Is it love?

So I just got into a new relationship, and I have to say that she is absolutely amazing! Her body is fantasic, she isn't too old for me, and she can go for hours without needing a break. I can't believe that this actually happened to me right now. You see, I just got out of a long term relationship, and it wasn't easy for me. I've been with her since I was sixteen; she taught me everything that I know now. Sure, there were times when my brother was actually with her more than me, but in my heart I knew that she was still mine. When he left for college, she was all mine again, and it was like high school all over again. I took her to school with me, we'd go for long late-night drives...it was magical. Not that she was compeltely perfect. She had a lot of issues before I met her; there were even times when she'd blow her top and I thought that I might lose her. All in all though, everything was pretty great between us. I never even thought about trading her in for anything.

Then things started to go downhill, as seems to be the nature of all relationships. At the beginning of this winter, I'd noticed that she didn't have the same warmth for me as she usually did. I mean, it always took her a while to get warmed up when I was ready to go, but lately she had been acting even colder than usual. Then one fateful day I decided to take her on a trip with me out of town for a weekend. I thought it would be nice to get away for a while and visit an old, dear friend. I should have known that things were wrong when she gave me the cold shoulder all the way down there, but I didn't care anymore. I resolved to check into it after getting back to town. What a fool I was. We were almost home when everything boiled over and she just exploded at me. I couldn't believe her! All the shit that I had put up with over the years, and she just let things break down right there along the highway! I said some unkind things and just left her there to let somebody else deal with her. I never saw her again. In retrospect, I regret that I never actually got to say goodbye, but these things happen for a reason, and we must remain strong and not linger on the errors of the past.

That was when I met...her. I found her online actually. I'd been trolling around to see what kind of action I could find, and amidst all the old beat up wrecks that you'd expect to find (I even saw one or two of them *shudder*)...there she was. I knew instantly that I had to see if she was too good to be true. It turns out she was better. She used to take care of an elderly gentleman, but he recently passed away and was looking for something new in her life. I didn't hesitate; I went to see her the first chance I could...and she was incredible.

It's been a few days now, and I'm feeling really good about where things are going. A friend asked me today if it was love, and I wasn't sure how to answer. I mean, I've only been out with her a few times, and I'm still figuring out all her little quirks; hell, I haven't even filled her tank yet. And yet...I feel good about this one. She doesn't have a lot of experience, but I could see her being around for a long time. It looks like things are going to work out.

Even still, I catch myself thinking about the one I lost. Sure she was a dusty old bitch, but she was my dusty old bitch, and I'll never forget all she did for me.

Yep, best damn car I ever owned.

One Baby, Two Baby, Three Baby, Four...

Although I love and revere women for their role as the life givers of the human race, I in no way envy or desire that ability. Case and point: that new mother who has been all over the news for giving birth to octuplets; that's eight babies for those of you out there who can't remember your greek roots. Eight...to help put that in perspective, imagine one kid, then multiply it by eight. The best part was that they were only expecting seven kids. I guess that eighth one possesses some sort of heretofore unknown cloaking technology. That, or the fact that there was just a massive ball of babies rolling around in there. The mean weight for each infant was around three pounds, meaning that this chick walked around with 24 prenatal pounds. Try and eat 96 quater pounders some time and see if you can walk around. I'll bet you an all expense paid trip to Tasmania if you can do it.


One new mother, plus eight babies, minus one usable vagina equals one new happy family. That is one cooter that will never be the same again; like trying to take off a shirt by pulling it down over your shoulders...eight times. Watching those tykes shoot out of there is enough to bring back 'Nam flashbacks. Did the OBGYN have a catcher's mit? Some kind of big basket to catch them? A bullseye painted on the wall? If the nurse missed one, did she have to pay $3.00 for another eight chances? Fuck that.

Wait...on second thought, no. Don't fuck that. This story should be shared with every teenager who is on the cusp of discovering that if you rub a certain part of your body, it feels really good, and it's even better when someone you think is pretty does it for you. That's right: I'm talking about your feet. Teenage pregnancy would not even be an issue if kids were aware of this kind of stuff.

