and some adults) who are still figuring these things out.

Girls, if he tells you you're not safe with him, believe him and run screaming. Don't just bat your doe eyes and say, "I trust you." I know women tend to be raised to give unconditionally, but trusting him will not automatically transform him into someone worthy of that trust. At best, you will just enable him.

I-love-you-but-I-want-to-kill-you is not my relationship ideal.

But, on the other hand, I can also understand the reasons why vampire stories remain so popular.

When you have intense passion for someone, there is that feeling like you want to completely consume their essence. And at the same time, there's the need to surrender to the other person, to give up everything...even if it's life and death. The best (and sometimes worst) feeling is when it seems like you really just couldn't help yourself. Who would want to tame passion, anyway?

When you turn it into an actual life or death situation, that raises the stakes and gives a greater emotional carthasis. While most of us wouldn't want these things to literally come true, a story is a safe place to live it out.

And yes. For teens, everything is melodrama. Roll your eyes about it if you want, but we've all been there. Everything does feel like a life or death situation. So, it's understandable that they would like fiction that allows them to process those feelings.

Which is why I remain on the fence.

A Random Confession

This happened...oh, about a year or two ago.

The waiter had just brought us drinks. As I sipped a Cosmopolitan, I felt the need to confess something.

I lean in and say, "I have to admit I really did start drinking these when Carrie Bradshaw made them popular."

He says, "Should we say, 'Baaa...'?"

I say, "But, I have an excuse. I was just out of college, at the time, and it was my first grown-up drink."

I explained that that night we were at a former-gay-club-turned-straight. On their Goth Night, no less. True to stereotype, they were the best dance club in town. There was also something that was a novelty for a Lansing bar, a martini list. It was actually one of my friends who got the first Cosmopolitan. I tried a sip of hers and soon, we were drinking them all the time.

He listened and nodded with understanding. Then, he motioned to me and said, "Come closer. I need to tell you something."

So, I did and he whispers, "Your cleavage looks nice, right now."

I protest, "I just bared my soul to you!"

He just innocently shrugs and says, "Well, I had to whisper that. I didn't want every guy in here to casually stroll by to check."

Oh well. What can you do?

Everything you need to know about me

I felt respectable because I was going out with a guy I met in a bookstore.

I was having fun, but at a point in the night it occured to me that I was dealing with a different mentality than I'm used to. I've been used to men who are creative in some way. They make or build things. Or maybe they study things. Or run experiments. This one was a businessman.

He had mentioned before that he was also a former cop (a homicide detective in NJ).

But now, he told me something that really got my attention. One of his jobs when he was a cop was to analyze handwriting, something he was trained in by the FBI.

I asked him, "You really know how to do that?"

He invited me to sign my name the way I usually do and allow him to demonstrate.

He said if I was being investigated for a crime, one thing that would work in my favor is that the way I cross my t shows that I have a high sense of self and can't easily be convinced to do something I don't believe in. However, if I did ever commit a crime, I would never tell a soul about it. I'm very good at keeping secrets. He pointed out how low the lower loops go. Apparently, I have this in common with the Oklahoma bomber (who he says was caught by handwriting analysis).

He also tells me that I have a this-is-me-just-take-it personality. But, though I seem to have a very open, high-energy personality, the next moment, I'll just clam up.

Oh yeah, and I have a personality that's easily bored. So, if I was a bank robber, the more I got away with it, the more I'd want to do. I guess it's a good thing I'm not a bank robber.

He told me that I could try to change it, but it's like my DNA. It would never really work.

So, though I had only just met this man, he already knew everything about me.

Perspective

Early on in a baby's life, it truly doesn't know that reality doesn't revolve around it. When it can't see something, it believes it no longer exists. It's not until several months old that it will start to look for a toy if you hide it. Of course, even then, it's a slow process to find where you really fit in the scheme of things.

I miss the sense of omnipotence I had as a small child. When I heard that my mom was pregnant for the second time, I told her to make it a girl. I wanted a sister. Boys had cooties. That was all. Thank you. And, in my mind it was decided.

So, when people would ask me, "But, what if it's a boy?", I would look at them like they were idiots and gently inform them that that was not possible.

Call it luck or sheer force of will, but I got my way.

