Now really, it is quite tacky to put a suggestive title on a blog just to confuse (and entice) the reader into thinking that we will be talking about sex ... but since we're on the subject, why the hell not?!?
Rest assured- this gardener has done precious little germination in months past, so the seed that I intend to spread has nothing to do with my irrigation system. Oh no friends, we are talking about love here. LOVE.
The 'heart' shape is the ubiquitous symbol of love, and its origins have been debated by historians for years (particularly because it looks nothing like a real heart). The most likely (and sinfully delicious) theory is that the shape comes from the silphium (syphilis?) plant in northern Africa, around 500 B.C.E. Used as a one-stop shop for common ailments and disease (like Windex in My Big Fat Greek Wedding), silphium was also believed to prevent undesired pregnancies. The seeds of the silphium plant are the shape we have adopted as the 'heart'.
Basically, our symbol for love is a prophylactic.
It makes sense ... love meaning we want the pleasure of sex without the pain of raising little shits. But the transition from the symbolic "no baby here" to "oh baby be mine!" is interesting, and further complicates the mysterious dynamic between emotional and physical love, sex and genuine caring. Throw "I 'heart' you mom" into the mix, and it just gets plain gruesome.
But, like many symbols, its present-day meaning has morphed from its original intent. When I see a heart-shape the last thing I think about is birth control. Instead, I think of compassion, intimacy, and sometimes vomiting in my mouth.
Apparently the need to stop popping out little brats overwhelmed the supply of silphium- it is now extinct (hence it was a commodity, quite like the sponge-worthy Seinfeld episodes). Perhaps it is time to reconsider and change this antiquated symbol of love ... why not something more modern ... like a condom?
*Cupid shoots arrow into a Trojan ... extra-large*
So the next time you're strapping on a rubber to hold back the seed, consider the jocular link between the latex and love. And for god's sake, pray that your 'heart' doesn't get broken.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
in a (540) New York minute(s)
*cue Rhapsody in Blue*
9 hours ... one city. Mission? Consume a despicable amount of calories, slow down traffic with asinine parking maneuvers, and pay an absurd amount of money to watch people sing and dance on stage.
Mission accomplished.
-Rice to Riches: Think Ben & Jerry's, only for rice pudding aficionados. Adorned with humorous signs like "Eat more, you're already fat!" and "Calories don't count in rice pudding", you hardly need the encouragement to stuff yourself silly with varied flavors such as- pecan pie, mango, almond and coconut, rocky road, raspberry ... the list goes on for about 20 different tastes. And for those of you who can't tolerate something milky and gooey in your mouth (down boy!), you can just have a banal cappuccino.
-GLBT Community Center: I know, I know. Why the hell wouldn't it be called the YMCA? Aside from a refreshing pause from the blistering heat, the community center is home to meetings, support groups, 12-step programs, social events, and more. Imagine, a gathering of gay people together in one happy place ... without alcohol ... *crickets chirping*
-Pommes Frites: Aside from its ability to never be recognized by automated-411 operators (What listing? Pommes Frites. You wanted *pause* 'library', is that correct?), this french fry joint is easy enough to find because of the long line of persons who risk heat stroke outside just to consume oily-hot potato wedges. There is an even longer list of dipping sauces in case your cholesterol just isn't quite high enough- I got the parmesan peppercorn.
-"Lesbian bar": I began doing a search to try and get the name of the actual bar we went to, but being a lesbian bar I figured- eh! Who the hell cares?!? (*dodges salmonella-laced tomatoes*) Two vodkas later, and having endured Barbara Streisand internet-jukeboxed in a bar (...lesbians! *throws hands up in the air*), the prospects of dessert drew us once again into the muggy streets.
