-Straighten up. Fly by night-



There is no question about it. The onset of fall, and I haven't yet flown a kite. And I need to. Right now would be nice.
Which makes little sense, since I haven't flown a kite in upwards of 10 years. Maybe it's all part of the dementia. No! I don't have dementia. Allow me to amend that. Call it erraticism. Does that make sense? No sense. Nonsense. More likely I just want to reconnect with nature after a horrific brush with popular culture. The dramatists downstairs invited me to a screening of silly movies, and I foolishly accepted. Worse, I saw some merit in the film.

The movie I'd really like to see is the one based on Tom Robbin's "Even Cowgirls get the Blues." called, I understand, "Even Cowgirls get the Blues." Today marks my completion of the author's body of work. "Cowgirls" is the only one made into a film, and there doesn't seem to be another one coming, for good or for ill, because the critics panned this film. I went to the internet movie database to find out why. The casting folks placed Uma Thurman as protagonist, and I immediately muttered appreciatively. Pat Morita as the Guru, and I'm waffling; when I see Keanu Reeves taking the part of the effete asthmatic Mohawk artist, it's just too much.

Hence the kite.

-Spotted Fever-

I rarely post in the morning, but this caught the eye that wasn't swollen shut. One of the most recently published blogs (of 7:15 AM, at any rate) belongs to a cheery fellow by the name of Robert. Robert likes his privacy. He promises to pull up his stakes and find a new blog if anyone e-mails him.

A quandary, then! Do I interrupt his angry solitude to inform him that he has erred in making the blog public at all? There is the option to make it private, but it is possible he knows and chose not to do so. Perhaps, despite his sullen tone, he truly wants someone to pay attention, even to contact him.

If he does not know he's been spotted, am I doing him a service by informing him he has been? Puncture his illusion of privacy, now, and he'll be wiser and more on guard in the future. Or he might become so paranoid that he'll get a tinfoil wardrobe. Oh, hell, I won't tell him yet. And if someone already has...

It's only a bit of blog.

-Everything you wanted to know about sex you must figure out for yourself-

This is what I do when I have too much time on my hands. I read materials across the ideological spectrum, and create causes that maintain my interest for approximately 20 minutes, or long enough to embarrass myself in the form of a letter to the editor. Like this one, which I sent to a student editor plunging into the sex-advice business:

Since I’ve enjoyed your columns in the past, I’m willing to grant you some leeway for your eager entry into the glutted sex-advice business.

This said, Melissa, please tell me you plan to cover other happenings, as well.
Give us the stories about rarities. Tell us the story of an autistic harpist. Tell us how the woman living under the highway with no front teeth survives the winter. But above all, do not waste your time on the paper fielding the endlessly repetitive body of questions resembling an endlessly repetitive Girls-gone-wild infomercial loop.

Your very first installment proves how unimaginative this feature will become; we’ve read all these questions before. So have your contributors, I would guess, but it doesn’t stop them from offering gossip so old it dies before it flows from their pens. How many different ways can you answer these questions, Melissa?

Dan Savage and the Advice Goddess are clever enough to use anecdotes about themselves to spruce up the canned advice, and I’m certain you are, too. I’ll even confess to some anticipation of reading the smug asides (often the only original words in the column) and evaluate the truth and the fiction in your own shared experiences.

Thankfully, you stop just short of claiming to offer a public service, something I’ve heard plenty of insecure sex gurus claim with the puffed up self-importance of a middle-aged suit leering at a twenty-year old coffee-slinger. If you had pretended this was more than entertainment, it would have been the deal breaker.

Eisenhower-era prudes may be in power, but anyone who truly believes adults require this sort of common sense instruction – then or now – ought to have their head, and not their genitals, examined. Lust makes people commit a lot of nonsensical acts, but they do so with full knowledge of right and wrong, healthy and unhealthy, hideous and kinky. It is only the exhibitionist in them that shares their story with you.

As harmless entertainment, this column is appropriate Opinions page material. If you’ll deign to take on other subjects every now and then, I will even taste your confections in future issues. You promise that no question will gross you out, I promise you cannot faze me with answer. As long as this is your format, it can only be sugar you offer us, not spice.

But in the end, we do not need you to entertain us for us to appreciate you; your readers love you just the way you are.

--> While it was never published, my letter did get an e-mail response. After some consultation with friends, some false starts, and much handwringing, I wrote a response to the response. I promise it will be the last unless something dramatic happens.
Enjoy life.

-Tyranny of the Married-

I've heard other names for it. Basically, this was the gutteral response I blurted when I felt cornered by a group of married women returning from a bridal shower:

"What is this, the tyranny of the married?"