I clearly remember my 4th birthday. I remember the pink dress I wore. I remember telling people that 4 was my new favorite number. I got excited when NBC, channel 4 displayed their neon 4 on the tv screen. I noted that my hand would have 4 fingers if it wasn't for that odd-looking thumb. I can't remember any of my other birthdays being built up so much.

And yet, I have no memory of the major national event that happened locally that day. I know all the adults would have been talking about it. It's especially strange considering that my dad obsessively watched the news and had the habit of talking about politics like we were old enough to understand it.

I've wracked my brain, but I can't find the slightest memory of The Republican National Convention being held in downtown Detroit where Ronald Reagan accepted his party's nomination and would then go on to be president. I would like to say I remember something like that, but apparently nothing else could happen on Earth the day I turned 4.

He was the first president I can actually remember. I remember most of the important moments. I remember the crazy who shot him to impress Jodie Foster. But, I don't remember him being nominated in my hometown. Why?

BECAUSE I WAS 4! That was MY day, bitches! (Okay, I may have not known how to verbalize that sentiment, yet, but trust me, the feeling was there.)

Subtext

The details matter. It makes a difference to me whether I see a couple hold hands across the table or not.

The last time I saw him, his hand held mine against the tabletop and the waitress had stopped by several times to see if we were ready to order.

I told him, "She's probably getting annoyed with us."

I tried to sound concerned, but I just giggled.

As we were on our way out, the waitress came out to the lobby to remind us that we ordered dessert. I lifted my cheek from his chest when I heard her voice. I never even saw her follow us out there.

Is it enough to look happy? Others can see it in the smallest gestures. I have a tendency to pick apart happy moments in my mind, to kill them with dissection. It's nice when for an evening I forget to do that.

Afterwards, he asked me if I wanted to go across the street for a drink. It's one of the bars I like to write in. I laughed and told him they wouldn't recognize me without my notebook.

That's the same place where I am, right now. I'm looking for the subtext in a story.

No Boobs for Oil

I don't know how things like this keep ending up in my inbox.
www.barewitness.org/?page_id=10

It seems the most frequent solicitors of the female flesh these days are not trying to make a quick buck. No. They have a higher calling to "protest". And, what horribly selfish person could say no to that?

In recent years, I've been asked to participate in a number of projects. There was the Iraq War protest where groups of women were photographed with their naked bodies spelling the word "peace". There was the protest against the Taliban where women were expected to walk naked around the block while the men watched with a six-pack of beer (fully clothed, I presume).

I will state, once and for all, where I stand on this. No, I'm not interested in getting naked to protest. I don't see how naked women make a good protest. All closet gay Republicans aside, I assume most of these protests will be reaching heterosexual men. Last I heard, they like looking at naked women. I don't plan to reward them for an unjustified war or anything else. No thank you.

Every time someone suggests a naked protest, their male sympathizers add their encouragement, eager to be "supportive" and volunteer the services of every woman they know. Yet, they never volunteer their own.

I would like to know why? If anything is likely to strike fear and disgust into the hearts of those in power, it would probably be pictures of naked men, "artfully" arranged. Now, I'm not discounting the buff young Adonises, because bringing out the latent homosexual impulses is sure to make them uncomfortable....but, let's get creative here. If you could be better served by a weedwacker than a razor, then this is especially for you.

If you have a third nipple, a vestigial tale, or anything else that can't be explained by science....well then, I'm definitely talking to you! It's time to stand up and do your duty for your country. If you believe in your cause as much as you say, this shouldn't be a problem, right?

I will save my naked flesh for worthier causes.

Puppy Love

Once upon a time, my sister had the perfect man. What ever happened with them? Well, she passed him on to me.

This is Bebe.

When she couldn't keep him, she made sure he would live with his favorite aunt.

He's made me realize something about myself. I really would rather be nice than be mean. I'm sad to say that finding this out surprised me a little. But, you don't have to worry about being "too nice" to a dog. He'll never start to take you for granted or deep down want to be mistreated. It's also okay to spoil and pamper him because he doesn't have to grow up to be an independent adult. I've found that I like having someone I can do that with. Human relationships are more complicated, but it's good to have him always there.

At the moment, he's chasing his tail. I won't burst his bubble by telling him he'll never catch it. Oh well....

