Midnightitis 2

Another case of "Midnightitis" for me. Can't quite find the sweet spot, sleepwise, so I got up. The boys are snoozing, though both have colds. I think I'm getting their cold, too -- can feel it in my lungs a bit, being irksome.

The blizzard is here! It started snowing around 9:00 this evening, and is in full swing. I can hear city plows on the street. If it keeps coming down the way it is now, we'll really be hit. We'll see. I'm ever the empiricist on these things. But the wind keeps howling, and the snow keeps falling.

My brain has been more active than usual, creatively; the ideas just keep rolling in, and I'm trying to keep track of them, trying to be organized. Doesn't come naturally to me, but I suppose I have my own system.

The ghost I don't believe in has been extra-thumpy this evening. An out-and-out thump in the dining room, and a shuffle in the living room. Frickin' Thumper, up to her usual hijinks.

It's 2011, People. I remember as a kid, thinking about the Year 2000, thinking "Wow, I'll be 30 then. That's so old! What'll the world be like then?" Now it's 2011, and 2000 is a distant memory. Funny. For me, the 90s are still fairly close to me, although I rationally understand that they are Ancient History(tm) these days. Back in the 00s, It would periodically startle me to reflect that 1995 was a long time ago; nowadays, I understand that it really is, but it still doesn't seem so far away. And the 80s might as well be even another dimension -- I'm not one for nostalgia, and I really am not, but how different that time was from today.

I am weirdly happier these days than I've ever been in my life. With Exene in my world, I was actually lonely, as odd as that might sound. You can be really lonely even when you are living with someone, depending on that someone. And I was. For most of my life, I was (given how early we married). Which is ironic from my perspective, because I married her because I didn't want to be alone (it was a consideration for me in my naive youth). I did that, and ended up incredibly lonely over time. Ah, the Cosmos, the great trickster, the games it plays, the laughs it enjoys at our expense. I'm not lonely now; I'm happy. Maybe not as happy as I could be, but far happier than I was, and that makes all the difference.

Anyway, I'm peaceful and reflective at the moment. Can't sleep for the howling of the wind, but at peace, all the same.

*PTANG*

This is what happens when I get my hands on Legos...

Abominable Snow, Man!

Supposedly we're (the Midwest, or as much as one-third of the country) are about to get pummeled by some super-blizzard (tonight? Tomorrow? I'm not entirely sure). We'll see if it actually happens, but the weatherfolks are claiming it's going to be "dangerous" and so forth. Normally, I would do a proactive grocery run, but I just went the other day for a few things, so I'm going to make due with what I've got on hand. As long as the boys are covered, foodwise, I don't sweat it. Plus, in the city, even during a big snow, one doesn't have too far to go for supplies (famous last words, right? OoOOooh!)

Sent out another short story, trying to blow on that tinder, catch a few sparks. Part of the grind.

Nothing else terribly exciting. I need a haircut. I'm beginning to look like "Steff" from "Pretty In Pink."

Amore Alla Fresca

Selma: "Don't you love me?"
Troy McClure: "Sure I do! Like I love Fresca!"

(from "Simpsons")

Blizzard?

Looks like there's a blizzard watch for tomorrow. Yay! Supposedly the chance for a foot of snow! Yeee! I love that. Love when big storms come in, just because they're dramatic and fun. I like the idea of walking the boys to school in a toboggan, pulling them along. Haha!

Kirk was an Aries

Loveless

Sorry, had to use the cover of "Loveless" for this one. What do you do when love goes south for you? That's a tough call, because, if you're any kind of optimist, there's always the hope that things'll get better; whereas if you're mostly a pessimist, you might not even recognize a good thing when you have it. But as an optimist, I ran into that difficulty with Exene -- I truly loved her, and I think she loved my love for her more than anything else. I mean, I think she enjoyed my sense of humor and sense of fun and my imagination and my loyalty -- those added up to an aggregate that equaled "Love" in her eyes.

But my relationship with her took a real toll on me, and revealed a major challenge one risks in love -- that you can love somebody who is not terribly good for you (or even good to you). That's something I still think about, and what it means. I mean, with Exene, my love for her was gradually belt-sanded into resentment of her, anger at the lack of reciprocity and partnership, until I burned out. What had been a true love (as near as I understood the term at that time) eroded away in the face of the reality of my situation with her.

Eventually, I just was going through the motions, without my heart in it. I can say without equivocation that I definitely fell out of love with Exene. I am happier now without her than I ever was with her -- and this was after months (and perhaps even years, when I think back on it) of agonizing soul-searching. But that's something of a rule of thumb measure of love -- are you happier without your Love than you were with them?

What do you do when you love someone you're not compatible with? It's a harder question than one can know, and maybe it's a luxury people enjoy in this world that was immaterial in past generations. Then again, marriage and love are not synonymous -- the Victorians really saddled the bucking bronco of romantic love to the draft horse of marriage, and much of that problem plagues people today, like expecting that One Person to be The One, or unrealistic expectations of that person, that relationship. For some folks, they might stick it out, or, because they're loving, they look the other way when confronted with the things that hurt them in a relationship. Or maybe they split when they realize that what they have to offer isn't what the other person wants or values (and/or they realize that the other person offers them nothing and gives them nothing but grief).

