Incontinence

These days I seem to be having more and more trouble holding in the need to go Number 1. This means that not only am I barely able to sustain the walk from Point A to the restroom, but also that I have to go more frequently. It's like as soon as the thought enters my head, I have to relieve myself right then and there. I used to be able to go hours holding it (once, when I was about 7, I went from about 10am to 4pm needing to piss; I was at a school carnival, and couldn't bring myself to use the portapotties). Now I'm always just seconds away from wetting my pants. I wasn't expecting this to happen for another 50 years, at least.

Make Sketchy Associates,

get roped into doing sketchy activities. Ick. I unknowingly had committed to going to what turns out to be an 18-year-old sketch-fest tonight, and I need to get out of it. My new knowledge of the reputation of this place also makes me more reluctant to miss tonight's OC, as much as that show sucks now.

Dozens Trapped In Candlelight Vigil For Coal Miners

I enjoyed this Onion article when it came out, and then I remembered that they only archive it for so long before it becomes inaccessible. So I had to archive it for myself while I can.

PS, my computer is still out of commission. I'm using a public computer right now.

HARLAN COUNTY, KY—A candlelight vigil Tuesday night outside the Drum Ridge mine, where eight coal miners are believed to be confined, left an estimated 55 residents trapped with no means of socially acceptable escape.

Attendees said they had originally hoped that the vigil would last "two or three hours at most." But as the gathering stretched into its fourth hour in freezing weather with no word of the miners' fate, their faith began to waver.

"I've been here a long time lending my emotional support, and I don't see any way out," Evarts resident Rebecca Sayles said. "I'm praying they find those men very, very soon."

With no food, a dwindling supply of hot coffee, the mine office's restrooms padlocked for the night, and the sole heat source the flickering flames of votive candles, hope was fading fast for a positive conclusion, or even just a conclusion, to the vigil.

"I can't believe it's only 10:30 p.m.," said South Wallins resident Pat Meacham, who said he had checked his watch nearly two dozen times since arriving. "The seconds, they feel like minutes, and the minutes, like hours. There's no end in sight."

Candlelight-vigil participants report that the presence of 28 relatives of the trapped miners is preventing an easy exit. One attendant noted that many family members were inadvertently blocking every route to the parking lot.

Many vigil participants reported a "suffocating" atmosphere, one worsened by the singing of church hymns and emotionally charged interactions with the miners' loved ones.

Though they were aware of the dangerous emotional conditions at vigils, many participants said they had ignored the warnings.

"I've been here four hours," said local realtor Margaret Clayton . "Every time I try to walk over to Mrs. Knauer to tell her goodnight, she has this 'the father of my children is trapped 350 feet underground' look on her face, and I just can't do it."

Attendees report that they have been "racking their brains," trying to think of a way to get out.

"The Stevens used the 'leaving to get more candles' tactic," local business owner Mark Peters said. "That was two hours ago, and I have faith that they were successful."

He added: "Right now, I'm praying for a miracle, such as an urgent phone call."

Near the five-hour mark, many attendees said they began to wonder about the rules, if any, of candlelight-vigil etiquette. Some were uncertain whether they could leave once news of the miners' fate was delivered, or if they would have to first wait for the emergence of a miner.

"I don't think I can leave until they find at least one of the miners," said gas station attendant Stuart Jenkins, who claimed that he was going to "pass out" if he didn't get to eat soon. "Maybe two, if the first one brought out is dead."

After the arrival of the WHAS-11 I-Team news van at approximately 11:30 p.m., the remaining vigil attendees reported that any hope for escape had been eliminated.

"I just want to go home," Harlan County resident Susan Rafferty said. "But now I'm cornered in every direction by the bereaved, and the whole state is watching."

Rescue crews, working feverishly to reach the trapped miners, asked to be allowed to continue their rescue operation without interruption.

"We understand that many in attendance are impatient," rescue worker Brian Turner said. "However, we can't stop every two minutes to answer questions about what kind of progress we're making, or how long we think it'll take to bring a drill from out of town, or what time the liquor store down the road closes."

When local pastor Michael Sloane arrived with 20 boxes of additional candles at approximately 12:20 a.m., adding untold hours to the vigil, one participant enjoyed a unique perspective. Ron Chernow, who had managed to escape from the candlelight vigil three hours earlier through a small opening in the emotional wreckage, spoke from his warm couch as he watched the live coverage on WHAS-11.

"My heart goes out to the victims of this awful situation," he said.

Sucks

I probably won't be able to blog for a while, until a new battery charger arrives in the mail.