Here's to Bebe, stealing socks and hearts in Bloomfield Hills, MI since 2006.

Gentlemen Beware

If you're the type to worry that reading the wrong thing may cause your testosterone levels to shrivel up, I suggest you stop reading immediately.

What I have to say here will not help the starving children in third world countries. It will not end any wars. It probably won't even keep me from another dark night of the soul. But, this has been building up for a long time and I need to get it off my chest.

I would really like to know when flattering clothing went out of style? I think Jon Stewart was correct when he said, "This is what happens when you don't let gays marry. They start designing out of spite."

I've seen a lot of women wearing these tops, lately. If I hadn't known, I would have thought they were maternity tops. Why would you wear it if you weren't pregnant?

But, it gets worse. I wish I had a picture of this one. I'll have to just describe it. Recently, in a store window, I saw a top that was narrow at the shoulders. It gradually got wider around the stomach. Then, it cinched in at the hips. It would have been like wearing a bubble. What body type could this possible flatter?

We already know that the body type that's considered the feminine ideal varies widely by culture. It could be larger or smaller, depending on the availability of the food supply. Only one thing has been constant. That is a waist-to-hip ratio of approximately 0.7, along with a proportional or bigger bust. This is because those are proportions typical of someone who had high estrogen levels during puberty and likely to be more fertile. (It's really just nature trying to get you to perpetuate yourself.)

Throughout the ages, fashions have been created to exaggerate the curves of the hips and bust. There have been bustles, hoop skirts, and wonderbras. Then, there have been the more extreme measures, like corsets laced so tight that women would faint. (I remember a class where we looked at pictures of just how that would deform her skeleton and damage the internal organs...in an attempt to look more fertile!) But, never before have I seen anything that attempted to add the curve to the middle. I wonder what this says about our collective mind?

Further examples:

The caption described Sarah Jessica Parker as "a vision in tomato". Did someone actually write that with a straight face?

Oh yeah, and this is just wrong!

So we're clear, these are all designer clothes. The younger and hipper the crowd, the more of this you will see.

I think I'm done, now. I'm ready to go back to pondering what people did with their Hammerpants after 1990. Oh...except...the one style I hope will never come back is shoulder pads in women's clothing. Why did they think we wanted disproportionately high shoulders? I use to cut them out of my clothes. I'm glad I had the sense to do so even back then.

The One Kind of Music

No matter how varied your musical tastes might be, everyone seems to have that one they don't like. I was talking about this with someone recently. The only kind of music he doesn't like is death metal.

He says, "I don't get it. How can they call screaming music? They should just scream."

I'll admit I did listen to a lot of "screaming" back in the day (and still do when I get in that mood), but for me, the music I don't like is country. Sometimes, someone will think they can convert me, but I might as well tell you not to bother. Oh, there was a time when someone took me to a country/western bar and insisted I pay attention to lyrics. I grudgingly admitted that some of them were funny. But, most of the time I just ruin the experience.

I remember one time there was a country singer on the Colbert Report. He said he was going to sing a song about a maintenance man who has a crush on the lady of the house.

I had to ask, "Doesn't that sound like a porn scenario?" (Oh, come on! Wasn't anyone else thinking it?)

I get frowned at in return.

As it turns out, he realized he didn't have a chance with her because he's just a maintenance man.

I say, "Well then, he should have been a poolboy."

More frowns. I was apparently ruining a heart-wrenching song. Oh well....

When I was a freshman in college, my roommate was from inner-city Detroit. She didn't believe me that anyone in the suburbs liked rap. At the time, I thought she was being incredibly prejudiced, but in retrospect, maybe it wasn't that strange an assumption. After all, people from the suburbs can't exactly relate to the lyrics of gangsta rap.

Of course, it's probably this very difference that gives it appeal. Yes, suburban white boys sound funny when they try to talk like rappers, but it's probably a phase they need to go through. They'll outgrow it. (Or, they'll go straight to the midlife crisis.)

The thing I remember most about grunge is feeling like I should just give all the musicians a big hug. And, this was not just because the flannel shirts made everyone so damn cuddly. That was the first time I remember music embracing male vulnerability, instead of the tough guy image while still being hip and cool. Some would argue that the lyrics didn't make much sense, but it seems like they were the kind of lyrics that were a little too easy to project your own issues onto. It was always about you. I can see this from looking back at my college notebooks and seeing the lines from songs I would randomly quote in between calculations.