-Magnolia Bakery: Famed "Sex and the City" bakery, and host to plenty of tourists acting like they've never seen a cupcake before ("oh my god! that one has frosting! FROSTING!!!" *snaps picture of friend smiling with V-handshape*), Magnolia is a happy host to 3 post-bar scavengers in desperate need of dinner. A chocolate wafer cake layered with whipped cream, a cupcake or two, a slice of carrot cake (somewhat disappointing...) -- and god knows what else, passersby in the street were not surprised to see us scarfing down sugar like Coney Island hotdog competitors. One girl even said to her friend, "You hit him on the head, I'll grab the cupcakes". But honestly, they aren't good enough to inspire violence.
-The Lion King: Barreling through Times Square in desperate search of street parking (along with unicorns, elves, and other fantastical creatures), we finally made it (on time!) to the theater. This is the part where words completely fail me -- in all truthfulness, you have to see it for yourself. While the audience clapped and cheered in between scenes, I found myself transfixed, gaping uncontrollably towards the stage- unsure if I had imagined it all, but convinced that even my musically-minded mind could not even begin to construct that perfect synthesis of music, dancing, and culture. Oh- and Simba was fucking hot!!!
Having conquered the Apple and dazzling all senses, we made our way back to DC along the dark, un-twinkling lit interstate. My only source of consolation was the bathroom at a New Jersey rest area, where I saw a "macho" man turbulently wrestle to get his (apparently) ginormous penis back into his pants -- it was like watching someone try to stuff an angry cat into a paper bag. Certainly nothing in this world should be that strenuous ... but if so, can I have your number?
And after the looming skyscrapers and uncountable march of humanity through the streets of New York, returning to DC was like a peaceful nightcap at the end of an exhausting day; slower, gentler, and a soft pillow that ate me up as if calories didn't count.
Phew. What a day ...
9 hours ... one city. Mission? Consume a despicable amount of calories, slow down traffic with asinine parking maneuvers, and pay an absurd amount of money to watch people sing and dance on stage.
Mission accomplished.
-Rice to Riches: Think Ben & Jerry's, only for rice pudding aficionados. Adorned with humorous signs like "Eat more, you're already fat!" and "Calories don't count in rice pudding", you hardly need the encouragement to stuff yourself silly with varied flavors such as- pecan pie, mango, almond and coconut, rocky road, raspberry ... the list goes on for about 20 different tastes. And for those of you who can't tolerate something milky and gooey in your mouth (down boy!), you can just have a banal cappuccino.
-GLBT Community Center: I know, I know. Why the hell wouldn't it be called the YMCA? Aside from a refreshing pause from the blistering heat, the community center is home to meetings, support groups, 12-step programs, social events, and more. Imagine, a gathering of gay people together in one happy place ... without alcohol ... *crickets chirping*
-Pommes Frites: Aside from its ability to never be recognized by automated-411 operators (What listing? Pommes Frites. You wanted *pause* 'library', is that correct?), this french fry joint is easy enough to find because of the long line of persons who risk heat stroke outside just to consume oily-hot potato wedges. There is an even longer list of dipping sauces in case your cholesterol just isn't quite high enough- I got the parmesan peppercorn.
-"Lesbian bar": I began doing a search to try and get the name of the actual bar we went to, but being a lesbian bar I figured- eh! Who the hell cares?!? (*dodges salmonella-laced tomatoes*) Two vodkas later, and having endured Barbara Streisand internet-jukeboxed in a bar (...lesbians! *throws hands up in the air*), the prospects of dessert drew us once again into the muggy streets.
-Magnolia Bakery: Famed "Sex and the City" bakery, and host to plenty of tourists acting like they've never seen a cupcake before ("oh my god! that one has frosting! FROSTING!!!" *snaps picture of friend smiling with V-handshape*), Magnolia is a happy host to 3 post-bar scavengers in desperate need of dinner. A chocolate wafer cake layered with whipped cream, a cupcake or two, a slice of carrot cake (somewhat disappointing...) -- and god knows what else, passersby in the street were not surprised to see us scarfing down sugar like Coney Island hotdog competitors. One girl even said to her friend, "You hit him on the head, I'll grab the cupcakes". But honestly, they aren't good enough to inspire violence.