Model Idiot

This morning, the unthinkable happened: I caught a "new" episode of Saved by the Bell! This was the 4-episode movie where the gang goes to Hawaii. As soon as they land at the airport, Zach spies a pretty woman and offers to carry her bags for her. She insists that he doesn't, but Zach shoves through anyway. Then her boyfriend comes to pick her up at the airport, and Zach demands, "Is that your boyfriend?" When she says, "More or less," Zach replies, "Let's hope less" - and amazingly, doesn't get told off to mind his own business.

Also, why she doesn't bust out her pepper spray right then is beyond me.

Afterwards we find out that this woman is the mother of a four-year-old child. At which point Zach starts saying boneheaded things like: "I'm almost eighteen. I can drop out of school and move here to be with you. I love you, and I love Jennifer (the four-year-old child)."

Then it becomes clear: had this woman been the owner of some pepper spray 4 years ago, she never would have shacked up with these kinds of idiots.

It's astounding what gets put on TV. In this same episode, not only does 17-year-old Zach fall in love with a single mom (she missed her graduation because she was in labor; so about 22 years old), but Kelly falls in love with a sleazy lawyer (4 years college + 3 years law school = minimum 25 years old). But the fact that he's hitting on a minor is not enough indication that he's a sleazebag; it's not until they catch him double-crossing them that they get wise to that fact.

So apparently, statuatory rapists are not prosecuted in Saved by the Bell's state of Hawaii.

Tacitus - Dialogus 19

The people in the old days were inexperienced and ill-educated: they were quite ready to tolerate long speeches, cluttered up with irrelevancies, and regarded it as a virtue if a speaker took all day. Then there was applause for long introductions, and narratives delving deep in the past, elaborate divisions put in merely for show, innumerable interconnected arguments, and all the other items prescribed in the dry-as-dust handbooks of Hermagoras adn Apollodorus: as for anyone who had an inkling of philosophy, and inserted a philosophic passage in his speech, he was lauded to the skies. And no wonder: these things were new then and unknown, and very few even of the orators themselves were acquainted with rhetorical precept or philosophical dogma. But now that all this is commonplace, and scarcely anyone finds himself in the public seats who isn't at least a dabbler in these studies, if not an expert, one needs new and less obvious routes for eloquence to follow. Only so can an orator escape boring his hearers, especially where judges can decide on their own authority, not under a legal code, and can make their own provisions about the length of speeches, without having this dictated to them.

Isn't this the most counterintuitive analysis of an audience? I must revisit this later.

She Wants Revenge

I got the cd because the words are really dirty, and I have such a weakness for filth. The first thing I noticed was that they were trying to be dance music. The second thing I noticed was that they were not very successful at being dance music. It was the most bizarre sound. A chip off the old Depeche Mode block, and yet, it doesn't get you moving, and once you do try to get moving, it makes you feel awkward.

I think the basic cause of this is that She Wants Revenge lacks a really strong bass beat in all their songs.

Besides that, the tempo is also a little too slow for what they're trying to do. They're using the tempo for hip-hop dance, which is a lot heavier, when what they need is a more upbeat dance-pop/techno beat.

Take my word for it: I may not know music, but I definitely know dance. They won't make it big in the club scenes, although with a little work, they could have had all the potential for it.

New Things

I tried three new things yesterday:
1. making carbonara (and actually cooking without a recipe, for once)
2. making tiramisu
3. applying gel eyeliner with a brush, instead of using the pencil or liquid variety

Calling a Spade a Spade

I had my great moment of heroic aristeia tonight when I voiced the big pink elephant that everyone in the room was thinking, but felt too bad about saying aloud. Twenty minutes after the big moment, I went to the next room at the party, and the people there had already heard about it. I was surprised.

Figured it out!

CAFFEINE speeds up your metabolism and suppresses appetite. I used to not be a regular coffee drinker, but since the beginning of this academic year, I've been having a regular morning cup, 3 or 4 times a week.

I couldn't explain the weight loss, because I never lose weight, and I thought that it might be an ulcer. But now that I'm armed with this new information, I'm going to guess that it's been the caffeine.

Cereal City

The original raison d'etre of the Kellog cereal company was to make a corn flake so wholesome and nutritious that boys who ate it wouldn't feel the need to beat off. To supplement their cereal experiment, they also came up with this shock device that the boys would attach to their loins, as a further deterrent. For girls who needed to beat off, they came up with a system of "womb massages" - which basically was a guy who beat off the girls for them.

How fucked up is that? Any project to stop masturbation is doomed to fail...except for maybe the womb massage one.