When I was younger, the kind of music we liked created our sense of identity. If you were a metalhead, you were just not the same person as someone who was not. It dictated how you dressed and who you automatically looked down your nose at based on their musical tastes. It was a serious matter. I couldn't do that, now. At this point, my tastes are much too varied. And, that's okay, now.

As a final thought, here's my most controversial opinion about Axl Rose. I still say that he was the only guy in 80's metal who could write ballads that weren't cheesy. ("Monster ballads" are fun, but no one would deny they are cheesy.) You can like them or not, but they're not cheesy.

Only in College

1. We had a peculiar sobriety test in my dorm, called the"wug test". I've never actually seen anyone pass it. And, in retrospect, it doesn't even make sense to me sober.

The way it worked was someone would hold up two pillows and would tell someone (who'd just consumed multiple shots), "This is a wug and this is a wug." Then, they point to one of the pillows and say, "What is this?"

The response would usually be, "That's a pillow." And, we would immediately say, "Oh no, you failed the wug test. You're drunk."

2. Nights at the Peanut Barrell. We could do nothing but throw peanuts at eachother at never get kicked out.

3. A blacklight poster was the highest form of art. And, a guy giving me flowers in an empty Zima bottle was the highest token of affection. (What was the sentiment, exactly? "Before I passed out that night, I thought of you and decided to save the bottle."......Awww, that's love.)

4. When I moved off campus, I lived with 3 other girls in a 4th floor apartment. Our balcony overlooked Michigan Ave, a major road that ran along campus. Most nights, we would drunkenly heckle anyone who was walking by. (Though, for that matter, in the daytime, we would soberly talk to passersby.)

One night, two guys came up and knocked on our door, demanding to meet the girls who were shouting at them. One of them actually ended up dating my roommate.

Later, she told us about a rather awkward conversation she had with her mom.

"I was telling her about him and suddenly, she asks, 'So, how did you meet this guy?' I didn't know what to say. I can't tell her how we really met."

5. Well, I guess it was typical at the time to meet guys in ways you wouldn't want to tell your mom about. I remember how I first met a guy I dated when I was 19. I was walking past his house. He was in the frontyard and stopped me to talk for awhile. Then, he invited me inside for a beer. (No, this wasn't dangerous. There were lots of people, both male and female, hanging around.)

Back then, it was just acceptable. I just don't stop to talk to people like that, anymore.

Oh God, I miss it, sometimes. That feeling that my whole life was ahead of me and the possibilities were endless. The completely-out-of-touch-with-reality ideals (Yes, we will legalize marijuana in November! I am old enough to vote, now!) And, feeling like all I needed to do was step outside to reach out and connect with someone. I could make a new friend everyday and each one was immediately "family". At the time, it felt like that feeling would last forever.

But, at the same time, I know I wouldn't really want to be back there. I don't really miss the bad apartments, sharing the cramped living space with too many people and too little privacy, the immature boys (That one bears repeating. I don't miss the immature boys!), the lack of any stability or certainty about my life.

It's weird to feel pulled in both directions at once.

Saturday Mornings

I vaguely remember that as a kid, I used to actually get excited about waking up on Saturdays. It was all about the cartoons, of course. Back then, it didn't take much to get me out of bed.

Now, no matter what time I wake up (and as a night person, I like to sleep in), I spend most of my Saturday mornings hiding out at home, being generally cranky, and waiting a few hours for my brain to realize I'm awake.

But, this past Saturday morning, one disgustingly cheerful and alert "morning person" was bringing me home from his house and we stopped somewhere for breakfast. Somehow, he forced me to really look around. And, I noticed something.

"Everyone here looks so happy."

I suppose I was like the deaf man hearing the sound of sound for the first time.

Then, something else struck me.

"Not only do they all look happy, but everyone seems so pleasant.....You know, I think I like humanity, right now."

And so, he tells me, "You really need to get out on Saturday mornings more."

Maybe, I should.

Emasculation

I know of a photographer who ended his career for a woman. Once they got serious she decided that it was no longer okay for him to be around models all the time. And, he agreed.