"Hi Suzy. So you like to have sex with your angry little boyfriend who wears black all the time, drinks coffee, and writes 'poetry'? It makes you feel good? Loved? Like you're a grown woman? Well just know that if you have sex, you could end up pregnant, and not just with one baby. Nope, not two...not three...keep going...not yet...you're not even close yet. The answer is eight. Do you want eight babies? You don't even have eight friends. And oh yeah: your vagina will turn into a giant deflated inner tube" Ok, that last bit may have been a bit harsh, but you gotta be with kids these days or they won't listen.

The heads of our industry need to invent some new form of contraception that ensures the accidental preganancy of only one baby is guarenteed. When you consider the possibility of eight, one seems like a favorable outcome; an acceptable margin of error. Before you get down to business for a bit of the ol' slap and tickle, make sure you put on your Gross Infant Limiter. That's gross, not net, because you never know the limits of your doctor's hand-eye coordination.

Eight babies! Any more than that and they'd be Mormons.

Screw Butterflies

One thing. That's all it takes sometimes is one little thing, and suddenly everything is different. Deep, right? I'm not an expert on chaos theory, but I kind of like the idea that ultimately the world is unpredictable and you can never really know for certain what is going to happen next. Sure, in all likelihood, you'll wake up tomorrow and eat breakfast like you usually do, but you could also be kidnapped by a pterodactyl and taken back to its nest where you'll in turn be fed to all the cute, tiny baby pterodactyls who haven't had their breakfast yet. It could happen!

I'm not above admitting that this particular scenario has virtually no chance of happening, but not a zero chance of happening. Sure, you can give me paleological evidence that insists that pterodactyls died out millions of years ago, but what if there is one pterodactyl left and she has been hidden away, silently plotting the day when she'll scoop you up to feed to her offspring?

The other tenet that I like to ponder is my opening remark. This one has been on my mind a lot lately, and for very personal reasons. This time of year has a great deal of significance to me. I won't convolute things with the details...let's just say that one day a long time ago, my life changed forever, and it all began with a single comment to another person. You could say it was the pterodactyl that I wasn't expecting. It's because of this that I refuse to ever completely dismiss something as impossible; unrealistic and a waste of time, sure, but not impossible. Does that make me an idealist? Maybe, but I prefer to see myself as a dreamer; always wondering what might come true, no matter how outlandish. Am I motivated by hope? Maybe a little, but I would venture to say that it is more curiosity than hope. Hope asks the question, "Why not?" whereas curiosity says, "What if?"

Anyone who is governed chiefly by logic will of course read these words and probably scoff, maybe even vomit out of incredulity if I've done my job right. Yeah, stuff needs to make sense, but not all the time. What's wrong with waiting for that pterodactyl as long as I still do everything else right? Show me where it says in absolute terms that there are no more pterodactyls...I defy you to show me! Damn, haters, let a player play! Maybe if enough people get onboard with my thinking, there can be actual ptreodactyl watches. There could be parties, clubs, and other ways to bring people together. My purportedly ludicrous idea could actually unite mankind and give a person true happiness. True happiness, and you want to stand in the way of that? Who's dreaming now?

I've already dedicated one post to a clown, so this one goes out to the pterotacdyl. I know you're out there, and although I'm not waiting for you, it'd be nice to see you sometime.

The Stripped Down Truth

I have recently been made aware of a serious problem in our society, nay our entire species. When I was first told, I was disgusted beyond what I previously thought capable. Did you know that every single person on this planet is walking around completely naked under their clothing? Shocking I know, but it's true. Every single man, woman and child, beneath their layers of underwear and various other outer garments, is totally nude.

I for one am appalled by this revelation! Sure, you may be thinking that it's cool that everyone just struts around in the buff all day every day, you might even think it's a little sexy. Yeah, it may be ok to have the beautiful people of the world live an au naturale lifestlye, but I ask you this: what about the ugly people? I can think of a lot of people that should never be allowed to forego clothing. I know you can too. Think of your grandmother; your dear, sweet grandmother. Do you want hordes of people walking around and thinking of your granny in that way; the woman who took you to the park when you were little and bakes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world?