-The Lion King: Barreling through Times Square in desperate search of street parking (along with unicorns, elves, and other fantastical creatures), we finally made it (on time!) to the theater. This is the part where words completely fail me -- in all truthfulness, you have to see it for yourself. While the audience clapped and cheered in between scenes, I found myself transfixed, gaping uncontrollably towards the stage- unsure if I had imagined it all, but convinced that even my musically-minded mind could not even begin to construct that perfect synthesis of music, dancing, and culture. Oh- and Simba was fucking hot!!!
Having conquered the Apple and dazzling all senses, we made our way back to DC along the dark, un-twinkling lit interstate. My only source of consolation was the bathroom at a New Jersey rest area, where I saw a "macho" man turbulently wrestle to get his (apparently) ginormous penis back into his pants -- it was like watching someone try to stuff an angry cat into a paper bag. Certainly nothing in this world should be that strenuous ... but if so, can I have your number?
And after the looming skyscrapers and uncountable march of humanity through the streets of New York, returning to DC was like a peaceful nightcap at the end of an exhausting day; slower, gentler, and a soft pillow that ate me up as if calories didn't count.
Phew. What a day ...
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The mean of averages ...
Mean people exist - it's a cultural universal. Where 2 or more are gathered, there is a high probability that one of these persons will be a nasty bitch at some point.
We expect this level of animosity among the rich and famous; that is, after all, what we are exposed to on TV everyday. Lou Dobbs, Judge Judy, Rosie O'Donnell when dieting ... the inner bitch becomes a media stunt to draw in viewers who are captivated by the cantankerous and cranky.
But what about the average Joe & Jane? Are we crabby with each other simply to appease our own personal audience? What benefit do we receive by being ill-tempered?
DC has its fair share of quarrels and spats, as was demonstrated to me in the past couple of weeks:
-CVS-PMS: One evening at a CVS a very disgruntled woman was anxiously waiting in line to check out. Due to some confusion by the manager and other store clerks, some customers were waiting longer than usual. Livid beyond imagination, she began chucking her items this way and that, kicking things across the floor, and stomped out. Wow- no need to get that upset about over-priced gum and Aleve!
-Giant bitch: While waiting in line to check out at a Giant food store, my cashier began speaking to another customer in line using her native language (not English). A short, grisly old white lady looked at both of them and indignantly asked in condescending tones -- "What country am I in???" Shocking ...
-Metro blockade: A man with 3 extra-large suitcases held a train at Union Station an extra minute during rush hour while propping the car doors open and laboriously hauling his stuff on to the train. He pushed his suitcases to the back of the train, cornering me and my friend in our seats so that we couldn't get up. My friend, in a fit of laughter at the audacity of this man's inconsiderateness, began to draw the attention of several people on the train. Suitcase man looked at one of the male passengers and growled "Stop looking at me, or I'll claw your fucking eyes out". Whoa.
.... So what fuels this phenomenon?
Maybe it's fear. Fear of feeling inferior and unappreciated, fear of diversity and sacrificing privilege, and fear of embarrassment and the opinions of others. We are mean to others because we feel ... and we feel because we are mean ...
... average or otherwise.
We expect this level of animosity among the rich and famous; that is, after all, what we are exposed to on TV everyday. Lou Dobbs, Judge Judy, Rosie O'Donnell when dieting ... the inner bitch becomes a media stunt to draw in viewers who are captivated by the cantankerous and cranky.
But what about the average Joe & Jane? Are we crabby with each other simply to appease our own personal audience? What benefit do we receive by being ill-tempered?
DC has its fair share of quarrels and spats, as was demonstrated to me in the past couple of weeks:
-CVS-PMS: One evening at a CVS a very disgruntled woman was anxiously waiting in line to check out. Due to some confusion by the manager and other store clerks, some customers were waiting longer than usual. Livid beyond imagination, she began chucking her items this way and that, kicking things across the floor, and stomped out. Wow- no need to get that upset about over-priced gum and Aleve!