So we're clear, I don't personally know this photographer. I only know about this because he put it on his online portfolio to explain why he wasn't in business anymore. Wow. Not even a little embarrassed by this. Is there a point where you are just so whipped that you don't even care who knows it anymore? Fascinating.

I don't try to make men change their careers or lifestlye. I'm not crazy enough. I believe that this not being crazy is a choice, not necessarily something you're born with. But, sometimes I wonder....I know some women who are crazy but seem quite happy that way. And, their hen-pecked men seem happy. I've seen long relationships like this and though, everyone will say they feel sorry for the guy, I think maybe they shouldn't feel so sorry for him, because he doesn't seem like an unhappy person.

I can't get that image out of my head, of that photographer, so humbled and proud of the fact. Sometimes, when I find myself being annoyed by some asshole who's out to prove something about himself, I think it would be nice to strip a man so completely of his masculinity. Goddamn it, why do I have to have a conscience?

Appetite for Self-Destruction

When I was a kid, I really liked Guns N' Roses. ( Yes, I know YOU probably either love or hate them in retrospect. ) I was loyal all the way from Appetite for Destruction to The Spaghetti Incident ( Does anyone remember that one? ), even towards the end when the alternative trend was starting and they weren't really cool, anymore. I even let them string me along for awhile while I waited for their promised new album. ( I still every now and then hear rumors about its release on the radio. ) And, as tends to happen at that age, I had elevated Axl Rose to hero status, despite the fact that he was obviously completely nuts.

In every article I ever read about him, I noticed that the people who knew him well always said that he could be scary one day and a sweetheart the next. I used to be very attached to this idea that if I could see some good in a person, I needed to hold onto that and try to redeem them. It was a theme for much of my life until I learned the hard way that it often doesn't work out like that.

Is it really that unusual for someone to be like that, to be so sweet sometimes and still be violent and full of rage at others? Definitely not! There are lots of people out there like that. At this point in my life, I know this and I know that I have to just accept that that's the way it is. But, I still think it's fucked up! People shouldn't be able to have two completely different personalities like that. It still baffles me. It makes it hard to know who to trust. And, people can still shock and disturb me when they reveal that other side to their personality.

Troy, Mi circa 1980s

Once upon a time, I thought of this as Normaltown, USA. They actually have malls and 7-11 and Taco Bell. Neighbors are...well, neighborly. They'll talk to you from their front yards and their kids will ride tricycles down the street. This is the town I lived in for awhile when I was very young, before my family moved to Bloomfield Hills. ( And, after I was born in Ann Arbor but only lived there until I was 2....Goodbye Naked Mile and Hash Bash, before they had a chance to corrupt my infant mind. )

It's a place I often like to go back to in my mind when I wonder what it would be like to stand in someone's sunlit kitchen, maybe drinking something wholesome like orange juice. I would be talking to someone who...okay, maybe she would have had some lipo, but she wouldn't be asking me to feel how realistic the saline her husband bought her for Christmas feels. And, in this fantasy, I would never question anything, again. I would know exactly what my purpose was in this perfect world and I would just be living it. I never let myself stop and think that I might be bored. That would ruin the fantasy, you see.

In my memories of that place, it seems like the sun was always shining, but I know that can't be right since this is Michigan. The neighborhood was so idyllic, of course, that one day a man who lived down the street shot his wife and then, shot himself, leaving behind two small kids that I think went to live with their grandparents. This is where reality intrudes on my memories.

But, since I've moved back here, I wouldn't say Troy is all that different from Bloomfield Hills, anymore. It's getting harder to tell the two places apart. And, of course, I know that the place I remember was never real, anyway. It was just my childish perception of things.....yeah, what was I saying? Maybe, it really is time for me to go to sleep!

Remembering...

His arm squeezed my ribcage, his cheek pressed against my chest. And, he told me, "I've missed this." ( referring to cuddling with a woman. He told me he hadn't had a girlfriend in two years. With what I know now, I believe it. ) His voice was warm and simple and sweet. There was not a trace of guile in it, or the bottled-up rage that I would much later see that he carried around inside him. For that night, this was all there was. I let it fill me like morphine and lull me into a sweet haze. It's the sort of drug I could live on, but I know better than to think it represents anything substantial or real.