If you really love someone, you forgive them for their faults, and if you don't, you won't -- rather, those faults will just nag at you and probably magnify in time until it's all you see. What do you do if you forgive someone for those faults because you love them, even though you recognize that those faults are likely to come back to haunt you again and again? I think people make that kind of Faustian bargain all the time, whether trying to change somebody for the better, or to heal them, or appeal to their better nature, when that nature may not be there to begin with.

It's a pragmatic thing to consider, so it doesn't come naturally to me, but how someone makes you feel and how they treat you are factors in the overall process. But the optimistic and romantic part of me thinks that one should forgive, too. That capacity to love carries within it the necessity of forgiveness, and the hope and promise that true love brings.

Just as trust and appreciation and hope are integral to true love, so is forgiveness. The first three are like fertilizer for love, they make love possible, whereas the latter is something that lets love endure through hardship; it's kind of a defense mechanism for love. But what can you forgive, and what is unforgivable?

That's something I think about (and here is where my atheism comes into it -- Limoncello said I was the most spiritual atheist she knew, and she's a believer) -- that nature of forgiveness. If you still love someone, you can forgive them; without that love, you can't. But it is the capacity to forgive that lets love through -- it's a chicken/egg kind of paradox, in some ways. If somebody is vindictive, they're not going to be able to forgive, and that is a love-killer. If you are forgiving by nature, then you can still feel love, even through adversity.

It's labyrinthine. It highlights the curious power of love and forgiveness, how inextricably they are tied -- if you love, you forgive; if you are forgiving, you will be loving -- I don't think it's possible to be loving and vindictive, because the latter requires grinding love under an iron-shod boot.

1 Corinthians puts it well: 

“Love is always patient and kind; it is never jealous, love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offense, and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people’s sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes. Love does not come to an end.”

Now, of course, the Bible's all about God-lovin', versus people-lovin' (I mean, sure "love one another" and such, but above it all, God hovers and hogs the spotlight), but as an atheist, I can look at what it said about that God-lovin' and apply it to this world. The above is a nice invocation of true love, the idealized love we see expressed in the pop culture (or used to, anyway -- is love passé these days?) It's kind of funny -- to the Christian, God is Love; but to the heathen Romantic, Love is God -- bahah! It's how I can look at that line above and think of it with real-world love, instead of with spiritual love.

I suppose one could spin the above around and find what love isn't that way: "Non-love is always impatient and unkind; it is always jealous, non-love is always boastful and conceited; it is always rude and selfish; it takes offense and is resentful. Non-love takes pleasure in other people's sins and delights in lies; it is never ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and won't endure whatever comes. Non-love ends."

• Impatient
• Unkind
• Jealous
• Boastful
• Conceited
• Rude
• Selfish
• Vindictive
• Resentful
• Wicked
• Dishonest
• Unforgiving
• Mistrustful
• Hopeless
• Transitory

It's kind of funny to see it that way -- I resisted calling it "hatred" -- which is habitually expressed as the opposite of love, because it's not quite right, here. But I'm contrasting true love with what, exactly? Non-love, which isn't the same as hatred or indifference. Non-love is when you think someone loves you (or when you think you love someone) but you're wrong about it.

But seeing it as a list above, it's amusing -- how can one possibly love with that much emotional pollution choking their spirit? And if a relationship (or an individual) is riven with those things, how can it possibly be love? How can they even feel love, or recognize love if they even run across it?

Forgiveness is the last bastion of love, I guess. If you can't forgive, you can't love. But, on the bright side, if you can forgive, you can love.

Gorgon

Yeah, I was coloring in one of B2's coloring books today...

Midnightitis

B1 made me laugh tonight, when I tucked him in. He was staying awake, and I said "Hey, Buddy, do you have insomnia?" and he nodded, said "Yeah, but I think 'midnightitis' is a better name for it." I loved that.

I think I have a bit of midnightitis, myself.

Hats Off

I love a good Western, and integral to a good Western are good cowboy hats, right? Hell, yeah. I don't usually wear hats, myself, but I appreciate a good hat when I see one. Three of my favorite cinematic cowboy hats...

3. "You be the Josey Wales!" The Josey Wales hat is a good one. Almost enough to make me forget that he was a no good damned Johnny Reb. Good mix of practicality, looks, and no-nonsense badassery.

2. Speaking of Southerners, Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday from "Tombstone" -- great performance, anchored by a great hat worn at a rakish tilt. His hat has a bit of a big brim for my tastes, but the jaunty angle he wears it at nicely offsets it. It's a perfect topper for a gentleman scoundrel.

1. Johnny Ringo (perfectly played with psychopathic intensity by the one and only Michael Biehn) from "Tombstone" has a great hat. I think he has the best hat in the movie, mingling deadly practicality, a horsehair lanyard, and with that hint of a roguish swoop of the slim brim. Perfecto.

I covet the actors who get their pick of perfect hats, selected for them by the movie's costume designers, and surely pick something ideal for the character and the actor.

Heh

Wow, "slept in" until 5:00 today. Bahah!