-Giant bitch: While waiting in line to check out at a Giant food store, my cashier began speaking to another customer in line using her native language (not English). A short, grisly old white lady looked at both of them and indignantly asked in condescending tones -- "What country am I in???" Shocking ...
-Metro blockade: A man with 3 extra-large suitcases held a train at Union Station an extra minute during rush hour while propping the car doors open and laboriously hauling his stuff on to the train. He pushed his suitcases to the back of the train, cornering me and my friend in our seats so that we couldn't get up. My friend, in a fit of laughter at the audacity of this man's inconsiderateness, began to draw the attention of several people on the train. Suitcase man looked at one of the male passengers and growled "Stop looking at me, or I'll claw your fucking eyes out". Whoa.
.... So what fuels this phenomenon?
Maybe it's fear. Fear of feeling inferior and unappreciated, fear of diversity and sacrificing privilege, and fear of embarrassment and the opinions of others. We are mean to others because we feel ... and we feel because we are mean ...
... average or otherwise.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Holy copyright infringement
"When God saw the wicked he knew what to do
Told Noah bring the animals two-by-two
Cuz I'm gonna keep your boat afloat for forty days
Yes the good Lord works in mysterious ways"
-The Color Purple
The story of Noah's ark is a staple of any Christian Sunday school class. And hell, Noah's "leave it all behind" legacy is really quite appealing. Much like a modern-day pleasure cruise with a gigantic zoo on deck, the ark was an escape from the cruel reality of a wicked earth and it brought its passengers to an exotic and unknown destination. Imagine-- soaking up the sun, going for a dip in the rain, and kicking back with your loved ones while wondering how this whole "re-populate the planet" thing is gonna work with your aunts and uncles. Ew.
Well you gotta hand it to Noah- a schizophrenic carpenter with animal-taming instincts like Steve Irwin is hard to find. How did he prevent the crocodiles from eating the soft bunny rabbits, anyways?
But wait- before you start pondering the consequences of intra-familiar procreation, first remember that the story of Noah's ark comes 2,000 years after the same tale had been spun in Mesopotamia by the Sumerians (do what now?).
What the Sumerians failed to realize was that this story had great marketable potential and it should have been copyrighted immediately. There are several major world religions that depict a story similar to Noah's. And watching the animals march two-by-two to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance in Fantasia 2000 is just damn CUTE!
The Bible Archaeology Search and Exploration Institute is a Colorado-based non-profit organization that seeks to "help validate to the world that the Bible is true", because apparently the Creator can't handle that task on his/her own. The BASE Institute has spent a considerable amount of time and money on research to locate the ark ... and defy the principles of science (wood decay, atmospheric/barometric conditions, and a human being's ability to survive it all).
But in an age where Biblical literalism is more important than equal rights and the fight against discrimination, it makes sense that the BASE people are on a quest to validate incest and the gross potential for genetic mutations.
This July I'll be going on the Rosie O'Donnell Family Cruise, and it got me wondering about the similarities between a Rosie and Noah nautical experience. Both cruise liners are trying to get away from a world that is different from them ... that doesn't understand them. Both are seeking peace, and a fresh new beginning for the world.
And both are sailing out into the distant blue sea, with a rainbow banner flying high overhead.
Told Noah bring the animals two-by-two
Cuz I'm gonna keep your boat afloat for forty days
Yes the good Lord works in mysterious ways"
-The Color Purple
The story of Noah's ark is a staple of any Christian Sunday school class. And hell, Noah's "leave it all behind" legacy is really quite appealing. Much like a modern-day pleasure cruise with a gigantic zoo on deck, the ark was an escape from the cruel reality of a wicked earth and it brought its passengers to an exotic and unknown destination. Imagine-- soaking up the sun, going for a dip in the rain, and kicking back with your loved ones while wondering how this whole "re-populate the planet" thing is gonna work with your aunts and uncles. Ew.