This story comes to an abrupt an admittedly lame ending. But, maybe that was because it had no real plotline to begin with. I'm not sure why it's worth talking about or even thinking about, now. I used to be an adrenaline junkie. I was addicted to feeling that crazy, larger-than-life passion. This was more getting used to and getting attached to someone gradually. It was just an ongoing, incoherent jumble of events.

Devil's Night

Recently, I learned something that changes the way I view my entire childhood. And, it actually happened quite innocently. I was reading one of those jokes that were a list of signs that you're from Detroit. I laughed at most of them, since they were so disturbingly true. Then, I came to the one that said, "You thought that Devil's Night was a national holiday."

All I could think was, "Um...it isn't?"

I tried to think back and remember if I've heard anyone from another state mention it. Actually, I couldn't think of anyone. But, somehow this was still hard to accept.

So, I did a google search. One listing came up for a book called "Devil's Night and Other True Tales of Detroit". WTF? Not only does the rest of the country not celebrate it, but they thought it was just some urban legend?

Now, for those of you who don't know, Devil's Night is the night before Halloween that's traditionally for criminal activity and destruction. In the suburbs, this meant that kids would do lame things like toilet paper houses. It was those cool inner-city kids that would burn down houses - just for fun! I used to watch the news in fascination.

But, I don't think it's such a big thing, anymore. Of course, people still talk about it, but I wasn't really worried that kids would annoy me this year.

I did find a few other facts while searching for this. It seems the tradition predates World War II. I wouldn't have expected that. And, it's tied to something similar in Germany, but the German holiday is a lot less sinister. And, as of 2006, the inner-city of Detroit is still the most dangerous place in North America. Oh, I love Wikipedia.

What I Do When I Can't Sleep

Some people, when they can't sleep, start pacing, or turn on the TV, or maybe, drink warm milk. I write my stream of consciousness until I fall asleep. Then, later I look back and have no idea what I was trying to say. Here's a sample.

A warm hand on the cheek. Bitter brandy at the bottom of a glass. Colors and lights swirl in a delirium. They taunt you and put your mind to sleep. A hand tugs your shoulder and you're swept along.

Daylight. High heels from the night before lying next to your bed. Hair draped over the pillow. There's a teasing hint of vagrant memories lurking inside you. Should you touch them? In a moment, you might be ecstatic or devastated.

Getting dressed, you throw on dark glasses to walk out into the sharp, cold morning sun...or so no one sees your eyes as you slip into the day to day world. You see a variety of faces, some brightly colored, others muted and fading. It's getting harder to remember their names these days. But, you have a friendly greeting for each one.

Then, a door slams shut. You are alone and the flood of emotion can be released. You can remember a whisper, a song, a warm breath on your neck. You can remember the parts that never really happened, but haunted you in your dreams......

( I think that was the point where I finally got sleepy. )

Advice of the Year

(The only advice I will give this year.)

Drunk dialing is always a bad idea. You won't get to finally let out those pent-up feelings. You won't get a chance to form that rare connection you've always wanted, but couldn't get past the facades, ego-trips and emotional barriers that were always in the way. No. What you say will only make sense to you and the bum that lies under the underpass waiting for Jesus to ride by on his tricycle. Scary thing is it might still feel good to you at the time.

Keep in mind that if you're drunk dialing someone to begin with, either you really didn't want to talk to them. Or, they really don't want to talk to you. Either way, you're better off leaving it alone.

A Story and A Question

What gets into some people the minute they leave your face to face company and get behind a computer screen? I'd really like to know.

Consider Exhibit A, who seemed like a really cool person when I first
met him. He was intelligent, charming, and showed no signs of
underlying sociopathic tendencies. We had a first date and it was a
lot of fun.

As we were leaving, he asked me if I'm on AIM. Well, technically I
am, but my sister is the only one who ever really IMs me. No big
deal, though. I gave him my screenname. And, this is where it all
gets really weird.

So, a few days later I'm online and I get an IM from him. For a few
minutes, it's just normal small talk. Then, he starts saying things
that are just a little too overtly sexual for someone I just met.
And, this is someone who has very good manners in person. I had to
blink to make sure I was seeing it right. I would have thought he was
drunk, except that it was about 4pm.