The founding generation of the Kellog company died out because around 1885, the Seventh Day Adventists came and convinced them that the world was coming to an end. I don't know whether they fired everyone after that or if all the apocalyptic people quit, but the end of the world put a hold to everything - ie, the fight against masturbation - for a while. When the world didn't come to an end, the people of the town returned to work at Kellog. These people are the kids and later descendants of the original generation, and apparently they are still there.

Everything Will Be Alright

I wasn't shopping for a doll
To say the least, I thought I'd seen them all
But then you took me by surprise
I'm dreaming bout those dreamy eyes
I never knew, I never knew
So take your suitcase, cause I don't mind
And baby doll, I meant it every time
You don't need to compromise
I'm dreaming bout those dreamy eyes
I never knew, I never knew
But it's alright...

Shocking

I've just come to realize that it's entirely possible for a boy to appreciate me for the things I appreciate most about myself, and still not love me (like I love myself). That this could happen had never occurred to me.

In fact, the men who loved me most loved me for all the wrong reasons - now that I think about it.

Things You Love

"...no matter what, you'll still have the music you love and another day to try it all tomorrow... " - Andrew WK

Isn't it a beautiful idea that with each new day, you can take with you only the things that make you happy, and shrug off the rest? I think we have it in us to make that happen. The things we love: they're what keep us going.

Is Fergie Busted? On Self-Confidence

I have this friend named Toddy - a 5'5" sorta gangsta dude, a lot of fun and really funny - who is totally pimp. I've often thought about him and wondered how this short, funny guy managed to befriend every pretty girl at school, and even date some of them. When I first met Toddy, it was 100% obvious that it was a Line (first day of class, he leaned over and asked if I got the books from the bookstore), before he stretched out his hand and introduced himself. I replied that we had already met, since I used to date his friend. After that, Toddy backed off a little; but when we started talking more, he showed himself to be a huge flirt. It was funny and cute, so I didn't take it seriously, and pretty soon that built familiarity.

I used to think that maybe it was because of (and not in spite of) his short, unimposing exterior that he was able to get away with flirting shamelessly like that. After all, as my taller friend pointed out once, a more threatening figure would more likely be slapped than befriended. I accepted this hypothesis until I met Sonny, who is also a shameless flirt. Sonny likes to say that when he walks into a room, he naturally assumes that every single person in there wants him. It's a bit like myself, who makes it a policy to flirt with everyone, and then see who bites. Sonny is of course even more confident than that, though.

Anyways. I didn't make any kind of connection between Sonny and myself until last week, when the debate arose whether or not Fergie from the Black Eyed Peas was hot. Everyone attested that she was old and busted, except for Sonny and me. We couldn't think of one objectionable thing about her, and to this the others said that if she wasn't so made up in the videos she would look bad.

Suddenly it occurred to me that maybe what was so pimp about guys like Sonny isn't so much their confidence in themselves, but their confidence in others - which comes naturally from being generous to flaws. Maybe when you reach that level of grotesque flirtation, you stop being threatening because others intuit that you couldn't possibly be judging them negatively. It's a bit like a discussion I was having about this kid Mo:

Me: I don't really like Mo. He presents himself as a misanthrope.
Friend: I think he's just painfully shy. He's afraid of making mistakes in class, because he thinks that we're all thinking less of him.
Me: But that's ridiculous! Why would he think that? Unless: he thinks less of me when I make mistakes in class...in which case, I still have no good reason to like him.

The conclusion I came to from this conversation, basically, was that insecure people are the most likely to be judgmental. I think the same applies to social and dating situations as well. We find the quality of self-confidence attractive because a person who is kind to himself will probably be kind to us, too.

Most Fun Weekend

St. Patrick's Day -
Flew back to my alma mater, staying with HDG. We had lunch, and then split off as HGD had important honors thesis stuff to do. So I paid a visit to Marcus F, my infallible academic pick-me-up, because I got a terrible grade on my Latin midterm, but well-deserved, and unfortunately, my sincerest best effort. Marcus always knows the right thing to say because he's a slacker who likes to learn, like me, and he's very caring. We shared our favorite youtube.com videos. Then I saw James C, among others, and James came up with the brilliant suggestion that I order Shirley Temples all night long at the wedding.

It's possible that I don't have what it takes to make it in academia. That would be a shame, because I do think I have some good ideas, in spite of my lack of drive to build the foundation.

On Friday night, HDG and DJ and I went to the city and met up with the Bang, the Bang's bf, and HGD's friends from the med school. It was a lot of fun. The Bang was just slightly belligerent while we were waiting in line to get in, a most enjoyable experience involving her pointing and calling people on the sidewalk fat.