Well you gotta hand it to Noah- a schizophrenic carpenter with animal-taming instincts like Steve Irwin is hard to find. How did he prevent the crocodiles from eating the soft bunny rabbits, anyways?
But wait- before you start pondering the consequences of intra-familiar procreation, first remember that the story of Noah's ark comes 2,000 years after the same tale had been spun in Mesopotamia by the Sumerians (do what now?).
What the Sumerians failed to realize was that this story had great marketable potential and it should have been copyrighted immediately. There are several major world religions that depict a story similar to Noah's. And watching the animals march two-by-two to the tune of Pomp and Circumstance in Fantasia 2000 is just damn CUTE!
The Bible Archaeology Search and Exploration Institute is a Colorado-based non-profit organization that seeks to "help validate to the world that the Bible is true", because apparently the Creator can't handle that task on his/her own. The BASE Institute has spent a considerable amount of time and money on research to locate the ark ... and defy the principles of science (wood decay, atmospheric/barometric conditions, and a human being's ability to survive it all).
But in an age where Biblical literalism is more important than equal rights and the fight against discrimination, it makes sense that the BASE people are on a quest to validate incest and the gross potential for genetic mutations.
This July I'll be going on the Rosie O'Donnell Family Cruise, and it got me wondering about the similarities between a Rosie and Noah nautical experience. Both cruise liners are trying to get away from a world that is different from them ... that doesn't understand them. Both are seeking peace, and a fresh new beginning for the world.
And both are sailing out into the distant blue sea, with a rainbow banner flying high overhead.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
E.T. replaced by W.W.J.D. alien
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/24598508/
The Vatican's top astronomer has given a hearty two thumbs up to the belief that extra-terrestrial life could exist on other planets due to the universe's enormity and the limitless power of God's creativity.
Reverend Funes is the director of the Vatican Observatory (which immediately springs to mind a giant eyeball ... quite like Sauron's in Lord of the Rings ... *cough* ... Holy See, indeed....), and believes that alien life would not contradict the Catholic faith.
Had this been the 17th century, Funes would probably have been burned at the stake or placed under house arrest like Galileo for his astronomical views. But in an age where pollution is a sin and indulgences are just an old-fashioned fad, perhaps it is time to readjust our telescopes to see how religion, science, and reality can become the new holy trinity of the 21st century.
Following the precedent of the Vatican, we can expect to see a religious race into the galaxy quite like the great space race of the 1960s -- except this time it will be with the Pope at the helm ... like Jean-Luc Picard with a very tall head-piece.
***Space ... the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Vatican-O ... Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds (provided they do not challenge its theology or doctrine), to seek out new life and new civilizations (unless they are witches, in which case teleport some more firewood), to boldly go where no Pope has gone before!!! (excluding nude-y bars and 3-star hotels) ***
Bishop #1: "Captain!!! We have an enemy craft approaching sector 8.27"
Pope: "On screen."
***appears a tan, muscular man with elaborate machinery in shades of pink and lavender scantily covering his private parts***
Homo-Borg #1: "We are the Homo-Borg. You cannot resist us. You will be ASSimilated. Resistance is futile."
***the two spacecrafts exchange firepower of holy water, rainbow-painted missiles, crucifixes, CDs of ABBA and the YMCA, flaming candles, and Martinis***
Yikes!!!
Upon discovery of intelligent alien life, the Pope descends from his spaceship and extends his arms ... "I have come to bring you the good news of a savior who is a carbon-based life-form completely dissimilar from you and everything you know -- but nevertheless you must believe in him or perish in the fire of eternal damnation ..."