How could we as a society let this persist for this long? Even though I am usually the type to sit on the sidelines when it comes improving the world (I'm a thinker, not so much a doer), I cannot in good conscience stand idle. When our moral base is jeopardized this severely, the cost of inaction is simply too high. Luckily, the winds of change are blowing in our nation's capital, so now is the time to act. Although I have no personal connection to president Obama, I sincerely believe that he will support my lobbying efforts. If all goes according to plan, I might even get him to mention it in his inauguration speech on Tuesday, so be sure and watch it. And what is my agenda exactly? Simple: we need to form a government watchdog agency whose sole purpose is to combat the social epidemic of hidden nudity.

The Center for the Limitation of Offensive and Tastelessly Hidden Exposed Skin (C.L.O.T.H.E.S.) will be chaired by elected officials, that way they report directly to the American people rather than the Washington bureaucrats. Obviously, this is a long-term project. The first few years will be largely devoted to data collection and research into the problem. This will be done by a top tier brain trust to function as a think tank, or Tank Top if you will. Only once sufficient information has been obtained can we then devise a solution. In order for C.L.O.T.H.E.S. to function properly, every American must make a personal investment in its mission. We cannot break down along lines of personal politics here. C.L.O.T.H.E.S. must be worn by everyone in order ensure that no longer will we be forced to endure walking around completely naked under our clothing. Now is the time to act. Write your local congressman and let him know of the necessity of C.L.O.T.H.E.S. and its implication for the future of our nation. If any of you out there wish to join me in my cause, please voice your support in the comments section so that we can show those D.C bigwigs that we mean business! Thank you, and God Bless America.

The Heckling Prophets

In the entire body of human literature, there is one character (of sorts) that has consistently been present, as well as my personal favorite, regardless of the context. As far as I know, there is no exact blanket term for it, but it presents itself in one major form: the Chorus. The Chorus has its roots in the earliest days of Greek plays, and even garnered more praise and attention than the principal actors. Its role is to observe and react to the play's actions, as well as comment on said actions and the broader themes at work. I really like this concept. I have seen a few plays where a chorus is still utilized in its original form, and it is always fascinating to have a group that exists seperately from both the play proper and the audience to add a different, albeit deliberate, perspective.

Although the formal chorus is not as in vogue as it once was, it still exists in one form or another. It usually manifests in some sort of character that breaks the fourth wall. Other times, it is just characters whose sole purpose is to mock everything else that is going on. The penultimate form of this is Statler and Waldorf from The Muppet Show. The entire point of their existence is to sit up in that balcony and ridicule the shit out of every single thing that steps onto the stage. Why do they do it? The only apparent motivation is for pure shits and giggles. They have always been my favorite Muppet characters, because I respect that.

There is something about breaking the fourth wall that I love. To me, it serves as a reminder to not take what I'm watching too seriously. Don't get me wrong, I like to be totally immersed in a performance, but in life it's important to not get so caught up in the performance that you forget that in the end, you're still just acting. All the world's a stage after all, and just as with Kermit, Ms. Piggy, and Gonzo, we need people like Statler and Waldorf to remind us that you need to take a step back once and a while and take a look at the bigger picture.

The Chorus is the God in the machine, the evidence that there is something beyond the immediate here and now that requires our attention. We're all guilty of getting caught up in our own personal performance sometimes that we fail to see the whole thing in all of its tragic and comedic glory. Even though that balcony only seats two, there is room up there for everyone at some point. You shouldn't just stand there and take the shit with a smile like Fozzie Bear; get up there for yourself and take a look around. You'd be amazed at what you see. Part of me would love to be up there all the time, heckling the absurdity of the little dance that we do here on earth, but I'd be unsatisfied. Man was not meant to watch, he was meant to act. As I said before, all the world's a stage, so get off your ass and start acting, just don't forget to take a break and watch it too, because from what I hear, it's a pretty good show.

And now since you were all such good listeners, you get a little treat.

As Funny As A Gold Statue

So I was going to go into a whole thing about the absurdity of soulmates, but then I put on the Golden Globes and derailed my entire train of thought. Maybe I'll save that other one for another time, 'cuz it was gonna be good.