The Wedding -
Running running late the whole time, everywhere. HGD and I missed the wedding itself by an hour because of the duplicity of mapquest, which led us all the way to Fisherman's Wharf, where we had to deal with a clown who planted in front of the car until we honked the shit out of him and yelled that we were late to a wedding; the clown then apologized and gave us lollipops, whereupon I felt like an asshole. It turns out it didn't matter that we got so lost, because the ceremony lasted exactly fifteen minutes, and we would have missed it regardless.

We did make it to the reception on time, and it was great fun. I saw a lot of friends I hadn't seen in a while, and the event was beautiful, and the bride was beautiful, and she looked so happy that it made your heart melt (to steal from the bride's dad's speech). All of us got jiggy with it in our formalwear, a most classy affair.

Totally Unmotivated

I can't make myself work. I can't even blog.

car un coi uriash in roaba

Romanian for, "I carry my one huge testicle in a wheelbarrow."

German modals - from a class exercise by yours truly:
Was WILLST du machen? (What do you want to do?)
Ich MOCHTE Studentlokal gehen und Bier trinken. (I would like to go to the pub and drink Beer.)
Ihr DURFT Bier trinken nicht. (You guys aren't allowed to drink beer.)
Du SOLLST zum Teufel gehen, alt Mann. (You should go fuck yourself, old man.)

From the Show That Does Nothing in Moderation

comes the most spectacular shark-jumping of ever: Saved by the Bell's "Zach Attack" episode. This is the one where Zach et al start a band, make it big, fall apart because of Zach's Yoko Ono manager-girlfriend, reunite with the hit song "Friends Forever," and then Zach wakes up and finds that it was all a dream. Terrible!

The most baffling part, besides the entire story, is why Jessie is not included in this band. The Hot Sundae episode ("I'm so excited! I'm so excited! I'm so...so...scared!") would lead you to believe that she's the only one with any musical talent. Though I supposed Slater is talented in anything he tries.

But this may be a feather in poor Elizabeth Berkeley's cap. Whenever people give her grief for Showgirls, she can always come back with, "Hey, at least I had nothing to do with Zach Attack!"

Mimetic Model

It suddenly occurred to me that I might be a mimetic model for a friend, a most unlikely source. Rene Girard talks a lot about how desire is often fabricated through a model: because a person you consider a rival desires a third party person or thing, that third party suddenly becomes more desirable to you as well. Girard calls this the mimetic triangle.

I must have been lucky over the years, because I was starting to doubt seriously that old notion that my people, especially those in a certain kind of fraternal organization, are catty. I can't think of many of my friends who would be less than overjoyed for me if I were to meet a significant other who was good-looking, charming, intelligent, etc. Likewise, I would never begrudge a friend a romantic conquest. Even if that friend were in competition with me - like, say, if the best-looking person in the room were to talk to her instead of me - usually I would feel proud of her, and glad that she was the belle of the ball instead of some other random schmuck. (The one exception would be if I were actually in love with said best-looking person.)

But recently, I was reviewing some old episodes in my head, concerning one friend, that have always been a little inexplicable to me. Things like her giving the time of day to guy who is not very good-looking, etc. These odd episodes all seemed to implicate me loosely (for example, I had had a conversation with, then blew off, the aforementioned unattractive dude earlier), and I wondered if this was a case of mimetic desire. Then I tried to think of my other friends, and whether we were bonded by a sympathetic friendship or a rivalrous one. Like I said, I decided that very few of these friendships were rivalrous; and I think it's for that reason that I'm shocked and baffled, a little disproportionately, when I do encounter some evidence of rivalry.

Anyways, the short version of it all is that I came to the hypothesis that perhaps a certain kind of fraternal organization - which is where I met most of my close like-gendered friends - might be responsible for eliminating much of my natural impulse toward rivalry. When you get used to thinking of yourself as a part of a team, you start to think of your teammates' successes as your own. My one close friend, off the top of my head, who was not of my fraternal organization, but who I believe is also truly sympathetic, similarly spent a lot of time as a part of an athletic team, and I think this had a comparable effect on her social psyche.

Of course, it's entirely possible that some people are simply good friends, and that they seldom feel rivalry because of their love alone. But Girard argues that this kind of love is not mutually exclusive with rivalry, and if anything, that it is an impetus. My most recent surprise confirms this: 99% of the time, this one friend is the best friend you could ever ask for.

Nothing is Sadder

than being at an awesomely fun party, when the one you want isn't there. This should be a dating rule: when you're on the rebound, it is best to be a shut-in. It makes it easier to stay strong and say, Fuck you all! Your resolve tends to weaken when you have all that dangling in front of you, the things that made you happy, now lost.