Interesting to see all the turmoil in the Middle East lately -- given our policy of supporting dictatorships in the region for generations, we're definitely on the wrong side, relative to the protesters. Our foreign policy there was focused on access to oil; we didn't want a more democratic Middle East, because it might diminish the flood of oil that came our way, so we supported (and funded) dictatorships in the region, which then kept the oil coming. Of course, this pissed off everyday Arabs, who saw us as the pimps for their respective autocrats, oligarchs, and dictators -- and when you're giving $1.5 billion annually in military aid to, say, Egypt, it's pretty hard to pretend to be pro-democracy. Anyway, our policy there certainly fueled the Islamist movement, who just wanted us out of there. All of this points to why our country has desperately needed an energy policy, even though the benighted Carter was the only president to even try, to be serious about it. We still don't have an energy policy, unfortunately. We're still mired in the Middle East, supporting the bad guys, without a diplomatic hand to play. Oil's not the future; it's the past. So is supporting dictatorships and pretending that it has anything whatsoever to do with democracy. We need to get the hell out of that region, rather than get further mired in it.

In other news...

Good piece on SF's cultural role.

Near Miss

I thought I'd miss Exene when the split happened, but I didn't. I really sweated the lead-up to that, wondered if I had a right to be happy or not. Stressed out majorly from it -- she actually could make me physically ill. Not her directly, but just the associated stress of the situation. I'd get reflux! I actually got an ulcer for my troubles. Talk about internalizing stress!

But since then, even under difficult circumstances at work, I found the stress was gone, the reflux all but vanished. Smooth sailing. It was amazing. Take that static out of my daily mix, and I was fundamentally better, and happier.

The boys are joys, of course, and I'm so grateful for them -- but when I faced the relief of not having Exene around, I thought "God, I should've done this 15 years ago."

All concern about whether it was the right thing to do or not was gone; I realized it was the right thing.

And I also realized that a big reason I'd carved that path long, long ago (and good lord, how long ago it was), but it was because of a fear of being alone. Even though I ended up with somebody who was nearly as good as being alone for me, emotionally, the specter of being alone frightened my 22-year-old self, and I "solved" that "problem" by marrying Exene. Ridiculous.

Now that I am alone, I find peace and comfort in it, and freedom. I always knew that I was giving way, way more than I ever got with Exene, but to see it played out so vividly in my day-to-day was a true revelation: I really did have nothing to lose. She lost way more than I did, and it was predicated on our situation -- I was happy to make her happy, worked very hard to make her world fun and entertaining and joyful. I did the worrying, I covered the bases, and I soaked up the stress, too. And for what? For love, obviously. Duh.

But that love eroded away in the face of that erosive situation.

Somebody said that when you love somebody, all the qualities you love about them become the qualities you hate about them when you fall out of love with them. I mull that now and then, because I definitely fell out of love with Exene, but it was hard for me to say that those qualities were perceived differently by me after the fall, because, for me, they were always there, like speed bumps in the road, stuff I had to navigate around and generally just ignore. Exene would always be Exene -- for anybody she's with, you get exactly what she is; it's just up to you whether you put up with that or not. I did, for two decades, I did, until I couldn't, anymore.

While I can't say that her qualities boomeranged in my estimation, I will say that when divorcing someone, there is an intensification in the nature of the person that occurs -- if a spouse is selfish and narcissistic, when you're divorcing them, they become more selfish and narcissistic. If they're an asshole, then they become an even bigger asshole as you're parting ways. This isn't just your perception of it, but rather, without Love's blinders to have you look the other way, you just see it (and them) far more clearly. What annoys you about them, what you blew off when you loved them, becomes like a klaxon going off. That's how couples on the outs can get into arguments over, I dunno, what cheese somebody bought at the store, or about what shirt the kid's wearing.

And this was even in a by-and-large amicable parting, so I can only wonder how stressful and difficult it is in a situation where the parting is rancorous. Exene was coldly resigned to the reality that I wasn't coming back -- if I didn't come crawling back to the nothing that she gave me, well, that was my problem, in her eyes. And in my view, anybody who wanted the nothing that she gave in a relationship was more than welcome to it. So, weirdly, we found a mostly peaceful detente in that mutual apathy.

A columnist pithily put relationships like this: "Love is when you put up with another person's bullshit." I loved that, because it's really true. When you love someone, you do put up with their bullshit -- you forgive it, you forget it, you look the other way, you explain it away, you rationalize it -- a thousand mental and emotional dodges. When you fall out of love with them, you see the bullshit for what it is, and there's no way around it. Ideally, the bullshit-to-goodness ratio is skewed far in favor of the goodness; somebody who has too much bullshit is unlikely to be able to fool somebody into loving them. Somebody who is mostly goodness is surely "a catch," somebody who is mostly bullshit is trouble, more so because they likely try to camouflage their bullshit to sucker people into loving them, and/or don't even see their bullshit as bullshit, so they need a real song and dance to get people to take the bait. Some folks walk into it with a desire to "help" or "heal" or "save" that other person from their own bullshit. But that's nothing but trouble, and the person who does that is a glutton for punishment.