Upon quick review of the Church's oopsies! and boo-boos! during the Inquisition and the unfortunate killings and blatant corruptions throughout its history, the aliens decide that the best course of action would be to vaporize the Silly-Hat Man immediately and then go get some breakfast.
Perhaps we should hold off on the whole "intergalactic missionary work" thing for right now, and concentrate on things closer to home. After all Mr. Pope, things like Mars, Jupiter- hell, even Uranus- are yet to be explored ...
The Vatican's top astronomer has given a hearty two thumbs up to the belief that extra-terrestrial life could exist on other planets due to the universe's enormity and the limitless power of God's creativity.
Reverend Funes is the director of the Vatican Observatory (which immediately springs to mind a giant eyeball ... quite like Sauron's in Lord of the Rings ... *cough* ... Holy See, indeed....), and believes that alien life would not contradict the Catholic faith.
Had this been the 17th century, Funes would probably have been burned at the stake or placed under house arrest like Galileo for his astronomical views. But in an age where pollution is a sin and indulgences are just an old-fashioned fad, perhaps it is time to readjust our telescopes to see how religion, science, and reality can become the new holy trinity of the 21st century.
Following the precedent of the Vatican, we can expect to see a religious race into the galaxy quite like the great space race of the 1960s -- except this time it will be with the Pope at the helm ... like Jean-Luc Picard with a very tall head-piece.
***Space ... the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Vatican-O ... Its continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds (provided they do not challenge its theology or doctrine), to seek out new life and new civilizations (unless they are witches, in which case teleport some more firewood), to boldly go where no Pope has gone before!!! (excluding nude-y bars and 3-star hotels) ***
Bishop #1: "Captain!!! We have an enemy craft approaching sector 8.27"
Pope: "On screen."
***appears a tan, muscular man with elaborate machinery in shades of pink and lavender scantily covering his private parts***
Homo-Borg #1: "We are the Homo-Borg. You cannot resist us. You will be ASSimilated. Resistance is futile."
***the two spacecrafts exchange firepower of holy water, rainbow-painted missiles, crucifixes, CDs of ABBA and the YMCA, flaming candles, and Martinis***
Yikes!!!
Upon discovery of intelligent alien life, the Pope descends from his spaceship and extends his arms ... "I have come to bring you the good news of a savior who is a carbon-based life-form completely dissimilar from you and everything you know -- but nevertheless you must believe in him or perish in the fire of eternal damnation ..."
Upon quick review of the Church's oopsies! and boo-boos! during the Inquisition and the unfortunate killings and blatant corruptions throughout its history, the aliens decide that the best course of action would be to vaporize the Silly-Hat Man immediately and then go get some breakfast.
Perhaps we should hold off on the whole "intergalactic missionary work" thing for right now, and concentrate on things closer to home. After all Mr. Pope, things like Mars, Jupiter- hell, even Uranus- are yet to be explored ...
Friday, May 9, 2008
Rain, man!
Washington DC can be characterized by the following pissy items: a piss-poor political administration, the mysterious odor of piss on the Metro and in public buildings (most notably the White House), and the contemptuous pissing down of rain. From misty to torrential downpour DC has got you covered, quite literally-- covered head to toe with water, despite your vain attempts to direct your petty umbrella in the direction where the most rain is coming from.
The umbrella is almost pointless in DC's malevolent wind and rainy season. The rain, guided swiftly by DC's obnoxiously unpredictable gusts of wind, sends cascades of moisture scurrying this way and that like a herd of antelope evading a predator. No matter which direction you point your umbrella to combat this precipitating attack by mother nature, the wind somehow manages to circumvent every inch of polyester and soak your legs, torso, and aspirations of arriving to work without your clothes cementing to your body.
I have to wonder ... what's the point? I may as well just wear a plastic grocery bag over my face and call it a day.