Angry Dreams

These past three nights I've been woken up by realistic nightmares that left me with one searing impression: anger. The first involved me and an unjust lover. The second involved me and a cop who was trying to give me a speeding ticket. And last night's dream involved multiple conflicts, not to mention every ill omen in the book. My DOG was running around being a pain in the ass, and in need of a bath. My parents had another BABY, and for some reason I didn't know about it until months later, and plus I had a sneaking suspicion I might end up raising him. My brother had invited his coke-dealing friends to our house for DINNER - and they kept shooting off their guns in the house, and breaking things, and talking about hauling corpses in their cars, all of which was very tense and frightening to me. And of course there was that violent tension between my mom and my brother's significant other, which I don't need a dream to tell me about.

It was all very vivid,so that I didn't know I was dreaming. I wouldn't say I've fallen into depression again, but I need to find a zen place.

Ps, my awesome super-cable got unhooked yesterday. Now I'm left with the limited basic, plus my morning Saved by the Bells.

The Single Most Glorious Thing I've Seen in My Life

For some reason, I've been reading some of my old short stories and creative non-fiction works. FYI, it's always a trip to read things you wrote a long time ago. One thing that was especially a trip was a half-baked, more or less free association piece I wrote over a year ago, after I had seen the New York Dolls. Man, I was one depressed mf back then. But aside from that, I was reminded of something that transpired that night that was fierce and glorious, and blindingly amazing. I was so impressed with it even then that I wrote this piece around it. I'll just take a snippet from it, as follows.

Johansen made a joke about it. He administered some liquid drug (whose name I missed; I didn’t get the joke, therefore) to himself with an eyedropper and said, “I have a good reason for taking this. The reason is that I’m so fucking depressed it’s not fucking funny.” He smiled and shook his head.

“Dave, I don’t think they got it,” said Sylvain.

“I didn’t want them to get it,” Johansen cried. “Because every time they don’t laugh, it makes me STRONGER.”

And THAT right there is a diamond. The reason why David Johansen is a god, and why I, in my vain and childish insistence on cosmic justice, will never be anything more than a man (= human). I will be drawing inspiration from this moment for many years, I know.

Pain doesn't exist simply because, without it, we couldn't know how to appreciate pleasure. Pain exists because, as Heidegger says, it IS existence. In the strong sense, because pain is iconoclastic; original because it's not planned or controlled. In the weak sense, because it's the seed of all things funny, and derivatively, of all pathos. If it weren't for my pain, I would become what I despise: boring and putrid. A plastic trophy of no purpose.

Two Great Pseudo-Racist Jokes in One South Park Episode

Normally I'm not a fan of the racist joke, but these I feel don't qualify. Both are more of a character sketch, and one is a bit of a sociological/psychological commentary on western color bias.

1. Mr. Garrison:
And so you see, children, Genghis Khan was a "Mongol," not to be confused with a "mongoLOID" like the actor, Nicholas Cage. Okay now, who can tell me...

2. Cartman:
I think I have a plan, though we'll have to do it tonight. [Visual sequence of the plan; the boys are wearing black clothes and black face paint.] We'll start by sneaking into town, cleverly disguised as black people...

Another great line, unrelated, from this episode:
Grampa: "You just try taking me to jail, scrotum-head! You just try!"

And while I'm on the subject of penis jokes:
Conan's word for New Jersey's word for foreskin = penis-mullet