Instead, I'll address the issue of bias in the Performing Arts. I refer of course to the fact that comedy is consistently forced to take a back seat to the dramatic. How many comedies have won an Oscar for Best Picture? Zero. Goose egg. Not a one. The last few years, a few comedies have snuck in and been nominated, but they are usually tempered with lame dramatic schmaltz, like Juno. Comedy can't even get enough respect to get its own category, it has to share one with Musicals or Variety Shows. Imagine being roomates with a German drama major; that's proably what it feels like.

So why no love or critical acclaim for comedy? Why can't we just have straight comedy without the compulsive need to add a bunch of stupid dramatic filler? Every man, woman, and child finds something funny. Humor is universal, isn't it? It is, but it isn't.

I believe that comedy is much more complicated than drama. It's easy to make people cry: let the dog die or have the father finally express the love he feels for his son on his death bed. To make somebody laugh is damned hard; as any stand-up comedian. Although everyone finds something funny, there is a wide range of things that people find funny. Me? I can run the gammut of just about anything. Why just tonight, I was laughing my ass off at some cartoons from the New Yorker, and now I'm watching Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back and busting a nut. Whether it's complex, satirical black comedy or dick jokes, I'll at least giggle. Diverse, ain't I?

So it's not that comedy is lower than drama, it's actually the opposite. It's too complicated and too much a part of us to accurately gauge in something as trivial as film awards. Laughter is not some juvenile response to a chimp in a leprechaun outfit *snicker*, it is a complicated response whose exact physiology and purpose are still largely a mystery to us. You know what I say? Fuck the Academy! Comedy doesn't need formal recognition, because I know what I think is funny and don't need anyone else to tell me otherwise. Comedy doesn't need to be broken down and dissected like that. Just let it be and enjoy it. Live and let laugh. I wanted to end on a joke, but I couldn't get one out before I finished. That's what she said!

The Fallacy of One

Are you lonely? Is it because you're alone? No, it's not. Not to sound critical, but no one is lonely because he or she is alone.

How is this possible? Easy: you're never alone. In today's modern society, to be by yourself is rare, if not impossible. Go ahead, try it sometime. Try and make yourself completely alone; put yourself in a position where there is absolutely zero evidence of any other human beings. Your apartment isn't good enough. Surely you have neighbors, and even if you you have super thick concrete walls that could block out an orgy with howitzers (you gotta love that Luftwaffe foreplay), there is traffic outside, plus any ambient lighting that may leak in through the window.

"Ok then," you say to yourself, "I'll go somewhere that is completely untouched by human civilization." That's fine, but are you willing to purchase a plane ticket, fly to Canada, and hike all the way to the middle of the virgin Yukon tundra just to prove little ol' me wrong? If so, I applaud your conviction, but seriously, you may want to stop and reevaluate your life. My point here is that Man is a social creature, and we have done a pretty damn good job at making sure that we are never too far away from another human being.

So why even bother with getting lonely? Surely the only people who are truly worthy and able to be lonely are hermits who live in tiny shacks off in the untamed wilderness somewhere, but then again, they like the solitude. They don't need anybody, especially those pesky ATF agents who like to pay them visits. When we get lonely, we often make the mistake that there is no one around. As I just proved with my flawless logic, that is simply not the case. What is actually happening is that we instead are just not around the right people, or even just a single person. That feeling is then generalized into the assumption that humanity has abandoned us. I think that's pretty cool. That may sound cynical, but the fact that only one or two people can make you feel like a caribou farmer is pretty amazing.

So who is this amazing person who can so influence our perceived place in society? It could be anyone, really; a family member, a friend (miss you, toots), that new boy or girl who said that your eyes were beautiful, somebody who you've never even met, anyone in whom you make some kind of emotional investment. You can mix and match however you want, people are affected by one another in entirely unique ways. So what then is the solution to this malady of the spirit? I don't have an answer for you there. As much as I'd like to be a limitless font of wisdom and knowledge, I'm subject to the same mortal trappings as y'all. Actually, I've probably racked up enough frequent flyer miles on Lonely Airways to fly to the Crab Nebula and back. I know why though, and maybe the very act of recognizing it makes it easier to understand. Do I want to help others cope with it too? Not really, even if I am kinda doing it by accident. After all, misery loves company, so if everyone is miserable, then no one will be lonely. Now THAT'S cynical!