Everybody has bullshit (hell, some of the worst folks think they are bullshit-free, but that's the biggest load of bullshit around, and woe to the soul who steps in THAT pile of bullshit, right?) Anyway, being human is a bullshit situation, right? So, of course, we have it -- what folks might label "baggage" in a less invective-prone setting. The question you run into is whether that person's baggage is worth lugging, or even if you consider it baggage -- one person's baggage might be another person's treasure, I suppose. Although I believe that bullshit is bullshit, and can't be spun into gold -- you either love somebody enough that you put up with it, or you don't, and, therefore, can't. But if, through it all, you find you still can put up with their bullshit, congratulations and condolences: you're in love.

"Shit Fountain," Ukrainian Village, Chicago.

Boy

One pet peeve of mine is women who refer to men as "boys." I hate when they do that. Like "I saw this boy the other day" or "I'm going out with a boy tonight." or "Are there any cute boys there?" My experience of women who call men boys is that they don't like men very much, and appear to have a problem with them (and with themselves). They'll deny it, of course, but in their daily lives, I think it's borne out.

I've seen it enough times to wonder if there's a correlation, even if this is utterly unscientific. The women I've seen use that term aren't able to form stable, lasting, healthy relationships, are perennially unhappy, are neurotic as hell, and are generally threatened by men -- it comes out in things they say and do. I think there's a perhaps half-conscious put-down inherent in calling men "boys," or seeing them as boys -- or, maybe there's a level of immaturity in these women themselves that makes them feel threatened by the term "man" and prefer the pert "boy" term, instead. A kind of projection of their own immaturity onto guys.

Grown women can be girly -- that's nice, sure. But grown women aren't girls; they're WOMEN. And, by the same turn, grown men aren't boys. Sure, a man can be boyish, and a man can be childish (just as a woman can be childish, too) -- I've known old people who are immature, crazily enough.

But give "boy" a rest, why don't you? Seriously, the ones I've seen use that term are emotional basket cases. It's just odd to me, because I've seen it used by a whole generation of women (or are they girls?) It's endemic in the generations after mine. Somewhere down the line, "man" was blackballed in the culture, and there's a generation of guys out there who feel compelled to apologize for being men -- maybe those are the "boys" those "girls" are wanting.

To me, it's just so off-putting. I immediately think badly of a woman who uses that term for guys. It's instinctive, but it's there, all the same. I respect a woman who is confident enough in herself to want a man, and not a boy, and who can see a man as a man, and appreciate him as one.

It's one thing for women to call themselves girls, or men to call themselves boys; they're allowed to. But when it crosses the aisle, it rankles. It just feels off for a guy to say "Are there any nice girls there?" It's an affectation, it's insulting, it's lame.

So, guys, if a woman sees you as a "boy," look out. That one's trouble, and it's not going to go well for you.

Self-Love

Someone said that you should never love somebody else more than you love yourself, and that sounded like wisdom to me, until I thought about it more. On one hand, sure, I get it: If you love somebody more than they love you, you're toast, because that person'll rake you over the coals, will take advantage of your love, and you'll be hurt, possibly badly. That above caveat is like the creed of a gunslinger -- the "kill or be killed" School of Love.

In my own case, I loved someone I couldn't possibly love more than she loved herself. And I really, really tried to make her happy, not realizing for years that you can't really make somebody happy; either they're happy with themselves (and happy with you) or they're not. But I made it work as best as I was able, and because of that asymmetrical relationship, I found myself getting progressively unhappier over time (magnified when kids were factored into the mix), without (at first) understanding why.

It took real soul-searching (so to speak) to realize that, yes, I had my own happiness to factor into the equation, that making her happy couldn't be my only mission in life without being a dead end, and me ending up a husk of humanity -- there had to be reciprocity in the mix, which simply wasn't there: she was happy to take all that I could give, and gave next to nothing in return. And when I'd try to bring that up, I'd catch heat for it, like it was somehow illegitimate of me to expect reciprocity in a relationship.

So, yeah, I understand that axiom above -- you can definitely get into trouble if you love someone more than you love yourself. But that's how I would view it: more of a caution sign than a road map, because if you start out with that in your head, you're going to miss out on a good or even great thing. It's like explaining a painting to someone instead of just looking at it with them; it's all head, no heart -- or the heart is protected behind concentric walls of emotional fortification in a labyrinthine construct: love gets lost in such a place.

You've got Cupid as an accountant on your shoulder, ensuring that, lovewise, you're always in the black. But red is the color of love, not black! To find love, true and worthy love, you have to risk going into the red, emotionally. You have to find somebody who appreciates you, makes you happy, makes you feel good, and be willing to love and appreciate them in return. Yes, you have to be cognizant of the nature of the person, so you don't end up with somebody who'll hurt you -- but you also have to be willing/able to understand how precious love is to be willing to risk it.

Love can't be safe; if you hold back, if you hold yourself in reserve, if emotional safety is your primary consideration, you're going to hobble what love you find, what love you can even feel. You'll end up with a person who might fit the checklist your brain has come up with for an acceptable love, but without the passion and romance and trust and joy that comes from a true and powerful love.

Just as there's a risk in being burned, so is there a positive feedback loop in reciprocity -- if you find someone who appreciates you-as-you, who loves you and makes you happy (and wants to make you happy), that's a treasure -- enjoy the ride.

