The Gulf Between

Way back when I was in high school, a select few activist students planned a walk out to protest the recent gulf war.

I think we all thought it was a good idea, but weren't sure about the conscequences.

The day came, and the teachers were aware. However, the school made a formal announcement over loudspeakers, prohibiting students from leaving, and making it clear that faculty were not to encourage us in any way. As fearful seniors on the cusp of college, we were paralyzed for our own futures enough to let it sway us into attending class instead.

My parents, who took me to a nuclear protest at the age of 2 years old, would have avidly supported any said walk out, I was sure...but I didnt tell them none the less, nor did I plan on defying the all powerful prinicpal. It was the fear.

As we sheepishly sat in Physics and the bell rang, my teacher stood up in front of the class and said...

" I cannot condone the walk out. I have been told to do so would cause me to lose my job. However..."

He paused for dramatic effect...

"...My brother went to Vietnam."

He looked to the ceiling.

"And my brother died. And I didn't do anything."

To stunned silence, he covered his eyes with one hand, and flashed a peace sign with the other.

We sat still as stones.

"That means GO!" he said.

We, one by one, got up and left.

When the rest of the classes saw the crowd outside through the windows, they gathered up their courage and joined us. The entire school walked out.

We protested all day past the end of classes. We made picket signs with cheerleader paint that said "MAKE LOVE NOT WAR!" They said "NO DRAFT" and "HONK FOR PEACE." We held hands, made up songs, and chanted "Hell no, we wont go!" We stood on the Main Street corners and waved at cars, amazed and cheering every time one of those cars honked for peace. They were us, we were them, the generation divide overcome.

But at the end of the day, nobody really cared. Nobody got in trouble. Nothing was really done. The war in the gulf still went on, and we didn't stop it. But I guess we sort of felt better that we did something, instead of nothing.

I never told my parents that I walked out of school. I assume they read it in the paper like everyone else. I assume they were proud.

As were all the teachers. As school let out, all of our professors drove past, and every single one honked for peace.

But our physics teacher honked the loudest.

Lust in Space

On the subject of the female astronaut who attacked her rival for the affection of Mr. Two-timing Shuttle Captain and is on trial for attempted murder -

- My 60 year old male co-worker said 'you'd think someone of that background and intellegence would have more sense.' I paused and realized I thought that *he* would have more sense.

Newsbobbleheads on those plague-like TV channels keep commenting on the travesty of someone so tested, so psychologically evaluated...how is it possible that this person was afflicted? How did this woman, who was run the gamut of stress tests, physical and mental - how did she lose her mind?

Easy.

Love makes you insane.

Really, I don't see why this is news to people.

Love doesn't hold back for intellect, race, or creed. It doesnt matter how strong your brain is. It doesnt notice that you've passed the cyclotron 5G test. It pays no attention to the mission patch on your shoulder. It doesn't matter to what depths your soul has been sold, bought or processed a la 'Say Anything'...when 'love' takes over, it takes over like a disease, rendering the most solid faculties into romantic mush.

Call me a romantic or a cynic. They're both true.

Yes, cross country driving diaper wearing homicidial maniacs are an exception...but you see where I'm coming from. No matter how much you ridicule her - bottom line is, she was obsessed with someone. Is she a freak for the diaper stuff? Yes. Should we ridicule her for loving this guy? No. We should pity her. I don't normally find myself in the position of supporting stalkers, but I do think people need to realize the insanity to which emotion will drive you.

I actually hung my head in disavowment of the work discussion, as I didn't want to be forced to stand up as a representative of the stalker genre. But inside, I was screaming 'don't laugh at her - that poor woman! Driven to an insane action by love! Don't you get it?'

I mean seriously...would I avow my love for someone and follow them around like a puppy? Yes. Would I actually track down and hurt someone who didnt love me? No.

So I want you all to think of this astronaut in love, in space, and see her float around helplessly as her mental prowess slowly turns into a bowl of oatmeal. And pity her.

Because in space, no-one can hear you cry.

Occam's Razr

I'm sure you all know Occam's Razor is a logic theory that states that 'the simplest theory is often the truth'. In Latin,

entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem,

which translates to:

entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity.

More simply, the theory that uses fewest assumptions is correct.

So when I'm trying to figure out why a guy who asked for my number, and professed to like me didn't call me, I turn to the logic of Occam.

He wasn't laid up in the hospital after a horriffic car crash involving Brandy where he lost his memory and forgot he met me. He didn't win the lottery, get seduced by a golddigger model who turned out to be a man, and after setting fire to himself in horror, realized he burned up my phone number. He didn't wash his jacket, rendering the number impossible to read, spend years searching for me in vain, only to jump on his sword in agony at realizing he lost the love of his life.

And when he puts the number into his cell - you KNOW all those 'lost the paper' explanations go out the window.

As the Sex in the City cliche goes..."He's just not that into you." Blast that Ron Livingston for being so cute and so right at the same time.

A similar, yet different approach comes from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who in character as Sherlock Holmes says, "When we eliminate the impossible, whatever is left, however improbable, is the truth."

So when I eliminate the above Brandy-car-crash laden ideas, the only answer is that he doesn't like me. And yes, that's INSANELY IMPROBABLE, but Holmes is right. It's the truth.

Thomas Aquinas made this argument in the 13th century, writing, "If a thing can be done adequately by means of one, it is superfluous to do it by means of several; for we observe that nature does not employ two instruments where one suffices."

So here's my final thought...Life is adequate with one (me). Adding a boy to my life would make it superfluous. But oh, how nice it is to be sometimes superfluous.