Put aside, for a moment, all of the practical points running down the single/couple scorecard, all the talk of marriage taxes, joint filing, insurance benefits, and such.
This is a simple observation: married couples develop a certain smugness, conscious and unconcious, used to inflict damage on single people.

Whether the spouse present or not, a married person conversing with a single person knows that a spousal influence may be brought to bear in the event of a tie. "Is that so? Well, my husband also had that happen, but he managed to..." A single person is in no position to argue. Even the most mature single man or woman feels somewhat ashamed that he or she has not managed to "settle down with someone." So a ghost vote from an absent spouse must be grudgingly counted, even in the face of most logic.

Spending time on both sides of the equation leads me to an interesting quandary.

Normally, I root without fail for underdog teams, underprivileged children, and third parties. I've gone so far as to steer clear of career paths that might make too much money at the expense of others. Why, then, should I not prefer to remain single the way I've chosen to remain childless, to be different from the majority?

Because love conquered me so well, I'll even collaborate with its heavy-handed tactics of abusing others. Even now, years after the junta of love was expelled from my shores, I still desire love's return.

This said, I'm going to go frown at a book for awhile.

-Phonebook-

One popular device all cellular phones now have is the phonebook function, which stores names and corresponding numbers in the handset for later recall.

I'm looking at it now, and I've discovered that 19 entries are friends, family, acquaintances, and organizations with positive associations. Nine are entries I'd like to forget were ever there. Obviously, I'd like to delete the negative ones, but it's not always possible. Let's see what I can say about each one in turn, in reverse order.

28.(-)Verizon: No one has good things to say about Verizon. They force DSL and other features on unwilling participants, and demand to know several times throughout every customer service call if you are receiving quality customer service, even though they haven't actually done anything for you yet.
27.(-)Tim K---: is a former landlord who charged me over a hundred dollars because "stuff was left everywhere." All of this junk he is referring to predated my stay. [Delete]
26.(+)Shore: It's hard to argue with a vacation spot, even if I haven't actually called it.
25.(+)S-----: I do not see my aunts, uncles, and cousins nearly often enough.
24.(-)Ryan: is the guy who preceded me in my recent sublet, overstayed his welcome, and left PBR cans in light fixtures. [Delete]
23.(+)Rico: is an affable former housemate with cooking skills and a sense of social justice.
22.(+)Phil Work: Busy older brother.
21.(+)Phil Home: Relaxed older brother.
20.(+)Phil Cell: Mobile older brother
19.(+)Parents: This frequently-dialed landline connects to my parent's home.
18.(+)Mom: This is her cellphone, but she and my father often trade up.
17.(+)Mike: As Mike's friend and romantic counselor, I listen to his travails and advise him on the best means of accomplishing his goals. He does not often take my advice, but he is willing to keep late hours.
16.(+)Mervis: is the name of the building where I work.
15.(-)Melanie: is my current absentee landlord.
14.(-)Katherine: was a "Friend" who feigned sleep to blow me off. [Delete]
13.(+)Frank B---: is a longtime friend of my parents, kindly southern gentleman, and former educator responsible for many of Virginia's finest students. He was also an excellent dancer and still a voracious reader.
12.(+)Eylam: is my weekend coworker at Mervis Hall. Lately she has been something of a romantic counselor for me.
11.(+)E--- Dan (the only instance of transposed last names) is a high school buddy I've been meaning to call more often.
10.(-)Duquesne Light: My power is out, and they won't look into the matter until Monday. So long, foodstuffs.
9.(+)Dreaming Ant (Dean, proprietor of the Film rental place in Crazy Mocha) is the location of reasonably priced DVD rentals.
8.(+)Denis W----: is my former editor from the Twin Cities, and the most generous journalist I know.
7.(+)Dan S-------: is a fellow student who spends almost every waking hour struggling to make ends meet.
6.(+)Dad: This is his cellphone, but Mom uses it, as well.
5.(+)Christine: lived in my current apartment before I did. She cleaned.
4.(-) Critter Cell: As with Verizon, I can't say think of anything good to say about this entry. [Delete]
3.(-) Critter: Really, not even one. [Delete]
2.(-) Alison: is a student who lacks certain social graces. [Delete]
1.(+)Adam: (outdated?) My brother-in-law has an intimidating intellect that is only matched by a generosity of spirit.

I recall asking Mike if he believed that a 19:9 ratio was unhealthy. Eylam would probably say no.
In any case, I can shrink it to 19:3. Is that healthy?

-Galahad's Alarm Clock-

Permit, if you will, a momentary immodesty.

What I'm about to tell you is perhaps good and bad in equal measures, but yours truly has come out smelling sweeter than a sugar-shocked Critter in heat.