But if you pause while basking in the glow and think "Huh. Am I loving this person too much? Should I hold myself in reserve, for fear of losing myself in this wonderfulness?" If you get cold feet, you're lost. There is a transcendent joy in losing oneself in love -- in my experience, the more neurotic a person is, the more self-obsessed they are, the less capable they are of feeling joy -- and joy is a key component of love. And, big shock: those folks have a perilous and fleeting relationship with love (and joy, for that matter), and are unhappy people because of it.

To bring an Epicurean slant to this, it's like having this glorious feast on the table before you, and you're fretting about eating too much, or how many calories are in the roast beast, or whether you should use the salad fork first, or whether that's gluten-free bread, and who'll be stuck doing the dishes later -- from my vantage point, there's a feast in front of you? Dig in! Enjoy! Feel the love! Savor it. Treasure it.

The "Are We There Yet?" School of Love spoils the whole trip. You're in love? Enjoy the ride, take in the scenery. Have fun. Don't fret the mileage, the road conditions, the traffic. Just enjoy. That's how a Romantic does it, anyway. Life can be a dirge or a dance. Which one's more fun, hmm?

Villains?

This kind of amused me. I love how Sauron tops the list!

Hmmm....

What is Kim Kardashian famous for, anyway? What sterling qualities might she bring to garner such undeserved celebrity?

There must be something about her, right? I don't know. Something behind it all?

And then, seeing her pix, finding something compelling about them, I thought "Wait, I know what it is! I bet she's a LIBRA."

Yep.

Time and again, when a celebrity might catch my eye, odds are good that she's a Libran. Librans are natural exhibitionists, incidentally. It's why, say, Kate Winslet can't seem to be in a movie without baring her assets, so to speak. And she's definitely not the only one. The astrological equivalent of wind chimes, beware the Libran.

Bahahah!

For one thing...

...I recognize that love has very real (and logical) evolutionary roots for us. It has survival value. A loveless soul (using "soul" purely rhetorically) is a forlorn apparition, unlikely to thrive or be able to function well in human society. The Bible says "We love because God first loved us." For a nonbeliever, I think, instead, "We love because our family first loved us." It's our first experience with it, and individuals who grow up in a loveless household, if they are that unfortunate, suffer for it. The ability to express and feel love is integral to healthy human function, and the roots of it have to be tied to our experience of love in our family (or the lack thereof). If we're loved, we are capable of loving, in return, and passing it along. All fairly obvious.

But when it gets into the realm of romantic love, and what that means, then the Devil's in the details. I don't know how a pragmatic soul feels love, because I'm simply not pragmatic. Maybe a pragmatist's view of love revolves around a kind of cost/benefit analysis of being with/without that person -- like "Zeke is around, Zeke likes to shovel the driveway in the winter, Zeke likes to cook for me -- ergo, I love Zeke, because my life is better with Zeke than without Zeke." Maybe a pragmatist views love in another way, like "Jade is really hot; she looks good on my arm, we look good together, when we're out, everybody checks us out. People can't believe how lucky I am to have Jade. Ergo, I love Jade."

Maybe? I don't know. To me, either of the above seem like dead ends for different reasons. Is love what you can do for the other person, or what you can get from the other person? Or are those merely beneficial side effects of it?

If you love someone, you want to make them happy. Their happiness makes you happier, too (and vice versa -- their pain hurts you). The challenge is when you love someone who might love what you do for them (and, hahah, to them), but maybe they don't love you -- that is, who you are.

To be true, love must be acceptance of the person for who they are. Not who they could be, or who you wish they were, who you thought they were, or what they can do for you. It has to simply be that person bringing you joy simply by being who they are, or you finding joy simply in that person's being.

Our society sort of sabotages that, I think, in the endless creation of wants and needs through lifestyle marketing -- happiness and contentment aren't encouraged; it's always about vaulting from "need" to "need." I think perhaps love has been both idealized and diminished in the popular culture. Romantic love, in particular, because it is not safe, it is often painful and hopeless and desperate, and it is not readily fungible. When marketing conveys the impression that X will make you lovable/desirable, it insinuates that you are not lovable to begin with.

If someone accepts and appreciates you as you are, then you're in a good position, where love is concerned. If you accept and appreciate them, in turn, then you're both better off. Otherwise, somebody's going off a cliff.

That's a Moray!

With February looming, the whole industry of Love(tm) in motion, I thought I'd blog about love for the whole month, since, despite being an atheist empiricist (or maybe because of it), I'm a romantic who believes in love, or at least I think I do. As a writer, I'm prone to thinking a lot about things, anyway, and what they mean, and exploring various sides of life and experiences, so it's a somewhat useful exercise.

If I had the Photoshop acumen to turn the moray below pink, I so would, but B2 is grousing about something at the moment, so I have to be hasty...

Abt. Always. Be....

I saw an Abt truck in my 'hood the other day, and maybe it's just me, but seeing these slogans on the truck, it made me wonder just what personal electronics Abt was providing...

Sontag

Well, the Bears blew their chance at going to the Superbowl, alas. Too bad, but so it goes.

I'm sleepy and wound up at the same time; need to wind down. Amazing how quickly January has already passed, really.

Hello, Dolly

Oh, my...

Sex Doll-As-Flotation Device

Definitely not what one wants for their 15 minutes of fame!