I wasn't sure what to think at this point, but I did already have
plans to see him, again. I was wary going in, but once again he was
fun to be around in person. I saw no signs of the side of him I saw
on IM. He can actually follow my ADD-influenced conversation. He agreed with my theory that the only thing that would save
our society is if a virus attacked the reproductive systems of stupid
people. Stupid people have too many kids. ( I know some really great
people who struggle with fertility treatments, while there is no end
to the fertility of the people we really don't want breeding. What went
wrong with our evolution?) But, even with a smarter society, it would
still be difficult to weed out all the little dysfunctions and
neuroses. I thought about this as I wondered if this guy really does
have two different personalities.

But, I figured that maybe I'd misjudged him. That is until I got the
next IM. This one was just worse than the last. I even asked him if
he thought it was a little strange that we barely knew eachother and
were already talking about such personal things. He told me not
really, but that since he was very much a gentleman, he wouldn't just
bring something like this up over dinner. Good point. But then, why
is it okay online? It doesn't change the fact that he's still saying
it. At this point, it doesn't matter if I have fun with him or not.
I've just lost too much respect for him.

So, I'm starting to think the internet just makes people weird. Not
you, of course, friends and strangers who are reading this. I like
you....well, some of you. Or, maybe it's just that people are weird
to begin with and the internet helps bring it out. Maybe, you just
find out how dysfunctional people really are a little faster. I don't
know if this is a good or bad thing. It does help to weed out weirdos
before you get too attached. But on the other hand, would there be
anyone left? Maybe, the whole reason we get to know people slowly is
so that they can hopefully eventually love us despite all the little
ways we're just as demented as everyone else. And, in turn we hope
that they are not too crazy, but just crazy enough. So, is modern
technology a good thing? I haven't decided yet.

Things I Still Don't Understand About the 80s

Sure we all know the obvious ones like mullets, Dynasty, frosted blue eyeshadow, and the New Kids on the Block cartoon, but here are some others you may have not thought of in awhile.

1. "This is your brain on drugs."
Was it only me or did anyone else try to imagine your brain as
an egg in a frying pan and think it looked fun?

2. "My Two Dads"
This was a real sitcom that revolved around a girl whose mom had
died and either of two men could have been her dad. So, what do they
do? They all move in together so they can both raise her. I think
there was an episode where they were going to take a paternity test,
but decided against it, because at that point, she loved them both.

3. The Pencil Test - not just for your boobs, anymore
The way we knew we'd sprayed our skyscraper bangs perfectly into
place was when we could put a pencil in them and it wouldn't fall out.

4. "Wax on, wax off" - Wait, nevermind. This one is finally starting
to make sense to me. Miyagi would be so proud.

5. Max Headroom
From Coke commercials to his own TV show. This disembodied head
was going places.

6. "By the power of Grayskull...I have the power!"
Let's just ignore the latent phallic symbolism of He-Man
unsheathing his sword.

7. "Conjunction-junction, what's your function?"
Sure, these were mildly entertaining to watch on Saturday
mornings, but what did we learn from them? When I think of opening up
my adjectives, I feel like I should beat someone with them. On the
other hand, I did learn how a bill becomes a law.

8. The flux-capacitator
Where do you find these? I always wanted one.

9. Tony Micelli
The buff housekeeper. And yet, it was many years before Angela
finally took advantage of all of his domestic skills.

10. Vixen
..> The one-hit female hair band. You may remember their song,
"Living on the Edge of a Broken Heart". Or, you might not. I
wouldn't blame you. When I first saw a picture of them in a magazine,
they were wearing sunglasses and it was hard to distinguish them from
the male hair bands at the time. Those were rather gender-bent times.

11. You were really cool if you could do the Moonwalk.

12. We thought George Michael was straight and that Michael Jackson
was just your average guy who happened to like to grab his crotch for
emphasis.

13. Why did they put shoulder pads in women's clothing? Should women have unnaturally high shoulders? I'm glad I had the sense to cut them out of mine even back then.

And, finally....

WHY IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S GOOD AND HOLY DID ANYONE LIKE KENNY G?
(Unless you like to feel like you're in an elevator.)