After a friend and I had said our goodbyes one work day, I made good upon my promise to take a nap before the nocturnal course work. I'd even set the alarm, and was doing a fairly good job of recharging the Monk batteries when my next door neighbor started a conversation on the fire escape. Since I knew I'd be unable to sleep through that, I rose and switched off the alarm to my clock about 15 minutes early.

But my hand froze in the act of reaching for the knob to my door -- (very cinematically, I must say) -- because I heard two voices from the common room.

One was the roommate's, the other an unidentified male. Undaunted, I started to move again -- but stopped when it registered that their conversation contained long pauses. Long pauses, and futon squeeks.

I muttered a naughty word to myself. How the hell am I supposed to get out now? But the plot thickens. My roommate's voice came through, and I could
tell she was uneasy as hell, "This is too fast..."
Pause.... [Squeek-Squeek]

Option 1: Kick open door, grab wok from kitchen, run into common room screaming like a banshee.
Option 2: Quietly open door, glide into common room, bug out eyes, ask them if they've seen my anti-psycotic medicine.
Option 3: Make alarm go off. Give them time to part.

I chose option three.

After about 10 seconds, I turned off the alarm and wandered about my room making lots of noise. Than I went into the kitchen, making lots of noise. Than I went to the bathroom, ostensibly to wash my face. Grunted hello on my way past. Ran water for perhaps 30 more seconds. Returned to common room to introduce myself--

But the gentleman caller had fled.

Prick.

The roomate has composed herself mostly. She quickly comes up with a story about her friend visiting that removes any element of nooky, wanted or unwanted. That's her choice, and I won't challenge it.

But now it causes me to wonder -- to what do I owe my thanks for being able to interfere and preserve her dignity at the same time? My alarm clock? My next door neighbor? My pathfinder, or perhaps the Tarot Card of Temperance?

Or maybe it's just me.

-Black and White-

Not long ago, I read Franzen reading Gaddis. Now, on the eve of moving out of my apartment, in between the penultimate and final semesters of library school, I'm reading Franzen's master tome The Corrections, and his essays on the controversy surrounding the essay in Harpers.

Yes! It's novel-flexing time, I suppose.

From this position in 61C cafe in Squirrel Hill, I can see my reflection in the tinted window of the liquor store across the street. Usually faded in the semi-gloom, the image is clearly exposed when the sun leaps in sudden brilliance between clouds. I can see the white T-shirt, (a bit hunched, as I am) and even the green lettering, which gives me pause. Rarely do my shirts display any text, since advertising and bad puns irk me.

And in this coffee house, as in most, a white shirt stands out among the black shirts favored by all the other pen-packing and laptop crunching auteurs - nearly always male - who undoubtedly buoy the caffeine industry with their attempt at "coolness."

I don't doubt they believe in their work. To filter imagination through saleable units of sophisticated text is "cool" even if you never saw your admirers. Some of the best and most fulfilling fans I can claim are creations of my dreams, committed to paper before I forgot them. To read about this character, and catch your breath in your throat when she is spotted in the face of a fellow bus-rider for a split-second...is enough to keep me amused for hours.

So, if one lacks the physique or the politics of a sports hero, one may cloak oneself in the guise of cleverness and alternative ideas. Why? Mostly to attract lovers and friends.

This presents some difficulties, but also many positive changes everyone enjoys. Even if the auteur is a variation of the mating urge, the difference gives hope to the disenfranchised. A multiplicity of talents means more opportunities for procreational achievement.

In truth, I do feel a bit cheapened by the amount of scribbling going on, in the sense that I enjoy an activity used by many as an accessory to mating. Fortunately, independent filmmaking seems to be siphoning off many would-be writers, even if they too write on notebooks and laptops over caffeinated beverages.

Besides, I'm not wearing black. I only have one black shirt, and I'm saving it for Carson street in case I ever encounter a certain panhandler again.

-Truest Grit-

Sleep deprivation and romantic consultation are ongoing.

My roommate and friends' romantic prospects are declining and improving, respectively, and mine own are non-existent. I've resolved not to complain or seek out old flames, thinking it better to ride out this single period in a state of self-improvement, and without engaging in machinations. If listening to their travails seems a bit trying, it's also good practice in restraint and judgement. I do not desire to be a doormat, but I still wish to be "nice," if that's at all possible.

Should nice behavior include risking oneself at night? I realize most people look upon my nocturnal walks as reckless, and my willingness to become involved when people commit stupid, violent, or hazardous acts as evidence of my instability. In my defense, I rarely see anything terribly exciting. Snatching the keys away from a drunk here, warning off a casual car-thief there - the risk of bodily harm is small.

When I do feel reckless, (which is often, lately) I encounter an insultingly small amount of trouble.