Silkily Spectral

I was watching "Watchmen," which I haven't watched for awhile, and I remembered that Silk Spectre I, played by Carla Gugino, is hot. She's rather yummy...

Kiss Off

I like the evolutionary explanations for kissing.

Sheril Kirshenbaum, a research scientist at the University of Texas at Austin, gives an engaging overview of the possible evolutionary basis for two people mashing their mouths together -- a practice that is actually pretty odd, once you think about it. There's the way sexy red lipstick plays on our hunter-gatherer past, how swapping spit can help us develop immunity against disease and why it might have first developed as a way to literally sniff out genetically appropriate sexual partners.

As our ancestors began to walk upright, rather than males being attracted to the female's posterior, they began to focus on the breasts and the lips -- they call this "genital echoes."

Hey, I'm still drawn to a female's posterior. What can I say, I'm old-school!

Has kissing changed much over time? Do certain styles of kissing come into fashion?

Well, I love the French kissing story. It turns out that when people were traveling through Europe, there was this notion that women in France were more openly affectionate. There became this saying: "While in France, get the girls to kiss you." That sort of evolved to be: "Get a French kiss." But in France they don't call it that, they call it a "tongue kiss" or a "soul kiss," because it's supposed to feel like two souls merging.

"Soul kiss." That's amusing.

What happens physiologically when we kiss?
 
A lot. It depends on the kind of kiss, of course. If you're talking about a good kiss, our pulse quickens and our pupils dilate, which is probably part of the reason we close our eyes. There's also a rise in dopamine, which is responsible for the craving and longing, that can't-wait-to-be-with-you sensation. It's also stimulated by a lot of recreational drugs like cocaine; kissing sends us on a natural high. Dopamine spikes from really longing for something for a while and then getting it. When we've been dreaming about someone for a long time and then finally get it, dopamine is involved.

Serotonin causes obsessive feelings about someone. It's also the same neurotransmitter involved in people with obsessive-compulsive disorder. It sounds a lot like the symptoms of falling in love. Everyone loves to talk about sex, but kissing is probably the most intimate activity we can engage in.

I'm a good kisser. Just saying.

There's a strong gender divide in how we view kissing, isn't there?

Absolutely. There's a huge gender divide. In one large study of college-age students, strong patterns emerged: Women were constantly complaining about too much tongue and men were saying, "I really like wet kisses, lots of saliva!" The guys were usually eager to foray into sex without kissing and very few women were. Women paid a lot more attention to the teeth and breath of the person. Men tended to say they would consider starting a relation with someone just because they were a good kisser, and women were not that way. The act of kissing has a lot more significance for women than men. Men tend to report that kissing is a means to an end; women tend to try to figure out what the kiss means about their relationship, what it says about how their partner feels toward them.

Why might this be?

I started getting really frustrated by these findings, because I felt the results were very stereotypical. So I got together 80 of my own friends and acquaintances, and I was pretty shocked to see that they fell almost completely in the same pattern. When you start looking at reproductive strategies, it makes sense: A woman puts a lot more investment into the [sexual] decisions she makes, because she is fertile for a much shorter period of time each month, and a man can theoretically inseminate countless women throughout his life. Women are a lot more sensitive to smell and taste, which can tell a lot about a partner's health and reproductive capacity.

There's a great study looking at attraction and scent. It turns out that women are able to identify men who have a very different genetic code from their own, and they tend to be more attracted to them, because if they mate, their children would be healthier and stronger and more likely to survive because of the diversity in their genetics. Interestingly enough, women who are taking the birth control pill seem to have the opposite reaction. They're more attracted to men with genetic immunities similar to their own. It starts to make you wonder what all these hormones that we take are starting to do to our bodies and whether they're masking these signals that we've developed over thousands and thousands and thousands of years. I came across some pieces asking, "Is it possible that for some couples divorce is a result of the woman going off hormones and all of a sudden feeling less attracted to her partner?" It's certainly an important question to ask.

I don't know where I come down on this -- for me, it's never a means to an end. A good kiss is wonderful, but she can't have bad breath; that's just instantly off-putting for me. I don't particularly dwell on meaning, because if you're kissing at all, she's got to be digging you on some level, at least I'd like to think so. But I think a woman's health (and, heh) reproductive capacity does matter to me. Like if she looks sickly, she's going to not be appealing to me. The idea that birth control pills can twist a woman's attraction response is kind of freaky.

Quick, Dirty, Saucy

I'm making spaghetti tonight, one of my savory sauces, in this case, a marinara with a Southern Italian kick to it. Was just kind of tossing in various ingredients I had on hand, to good effect. I'd post what I did here, but do I really want one of my yummy pasta sauces getting out on the Internet, for just anybody to enjoy? I don't know....

The one thing I'm lamenting is the absence of any Italian bread on hand. I'll have to make do with that I have. But the sauce is good. I'd call this one my Quick and Dirty Sauce -- Spaghetti Che Calci Nel Culo.

Blast from the past....

Urgh.

I keep waking up too early, and am unable to go back to sleep. Probably a manifestation of stress. I may try to conk again in a few, since I'm too muzzy-headed at the moment to write or anything.

(pausing, staring at the screen and yawning)

Yeah.

Frickin' brain.

Cynical, right?