Meditation on Tools

rexbikini: you said you weren't bringing the bf?
gyangbang: yeah
gyangbang: i thought about it
gyangbang: and before i could make a decision my friend invited herself
gyangbang: for the fact that i mentioned that T and her fiance (whose name escapes me) are pretty well off
gyangbang: snobs, go figure
rexbikini: is she monied too, or just a fan?
gyangbang: monied too
gyangbang: only child no less
rexbikini: interesting. I didn't know it worked like a club
gyangbang: haha
rexbikini: but I probably shouldn't be so naive
gyangbang: the rich get richer
gyangbang: never understood that till i started seeing how that actually works
rexbikini: and the poor get children. No kidding, I thought it was an urban legend
gyangbang: HAHA
rexbikini: HDG thought there might be some Italian dignitaries at this wedding, because of T's dad's connections
gyangbang: Ah
rexbikini: which would make it a good place to make connections/snag a man/hook myself up with a summer villa
gyangbang: haha!
gyangbang: yeah thats why i let my friend invite herself
gyangbang: she's single, might find some use in it
rexbikini: see I joke about it, but yeah, I'm starting to think that's really how rich people work
gyangbang: it is!
gyangbang: they have a bunch of "secret" clubs and eltist get togethers
gyangbang: job offers based on who you know etc
gyangbang: so ridic
rexbikini: I know, it only encourages toolish behavior
gyangbang: haha
gyangbang: seriously
rexbikini: I was thinking that even in college, the whole democratic illusion starts to crumble, so that perhaps it would have been more useful for me to grow up with an ethos of toolishness instead of hard work
rexbikini: but now there's no turning back! I simply can't make myself become a tool
gyangbang: Ha!
gyangbang: yeah unless something traumatic happens at this age people either grow into better people or stay more or less the same
gyangbang: or at least thats what i'd hope
rexbikini: I dunno. I distinctly remember that as kids, we all used to beat up on the tools. But now they're being rewarded. I'm wondering: where are all these tools coming from suddenly? I thought we suppressed them long ago
gyangbang: HAHA
gyangbang: hm, my school beat up on nerds and social rejects
gyangbang: tools were praised for the most part
gyangbang: so i'm used to it
gyangbang: your school must have been pretty extrodinary
rexbikini: Interesting. So perhaps I'm an anomaly for my strong rx to tools?
gyangbang: i think so
gyangbang: hm actually
gyangbang: i think at some point in the past i had a strong reaction to tools
gyangbang: it was in high school
gyangbang: and i remember people getting rewarded for nothing more than being able to butter up a teacher
gyangbang: even though they sucked at life
gyangbang: and i thought, surely life will get better after high school
gyangbang: nope
gyangbang: then I read part of this book "Never sit alone"
gyangbang: where the guy gives tips on how to network
gyangbang: and when I talked to my boss about it she agreed
gyangbang: tools get the upperhand when they know how to work their toolishness the right way to the right people
rexbikini: by the "right people" you mean the people who aren't in an advantageous position to see right through it? Because I feel that once you notice it, it's unbearably annoying
gyangbang: no!
gyangbang thats the thing!
gyangbang: you would think the people they were sucking up to would KNOW
gyangbang: but there is something about having your ego stroked that makes you blind to reality apparently
gyangbang: b/c the people at the top positions must be smart enough to detect it
gyangbang: i think some do and hate tools
gyangbang: but A LOT dont or dont care

Saved by the Bell Joke

"What, Kelly's going out with Todd Winfield? What about Zach?"
"Oh, I think Todd likes Kelly better."

Teenagers, part 2

You might have guessed from the previous post that this post was forthcoming, and if you were especially discerning, you might have guessed that the subject of this post was going to be teenage love.

There are two reasons why I became interested in this subject. The first is the Ramones, from whose orbit I never stray very far. The second is the correspondence theory of fiction. It occurred to me that teenage love was one of the rare themes in fiction that might actually have near-zero correspondence to truth; and yet, it is compelling enough to induce credulity in its audience, and indeed is SO compelling that few of us realize that it is a complete fiction. Instead, when we read or hear or witness some account of teen romance, we mistakenly assume that we, too, once experienced something similar, and that the fictional account is touching precisely because it is a reflection of something (say, “puppy love”) we once felt.

I may be wrong about all this, and I’m the first to admit it. It’s abundantly possible that my exposure to teenage love was so outside the picturesque American norm (due to all the missing out of that age which I discussed in my previous post) that when I hear someone else talking about it, I believe he must be making it all up. But still, I think there may be something to my claim. In spite of my various shortcomings and missed experiences, I’ve always been a pretty good observer. And my observation is that when we were teenagers, few of us ever cared about the substantial aspects of a relationship – ie, details other than status or popularity or PDA or the boyfriend’s access to a car. In fact, I’m not sure how well most teenage lovers know each other as people, if for no other reason than the fact that our personalities are so unformed at that age that there’s very little of the person TO know, for better or for worse. So instead, we base our affections on the things we can know; and these, inevitably, are often the surface aspects.

So why is it that when I hear such verses of teenage smittenness, I melt over in tender reminiscence? After all, I’m convinced that these narratives are totally fictional.

"I met her at the Burger King
Fell in love by the soda machine…"
(She’s the One)

That one’s the classic, the verse that spawned from me my minimally famous series of love haikus (I may post them later). There are others, like from the Queers. The Beach Boys.

Anyways. “Fell in love by the soda machine” – this is so perfect, so sharp, so dazzling! It captures all the beauty of one age, moment, thought, obsession. It makes me believe that I, too, once fell in love by a soda machine. But did it actually happen? At the age when I could have possessed that kind of optimism, I probably lacked the courage and spontaneity to take the moment and run with it like that. That is, at fourteen, if I saw a cutie by the soda machine, I wouldn’t have gone within ten feet of the area, but only married him in my head; whereas now, I might talk to the cutie, but only after I made up my mind that he was probably a worthless asshole anyways.