And what is the deal with the extra-large umbrellas??? I am for serious-- umbrellas should be regulated so that they are a size proportional to the carrier's body!!! I saw a 90 pound 5'3" lady walking around today with an umbrella that looked like China on a stick. As she was cruising down the street, her dark dome eclipsing almost all of the natural light beneath itself, she continuously rammed every other regular-sized brolly like bumper boats in the air.
Water flying, people whipping around angrily to see who was piloting the polyester vessel, short utterances of surprise and consternation ... unfortunately this woman couldn't hear a blessed thing as her umbrella acoustics only allowed for the reverberation of her own ignorance to the world beyond her 10-food diameter dry zone.
It all ties into the American value of "happy me, screw you hippies". Dry, content, and oblivious to anything other than what is dry and content, we are pleased ... and anyone in the way can take a supersoaker up their arse (why did the song "Superman" just pop into my head). The greater good, i.e. civility and courteousness, can drown itself in its own tears of impertinence; my rights come before yours.
So as I steer my umbrella in the DC breeze, more like a kite than anything else, and enjoy a good lashing of a rain that travels sideways and on occasion from the ground up, I begin to wonder if that lady is also the line-cutter at the grocery store, the intersection-blocker at a stop light, the person who boards a Metro car before others have exited, or the cell phone talker at the movies ... Could they all be the same person???
Not to rain on anyone's parade, but unfortunately there is more than just one umbrella lady out there ...
The umbrella is almost pointless in DC's malevolent wind and rainy season. The rain, guided swiftly by DC's obnoxiously unpredictable gusts of wind, sends cascades of moisture scurrying this way and that like a herd of antelope evading a predator. No matter which direction you point your umbrella to combat this precipitating attack by mother nature, the wind somehow manages to circumvent every inch of polyester and soak your legs, torso, and aspirations of arriving to work without your clothes cementing to your body.
I have to wonder ... what's the point? I may as well just wear a plastic grocery bag over my face and call it a day.
And what is the deal with the extra-large umbrellas??? I am for serious-- umbrellas should be regulated so that they are a size proportional to the carrier's body!!! I saw a 90 pound 5'3" lady walking around today with an umbrella that looked like China on a stick. As she was cruising down the street, her dark dome eclipsing almost all of the natural light beneath itself, she continuously rammed every other regular-sized brolly like bumper boats in the air.
Water flying, people whipping around angrily to see who was piloting the polyester vessel, short utterances of surprise and consternation ... unfortunately this woman couldn't hear a blessed thing as her umbrella acoustics only allowed for the reverberation of her own ignorance to the world beyond her 10-food diameter dry zone.
It all ties into the American value of "happy me, screw you hippies". Dry, content, and oblivious to anything other than what is dry and content, we are pleased ... and anyone in the way can take a supersoaker up their arse (why did the song "Superman" just pop into my head). The greater good, i.e. civility and courteousness, can drown itself in its own tears of impertinence; my rights come before yours.
So as I steer my umbrella in the DC breeze, more like a kite than anything else, and enjoy a good lashing of a rain that travels sideways and on occasion from the ground up, I begin to wonder if that lady is also the line-cutter at the grocery store, the intersection-blocker at a stop light, the person who boards a Metro car before others have exited, or the cell phone talker at the movies ... Could they all be the same person???
Not to rain on anyone's parade, but unfortunately there is more than just one umbrella lady out there ...
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
The Perfect Man
"You've got the charm
you simply disarm me
every time ..."
-Effie
The perfect man, amongst other nonsensical oxymorons like "Microsoft works" and "good morning", is an ideal generated in the human psyche from a lifetime of watching romantic comedies and Disney classics. Ariel falls in love with Prince Eric just by fanatically watching him dance with a dog, Leonardo yearns for a suicidal forward-thinking aristocrat and steams up a fancy car (and I bet the owner didn't appreciate those stains ... no worry, I'm sure they washed out), and Princess Leia kisses her brother --err, um ... oh dear, ok let's just skip that one.