Seeing "Jersey Shore's" Snooki with her book deal just makes me so cynical about publishing. Not just a book deal, but a novel that's being ghostwritten by some poor soul. The publishing industry is a dreadful place if Snooki is their hope. What the hell?

I get very cynical in moments like that. What am I even doing? I write, I'll always write, but I don't believe the quality of the writing even matters to most in the industry -- anymore than the quality of movies particularly matters to most studios. They just want what will deliver the bucks, with maybe a tip of the hat to art here and there, so long as it doesn't affect the bottom line.

Publishing relies a lot on readers for the punters of the world -- readers are basically a firewall to protect the publishing house from the tsunami of manuscripts that head their way. Their job is to eliminate that flood. They're publishing's plumbers, standing there up to their waists with a monkey wrench in hand, while somebody upstairs calls down "Would you fix that, already?" There's a chance that something might float on by the readers, but that's not what they're there for; they are there to stem the tide.

That's why I think agents are so vital to the process -- I wager that they let you bypass the plumbers, and turn the writer into a marketable and desirable commodity all by themselves. An agent lets you get in touch with editors, the folks who actually matter in the publishing process, or with the publishers themselves, if the agent is really good.

It's also why connections in the publishing world are so vital -- say your Uncle Harvey treated the dislocated shoulder of Editor X (or Publisher Z), and you tell your Uncle Harvey that you have a manuscript you wanted them to see, and Uncle Harvey brings that up in conversation with Editor X or Publisher Z. Do you think they're going to say "We have to run that by some readers, first?" Nah. They'll say "Really, Harvey? Sure, run that by me, I'll give it a look." Congratulations, you're in.

This is why writing programs from particular places (say, the Iowa Workshop) are so valuable -- they let you build a network. So, Mentor A at the Workshop knows Publishers D, E, and F personally, and Mentor A says "He's a promising writer, has some work you'd just love." and they're more than happy to see it, because they dig Mentor A.

In none of this does the quality of the writing matter -- in fact, I would actually say that the quality of writing is meaningless on some level to the industry, because plenty of books (bestsellers, even) are published that are actually shit writing. All that matters to the industry is the ability to move product, and since quality is a subjective experience, when contrasted with the lucrative, objective quantity of moving books -- that's how bad information drives out the good, how bad writing that sells will crowd out good writing that doesn't.

Of course, like objectivity in journalism, there is the ghost of quality looming over it all, the noble profession of publishing, the desire to see good work and art ennobling the world around it. But it's a business first and foremost; it is not subsidized -- so, what sells is what matters most.

If you're stuck depending on readers to vet your work, you are screwed. The deals that get made don't come by way of the publishing plumbers; they come from upstairs, higher in the food chain. If you have to prove your worth to a publisher through your writing, you are also screwed -- it's like trying to woo somebody who's indifferent to you. You're not going to be able to persuade them to be into you. There's a certain Zen logic to that -- if you have to say "But I'm a good cook, and I'm funny, and I'm nice" -- if you have to say stuff like that, you've already lost the game.

And in publishing, if you have to say "My work is good, please, please read it." You've lost as well. Those writers who get multi-million dollar book deals (and they did exist at least in the past) -- that came about because an agent pimped the writer to some publishing houses, and the houses then competed with one another for the writer. They get into a bidding war with one another. In no way is the quality of the writer or their work a real consideration, here -- rather, it's an irrational, market-driven desire to add a strong potential seller to their lists, for whatever reason. The publishing houses don't say "Wow, we love how that gal uses pluperfect in her fiction." They don't give a fuck about that. They just say "Publisher C is trying to get this gal, as is Publisher D -- we want her, too. Let's get her, by any means necessary!" And a literary star is born, and the writing is meaningless in this process.

Can you move books? That's all that matters. That's the real challenge to a writer -- dodging the plumbers and communicating your ability to move books as artfully as possible.

Deception

Am I like the only person in the country who didn't like the movie, "Inception?" I thought it was boring. I won't got into a full-blown review of it again, but c'mon -- the drama wasn't dramatic, the action scenes were boring, the dream sequences weren't nearly "dreamy" enough, and the big ending to it had me thinking "Who cares?" Seriously, it's like an action movie for people who don't like action movies, a drama for people who don't understand drama, science fiction for people who don't read science fiction, a caper movie for people who don't watch caper movies, blah blah blah. The most interesting facet of the movie was largely downplayed (the character of Leo DiCaprio's wife, who is basically a ghost in his dreams, thanks to his monkeying around with her mind using his dream-weaver powers). Instead of making that the core of the story, they spackled on about four layers of "Who Gives a Fuck" around it. "The Matrix" handled action sequences and even layered perceptions of reality far better than "Inception." But people mistook a complicated plot with a complex one, and they're not entirely the same. Anyway, it did well, and people seem to like it -- like everybody I know who's seen it, but I just didn't like it.

I like action movies, but they should have compelling action. I like dramas, but they should have compelling drama. I like science fiction, but it should have the depth of the genre behind it. Caper movies should propel you through them. "Inception" dips its toes lightly in those three pools, and we're supposed to find it immersive. I remember being bored very early in the movie -- and those fucking dream sequences, interminable things (nobody but nobody has dreams as lame as the dreams in "Inception" -- and if you do dream like that, you have my sympathy).