So the short answer is, no, most likely I never fell in love by the soda machine. So how is it that the fantasy of it is so persuasive? It's a very interesting case study in thinking about correspondence theory. People like me would hear a song like "She's the One" and idealize a time that never existed, and couldn't possibly exist; even so, we convince ourselves that we were happy then, and that we have lost something since that makes us now incapable of recreating the charm of those purer moments.

Teenagers, part 1

I was thinking back to my high school days more ever since I got my summer job as an SAT prep teacher. I'm supposed to start work in mid May, but my boss said things will be a little slow before summer, so I might fill up some of my hours by doing one-on-one consulting work, ie coach kids on how to put together their college portfolio so that they can get into the Harvard or the Berkeley or whatever of their choice.

Aside the fact that it's actually been several years since I've gone through this process myself, what would I tell these kids? Honestly? What I really want to say is, Chill the fuck out and enjoy yourself. What really matters in the end are family, friends, health, love (teenage love only comes around once), good times, and good memories. The college you go to makes a little bit of difference, and it may open a few more doors, but there's really no such thing as security, ever, or a promise to a good life; no matter what, we're always doomed to be in the rat race, and we'll always have to break our backs working (unless you have to stomach to be a gianormous tool; perhaps some further reflections on this later). By the time I'm done with school, I will have had 11 years of top-rate higher education...and will be making 30K at my first real job. Meanwhile, I know of a friend of a friend of a friend who started working as soon as she graduated from a shitty-ass Cal State, and three years later, she's bringing home 80K.

See what I mean? None of it matters. I won't be seeing a figure like 80K until I'm 50, maybe.

At the same time, I've come to terms with my position in the rat race, and the prospect of years and years of instability and hardship, because I figured that I'm mostly happy in most of the areas of life that matter: family, friends, love, etc. I've especially come to value these things of real value because my health (the most important one of all) is a piece of crap, and it occurred to the other day that it's possible I may be dead at 35 - in which case all the other stuff, all my silly goals and ambitions and status and money, would really, really cease to matter.

Anyways. So I was nursing what I think is an ulcer this weekend, and thinking about all this stuff (crappy health, early death, joi de vivre) on a heightened level, when I happened to pick of a fairly old issue of TIME which features an article about then-current research on the development of the adolescent brain. According to the article, hormones exclusively are not responsible for all the craziness in teenagers. While hormones might make them more emotional, their brains are what makes them unable to handle these emotions. The part of the brain that reasons and makes decisions is one of the last parts to mature, so that it's easy for a teenager to say "maybe it's okay for me to go to the movies and hang out with my friends, and THEN do my homework, " or, "maybe I won't get pregnant this one time," etc. This is why it's especially important for parents to impose structure during these years, to make up for the lack of structure in the teen brain.

That got me thinking. It's true that I didn't enjoy most of my teen years, because I was so busy being goal-oriented, and so intent on hating against the stupid and shallow people who cared about popularity and MTV and gossip and being in empty relationships just so that they could glory in PDA. But I started regretting this attitude later, because now I like MTV and gossip, and I discovered that I didn't find what I was looking for after I reached certain goals, and I have a completely different outlook on teenage love. I wondered if my teen years took the shape they did because my parents had projected their values onto me, and I wondered if I resented them for what I had lost in the process.

But then the TIME article made me rethink this position. If it's true that my brain wasn't equipped to make reasonable decisions at that age, it's very probable that I didn't have the maturity to take meaningful enjoyment in the "things of value" that I enjoy now. I know for a fact that I was far too selfish back then to be a good friend. The other day, I was looking through some old letters and cards that I got from people back in high school, and I remember thinking, Wow, I can't believe I just took these people for granted; I should have been more thoughtful. Perhaps if I had been left to discover, then, the things I value now, the path would have led me to nothing short of pure hedonism. Perhaps I would have sought popularity without ever understanding true friendship, or mistook teenage sex for teenage love, etc.

So in the whole scheme of parallel universes, who's to say whether I lost something in my teen years, or if I had been merely turned away from a more terrible catastrophe? It's true that the things which my parents' values promised me (get a good education, and everything in life will come easy) didn't come to fruit as planned, but I realize that those values gave me a structure that I needed then. I wasn't happy with all that structure (because I missed out on a lot), but I probably would have been much unhappier without it (like getting knocked up or something). Coulda woulda shoulda. It's hard to tell.

But I'm glad that I do know now what makes me happy. The only problem is execution. If only I can get my health up to where it should be...then I won't have to die early and throw it all away.