And we fall for it every time ... We know it's foolish, impossible, and void of modern day realities like prenuptials and emotionally-unavailable partners. But subliminally imprinted in the subconscious is that wish for the easy, extreme, and impregnable companionship that defies all logic and reasoning.
So here it is; my attempt to juggle the ingrained lavish longings of the Freudian id with the principles of realistic living -- the definition of the perfect man for an imperfect world.
-thoughtfulness: it's different for everyone ... for some people it's a gift, a text message, a phone call, or an extra minute's embrace. So the perfect man is able to identify his own way of thoughtfulness, deliver, and then recognize it in others ... abundantly.
-listening: hearing what you say, seeing what you do, and sensing what you feel.
-humor: letting your hair down, if you have any, and being ok with embarrassment. The ability to laugh at chickens, merely because they walk funny and make unusual sounds. Farting and then blaming it on the old lady sitting next to you on the Metro with puzzled and accusatory glances in her direction.
-persistence: not giving up when challenged with hardship in the relationship. Fighting the urge to detach emotionally, and staying the course.
-time: to exist in a place where time is generous. Content with a movie on a Friday night and a bedtime of 10:00 if that means an extra hour of cuddling in the morning. To spend an entire day without accomplishing much, yet doing-- or being more than you anticipated.
-insight: to see in yourself and in others that special something that usually goes unnoticed.
It's funny ... after re-reading this list, I was surprised to discover that I'm actually describing the qualities of my own self that I'd like to improve upon.
Perhaps the quest for the perfect man is really the search for the perfect man inside of me.
So I guess, in short, what identifies the perfect man in my mind is simply his struggle to do better-- by himself, and for others.
I suppose it's not as oxymoronic as I thought ...
you simply disarm me
every time ..."
-Effie
The perfect man, amongst other nonsensical oxymorons like "Microsoft works" and "good morning", is an ideal generated in the human psyche from a lifetime of watching romantic comedies and Disney classics. Ariel falls in love with Prince Eric just by fanatically watching him dance with a dog, Leonardo yearns for a suicidal forward-thinking aristocrat and steams up a fancy car (and I bet the owner didn't appreciate those stains ... no worry, I'm sure they washed out), and Princess Leia kisses her brother --err, um ... oh dear, ok let's just skip that one.
And we fall for it every time ... We know it's foolish, impossible, and void of modern day realities like prenuptials and emotionally-unavailable partners. But subliminally imprinted in the subconscious is that wish for the easy, extreme, and impregnable companionship that defies all logic and reasoning.
So here it is; my attempt to juggle the ingrained lavish longings of the Freudian id with the principles of realistic living -- the definition of the perfect man for an imperfect world.
-thoughtfulness: it's different for everyone ... for some people it's a gift, a text message, a phone call, or an extra minute's embrace. So the perfect man is able to identify his own way of thoughtfulness, deliver, and then recognize it in others ... abundantly.
-listening: hearing what you say, seeing what you do, and sensing what you feel.
-humor: letting your hair down, if you have any, and being ok with embarrassment. The ability to laugh at chickens, merely because they walk funny and make unusual sounds. Farting and then blaming it on the old lady sitting next to you on the Metro with puzzled and accusatory glances in her direction.
-persistence: not giving up when challenged with hardship in the relationship. Fighting the urge to detach emotionally, and staying the course.
-time: to exist in a place where time is generous. Content with a movie on a Friday night and a bedtime of 10:00 if that means an extra hour of cuddling in the morning. To spend an entire day without accomplishing much, yet doing-- or being more than you anticipated.
-insight: to see in yourself and in others that special something that usually goes unnoticed.
It's funny ... after re-reading this list, I was surprised to discover that I'm actually describing the qualities of my own self that I'd like to improve upon.
Perhaps the quest for the perfect man is really the search for the perfect man inside of me.
So I guess, in short, what identifies the perfect man in my mind is simply his struggle to do better-- by himself, and for others.
I suppose it's not as oxymoronic as I thought ...
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