Anyway, I don't know how it managed to strike a resonant chord with so many people, and leave me just bored. I'm out of step with the world, clearly.

Lego, man!

What people do with Legos cracks me up...

Time Passages

Until I say otherwise, just assume that I'm editing the book I've mentioned before, since that's what I'm doing, and it's just boring to mention that -- it's why I pursue a general policy of writing more and talking about writing less.

I saw a total hipster clerk at a local liquor store. He had it going on in spades -- the carefully upswept hair (not full-on hipster bedhead jackassery, but definitely carefully rendered, squintingly similar to what I just linked to), a tweed jacket, carefully rolled jeans. Oh, my. I was too amused at the overall effect to take in the remaining details, but it was something special.

Weather or not

We got a fairly righteous snowfall the other day, I think getting the back end of the nor'easter that was slamming the East Coast. It looked pretty. Maybe four inches of snow, give or take. Almost tempted me to take out the toboggan and have the boys sit in the back while I sledded them to school. Almost, but not quite.

Still working on the edits for this latest book; I really want to get it done by the weekend, get it all finalized so I can sling it out next week. We'll see. It's so damned big, it's taking time to ensure continuity and what-not.

I'm totally not watching television these days -- aside from kids' shows, I just don't watch anything. There's just nothing compelling for me, show-wise. That's good, though -- the less television, the better, in my view. Especially since I don't have premium cable, so I only get junk stuff, anyway.

Hard to believe I'll be 41 in a few months. What the hell? Hard to believe that B1 will be 10 next year. That kind of floors me, too. He's so tall, such a big boy, and has the kindest, sweetest heart of anyone I know. But I laugh, too, because he has a bit of the Dwarvish mafioso in him, too, sometimes. He'll warn his little brother "I'm holding back, but if you keep pushing me, I'm going go push YOU." B2 is so much of a rough-and-tumble lil' scrapper, even though he's dwarfed by his big brother, it doesn't deter him -- he'll divebomb him any chance he gets. B2 loves his big brother, but he also loves taking the piss. He just loves it.

It makes me laugh -- both boys have different aspects of my sense of humor, and B2 has that innate piss-taking sensibility I have. Who'd have known that this could be a heritable trait? Being a smartass? Amazing. B1 has my warmth of spirit, but it's in a latticework of a fundamental sense of How Things Should be -- he has an orderly mind and outlook. He is truly decent and good, but I'm pleased at his stubbornness, too -- it provides that sweet soul some much-needed armor for the world. When we go to school, I see him kind of go inside that armor -- when other kids are busy chasing each other and playing, B1 stands in line, waiting to be let in, lost in his own thoughts.

He's not introverted per se -- he's outgoing and affable, but there is a definite inner life to him that comes into play in some situations. Any time we go to his school, that distance comes up, and he's in School Mode, gearing up. It makes me ache a little to watch him. Everybody has their own survival strategies for school -- for me, it was that smart mouth, my sarcasm, my sense of humor, and later, my size. B1 is already taller than nearly all the kids in his grade, so he has that going for him.

I'd love to know what he's thinking when he's in line, in his own thoughts like that. I'm tempted to ask him, see what he says.

Shew

After working most of yesterday on it, I pared the book down to >188,000 words. I think when it's properly finished, it'll actually be closer to 200,000 words. I'm trying to get that done by the end of the week, think I should be able to do that.

Working

Editing the fuck out of the epic. I have trimmed it from over 500,000 words to over 350,000 words, now. That's a lot of work! Getting it all sparkly for slinging out to publishers. Big-ass book.

Postal

Is the US Postal Service (USPS) getting less reliable or what? Or does Chicago just have exceptionally bad service? I mean, I've known that Chicago's had a crappy system, but lately, it seems to be getting crappier, especially in terms of lost bills and so forth. It's getting ridiculous, is making me think I need to just have everything be paid online. I just hate that I can't rely on something that should, in theory, be both straightforward and reliable. WTF? It's just incredibly frustrating, because I'm doing my part, getting things mailed out in time, but they're not getting to their destinations, and then I'm the one left holding the bag, despite it being the USPS that boned things up.

Bahah

"Who do you have to dickslap to get some bread around here?"

Asshole For Hire from James Van Der Beek

Tallies

So, looks like I stubbed my toes 89 times last year (counting from March to end of the year): 55 left toe stubs, 34 right toe stubs.

Battle not with editors...

...lest you become one...



Seriously, this is why all editors go insane, eventually.

WTF?

Okay, if I know you, and you own these, please tell me, so that I can not be friends with you anymore. These just may be the lamest shoes, ever...

Hipster Holidays

I'm not the only one irritated by the "Hipster Christmas" Hyundai ads...

Pomplamoose Pimps Hyundais

I would like to bludgeon the twee mofo in this with those jingle bells he's brandishing. Kinda like this...

*JING* SMASH *JING* SMASH *JING* SMASH

And then put'em in the trunk of a Hyundai and drive it off a bridge.

"HO HO HO!"

2011

Well, hello, there, 2011. Funny to hear the wind howling outside this morning -- it was 54 degrees yesterday, and today's high is 27 degrees. Out with the old, in with the new.