8am on a Saturday

I can't believe I'm awake. It's probably a natural consequence of having gone to sleep at 7pm yesterday, but I still must enjoy the glory. The morning is beautiful, especially today, here. The sun is shining, so that when I first woke up and saw my watch at 7, I couldn't comprehend what was going on (usually I only ever see 7 at night).

Terrible tummy ache since Thursday night. It feels like someone punched me in the stomach - not the lower gut, but the actual stomach. FYI, the last thing I ate before this happened was Denny's.

The Charms of Vaughn, extended

"This watch belonged to my father. It's broken now, but it used to keep perfect time. When my father gave it to me, he said you could set your heart to this watch. It's stopped now on October 1 - the day we met."

Awww.

Jumped the Shark, and It's Only Season 1!

Oh for shame, Alias. I had higher expectations than that. SD-6/CIA/FBI/everyone else uncovers a 500 year old document that has a drawing that looks like Sydney. They call it the Prophecy. According to the Prophecy, Sydney will take over the world.

Oh. My. God.

There's a very basic concept in the philosophy of fiction, and it's known as coherence theory. You can break its rules if you're avant garde enough, but Alias is not avant garde enough. It was like one of the writers from the X-Files got lost on his way home from the nerd convention and found himself in the Alias room.

And what's the deal with Sydney's ex whom they rescue in Vienna? That man is one of the fugliest men I've ever seen (along with Steve Buschemi). And if he is not the fugliest man, he definitely has the fugliest voice.

On the other hand, I think Alias' handling of real-life issues, like family relationships, is very adroit, and interestingly juxtaposed with these wacky spy issues. That's like one of the qualities I loved most about Buffy the Vampire Slayer: all the wacky monster adventures functioned as a kind of metaphor for things we could really relate to, such as teenage angst. I think that's one of the great advantages of the medium of television. It allows for extended story lines and dramatizations not possible with movies, plays, or even most books. This makes it possible to tell two stories when it looks like you're telling just one, and what first appear to be the primary story line fades and turns into this clever joke - one that you would only get if you followed the story long enough.

Michael Vartan

I know, and you know, that the last thing I need is another obsession. I heard about Alias, and I knew myself well enough to avoid it (much like I avoided AIM for so long). But call it fate, or call it inevitable; a few weeks ago I was watching Never Been Kissed on ABC Family, of all things, because it was a Thursday or Friday night and I had nothing to do. The leading man was Drew Barrymore's SMOKING HOT, supportive, puppy-eyed teacher. I said, who is that heartbreaker, and why haven't I seen him before? So I did a little IMDB search and found that most of his career was taken up playing the smoking hot, supportive, puppy-eyed CIA "handler" (is that even a real word, or an inside joke?). With a debonaire cleft chin.

Danger!

Now I'm on spring break, and for once I'm not backed up on my workload, so I said, oh why the hell not! After all, I spent the whole of my Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks doing dvd marathons. There's nothing more satisfying than not having to stop as you're getting into the story. In fact, I'm not sure I could have watched Alias in real time; they are so good at writing cliffhangers at the end that it would have killed me to wait a whole week to find out what happens next.

Okay, so much for the good. The bad part of Alias is that they are wildly inconsistent with the risks and necessities of Sydney's situation.

1. SG-6 has the technology and manpower to trace Danny saying "spy" once on the phone, and they hunt him down like an animal. Meanwhile, they don't seem to be able to catch onto how suspicious it is that the same guy keeps calling Sydney's house every week asking for Joey's Pizza. And that immediately afterwards she leaves the house and "accidentally" bumps into and lingers around the same handsome stranger, and that they often make eye contact and, yes, are obviously conversing.
2. How did Sydney just waltz into the CIA office, orange hair and all, right after she left the SG-6 building? How is she able to sneak off to the warehouse to meet with Vaughn every other scene? How is she able to take off to Cuba or the Vatican on a whim?
3. How the heck is she pursuing a graduate degree?
4. How many agents does it take to figure out that none of them have any connection to the CIA? At first I bought that whole bit about how they are a covert branch, and can't be acknowledged. But then there was that episode when Dixon just casually sends an email to the CIA asking for backup. If they have access to all that contact info, doesn't it seem likely that they'd use it now and then?
5. What is the deal with the dad? With all the strings he's able to pull, you'd think he could take down the Alliance singlehandedly by now (except for that one odd episode when he seems to be hired exclusively as a goon (when he gets called into to beat out information from that guy)). Hell, I bet he could do it even without the CIA. What do they need Sydney for, anyway? And once you ask that crucial question, you realize that there's no need for the whole show.

Except, of course, without the show, you wouldn't have a chance to wear all those cool wigs.