Clearly, a Aquinas, Doyle and Occam are smarter men than I when it comes to calling their female friends. Maybe they had better cell phones in the 13th century.

Veganella

I ate vegan chicken today. I feel healthier, and prettier. Like little bunnies are hopping around my feet. Like baby chicks peck out my name in the ground as I walk...with flowy script and hearts. Bluebirds fly about my head like Cinderella.

Maybe Cinderella was Vegan. Hmm…

A paperclip, duct tape, and you.

Today is MacGyver’s birthday. Not Tracy Lynns. Forget her. MACGYVER. Richard Dean Anderson. He’s 57. He’s mine. Back off bitches.

I frickin love Bruce Campbell.

So I have an obsession. So sue me. I love Bruce Campbell. LOVE. I met him. He was nice to me, depsite my slobbering patheticness. He laughed at my jokes. So I LOVE him.

I also love this painting. Genius.

A Wella-wella-wella OOh....

The book "Mr Darcy takes a Wife" is billed as a continuation of "Pride and Prejudice". So having enjoyed P&P immensely, I ordered this faux-Austen off Amazon sight-unseen. I knew something was...ahem...up, when I read the liner note.

"Miss Austen never married, it presumed her own life passed with only the barest hint of romance. Hence, one must presume she went to her great reward virgo intactus. As befitting a maiden's sensibilities, her novels all end with the wedding ceremony. What throbs fast and full, what the blood rushes through, is denied her unforgettable characters and, therefore, us. Dash it all!
We endeavour to right this wrong by completing at least one of her stories, beginning whence hers leaves off. Our lovers have wed. But the throbbing that we first encounter is not the cry of the passionate heart. Another part of her anatomy is grieving Elizabeth Bennet Darcy."

It was about this point when I realized I had unwittingly purchased an erotic novel. That's right ladies and gents, I have discovered the amazing duplicitous form of novel known as 'Jane Austen sex-novel rip-off.'

I am at once repulsed and enthralled. Pause for a moment for my sense of propriety to be shocked and vomit, while my sensationalist nature still holds onto the book in dear promise.

I believe these are commonly known as 'romance novels' but when pressed, there's not much 'romance' in them. Mostly vast quantities of longing, followed by vaguely hidden sex. Hey! Much like life. I crack myself up.

Since when did the prim and proper ladies and gents of Longbourn turn into Sandy and Danny from Grease? Are we all, deep down, wanting summer lovin? Can I expect a very huffy and stiff version of 'You're the one that I want' from pompadour wearing Fitzwilliam Darcy?

"Met a girl cra-zeh for meeeeeee!!"

Although, when you come to think about it, the hidden feelings of Darcy and Elizabeth DO equate to the summer romance of Sandy and Danny...when society butts in it's ugly head, and separates their love. Jane as Frenchy...and Lady Catherine is Rizzo. I can totally see this. Where's a studio executive when you need them?

"Tell me more tell me more, like does he have a carriage?"

So...despite the ahem...graphic...nature of this book, it's still on my bedside table. I will continue to struggle through it for the sake of Jane Austen, the Sandy virgin of period England.

After all, it IS Darcy and Elizabeth. They do speak in period English. They ARE in period dress.

At least some of the time.

"Ah, oh, those su-huh-mer niiiihights! Tell me more tell me more tell me moohohoooore!!!"

Snot what you think.

Since I'm going on day 6 of being sick, and the snot count has increased exponentially...I thought I'd offer this brief tome on the originations of Snot. Courtesy of Dr. Haggis on Whey, the most brilliant book author in the world.

3 x 'I love you' = drunk.

Last night, I went out to a Mexican Bar way the hell out in Chatsworth with my Best Friend to hang with some people that I hadn't seen in a while. And despite being horridly sick, sounding like kermit the frog, and feeling like crap...I went. Because I told a Former Friend friend I would - and FF is someone who I'd like to be friends with - but we're on the 'friends/notfriends' borderline quite a lot, and I feel like I need to make the effort for him.

The ironic portion of the evening comes from the fact that despite the plethora of men present, and the fact that I got felt up twice, and was molested and offended more than twice...I gave my number to a girl.

Meeting people in bars is actually quite hard for me. I'm VERY shy, anti-social, and hate when people are drunk. You see my problem.

Therefore ending up chatting with a fellow female writer, who has some amazing stories, and kept telling me I was inspiring her to write - was a nice diversion. Her Mr. Co-worker was hot as well, so it never hurts to have some eye candy behind someone you're talking to to keep the interest going.

At one point I set out looking for FF, with attempts to cuddle up and profess my undying friendship, and found him hitting on cute girl 1, then cute girl 2. Not wanting to mess up his shot for the evening, I went back to Writer Girl and kept talking, eventually exchanging numbers and emails. I never get asked for my phone number, so to give it freely to a girl was a new experience. I'm sure she knows I'm straight. Right? Hmmm...now I'm worried.

The evening droned on, eventually bringing FF back to the group, but still without much talking to me, or friendship-planning time. I got molested some more, and got 2 "I love you"s out of a drunk guy I hardly know, and is married with kids.

12:00 was time to go, so I waited for FF to see if he was good to drive, and after an evening of mostly ignoring me...he gave me a gigantic hug and said "I Love you."

After giving a girl my number, and also being my 3rd drunk "I love you" of the evening...it was anti-climactic...but nice nonetheless. I guess we are friends after all.

And in case you're wondering, I did say "I love you too."

Busy

So, I've been busy. I won't say doing what...but this should give you a clue.



Happy New Year...and more funny stories to come.