Don’t Marry for Love

There’s something about being at the gym that makes me want to read fashion magazines. Perhaps it’s as encouragement, or some kind of masochism (me, covered in sweat, versus models, covered in bronzer) – or maybe it’s it’s because the other magazines my gym carries are financial exposés. Not that I dislike financial exposés, mind you – I even read them on purpose every now and then (I recommend the Motley Fool). Just not at the gym.

In any case: This evening. Gym. Fashion rag. In an interview, one woman says,

My (Comanche) mother taught me two things: One, always carry a gun. And two, don’t marry someone for love; marry someone you respect. Then love is guaranteed.

The gun, I can’t speak to (although I’ve always wanted a concealed weapons permit), but as far as love is concerned…

… Today, the New York Times ran an article titled “The Key to Wedded Bliss? Money Matters” – saying, at some level, the same thing; marriage (or, if you will, a committed/serious relationship) is about finding someone whose values you share, who – at the root level – you can respect.

So does respect always turn into love? No. Of course not. Can’t be.

But I suspect it happens a lot more often than love – or lust – turns into respect.

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So you have to look out for #1. You have to demand the same respect from your friends – and your significant others – that you give yourself, and that you give them.

If you can’t respect him (or her), and you think you’re feeling something (I’m not talking about with-benefits relationships here, clearly!) – then get out. Do it now. Don’t pass go, don’t wait to find out s/he’s sleeping with your best friend, don’t wait until you’re telling your coworkers you had an accident and fell down the stairs, don’t wait until s/he divorces you and takes your stock options, your sofa, and your self-respect. Get out, do it now, and don’t look back.

I’ve yet to regret walking away from anyone I couldn’t respect. It’ll be the same for you, I’m sure…

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Ah, and – from one closet romantic to another: Don’t forget to fall in love! ;)

Of Poetry and Posts

I am 19 and attending university, and my major requires me to take an advanced writing course. I’ve already taken an advanced short story course, and screenwriting doesn’t appeal. I sign up for a late morning class titled “Advanced Poetry Workshop,” taught by a stunningly handsome poetry prof in his late forties. The first day of class, he tells us we’re to choose a poem by our favorite poet, and bring in a sample for the rest of the class. I go up to him later in the hall, and – acutely aware of his presence, as a mind, as a man – I complain that I don’t have a favorite poet. “In fact,” I conclude (whine), “I don’t even read poetry!”

I’ll never forget the look he gave me.

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I read an article titled “Is Google Making us Stoopid?” from The Atlantic, (reproduced here, in case they restrict access later…). The premise: shrinking attention spans and increasingly convenient media soundbytes (short/sensationalist stories, lots of video feeds, cell phones/Blackberries, etc) are combining to force a new kind of organization on the brain. We’re less good at deep thinking, says the author, much more prone to skimming, to getting the sense of something, rather than getting at its roots. (Knowledge is the New Information, in other words? :)

I posed this idea to a friend of mine, and he said (I paraphrase), “that’s absurd! It’s not that we think less, it’s just that we’re spreading our thinking around a lot more – we don’t do it all at once, we do it in little pieces.”

I protested.

“No, really,” he said, “Once, I would have written a book, and a few people would have read it. And then I’d've written a paper, and published it, and a few more would have read it. And now, I write blog posts, and they’re part of a larger conversation the blogosphere is having on different topics, and a lot more people are involved.”

That was the moment when I realized: I‘m having an ongoing conversation with this friend of mine about blogging. Every now and then, we talk for ten minutes, or half an hour on the subject, but we’ll never sit down and have a formal debate (I hope!) on the subject – just like we’ll never take an hour to discuss business strategy, or what wine to drink when, or the best way to skin a cat.

So does this mean the blogosphere is a bit like hanging out with your friends, in an endless court-of-opinion, where the better-prepared lob facts and figures around like so many tennis balls, and those with good grammar, spelling, and style have the racquets? In my opinion, yes. And in my opinion, often the blogosphere looks like the TV ad for The Ladders (a job posting site), where the fans all jump on the court and try to hit the ball(s) at once. Chaotic, crazy, and it’s hard to know exactly who the pros are. Especially when some of the pros are pros by accident, when some are lying about being pros – but, most of all, especially when you’re just starting out.

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I began this blog to keep my family up to date on my movements; a solipsistic excuse not to call, or perhaps a recognition I’ve always communicated better in print. it’s evolved, over time, as a way for me to keep writing, a reason to keep examining the world, trying to take it apart, see what makes it tick. I hadn’t considered it as anything more than personal. Thirty hits on a good day.

But now, I’m realizing that, like it or not, I’m on the tennis court too – and my opinion about that Atlantic article (I haven’t made up my mind, yet — what do you think?), my thoughts on healthcare, and anything else I post (you’d be amazed how popular my post titled “My First New Car” is…) — it’s all out there, in public. It’s all part of a longer, larger conversation.

And – and here’s the interesting part – perhaps when I post I also accept an obligation; to read others’ posts, to get involved, to participate, not just toss my ball(s) up in the air. Reading what others are thinking, in other words, will inform my own thoughts – in a completely different way than reading classical media.

Action follows understanding; So will I stop reading BNet, and The Economist, and The New York Times? Definitely not. Will I start reading more blogs? Yes.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

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Incidentally, I did finish my assignment. I went to the library and began reading poetry out of journals until I found one poet I couldn’t seem to put down. Poetry’s worth it, after all. Reading other poets? It definitely helps your own poetry – and it helps you see the world a different way, adds to your writing. My prof was right. Check this out:

Glory

Every time I use that green shampoo

or pass some unknown woman on the street

who’s used it that morning, her hair still wet,

I inhale deeply

and think again of you

on top of me, your waterfall of hair

covering my hands covering your breasts

and cascading forward onto my chest

as you leaned down,

that charge the green air

filling my head as I closed my eyes

and surrendered my skin to the exquisite

whispers of your hair as you swept it

over my drowning face,

my fingers rising

entwined in your glory, as they still do,

every time you use that green shampoo.

-Michael McFee

… and found wanting …

Those who would give up Essential Liberty to purchase a little Temporary Safety, deserve neither Liberty nor Safety.

– Ben Franklin

This New York Times op-ed is making the blog and response rounds. The backstory behind the op-ed: an alcoholic mother publicly and violently lost her temper (is screaming and throwing your blackberry ‘violent’?) in the middle of the airport when she found her seat had been given away. She was cuffed and booked by airport officials – and then (get this) died in custody due to some weird condition nobody (her included) bothered telling the police about. The op-ed goes on in typical “bleeding-heart fashion” (yes, thank you, Dave :) about how we’re just missing our social agape these days, and if someone – anyone!! – had just put an arm around the poor woman, she’d still be alive…

gag me, please. All of us have had our bags searched, our underwear laughed at, our reading material scanned, our personal items touched by complete strangers. The rest of us have put up with worse indignities, without losing our tempers… Right?

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That’s what I want to talk about here, not this article specifically. Sure, the woman was an unstable alcoholic. Sure, she died. But what happened to her has certainly happened to the rest of us.

Three months ago, I went through Miami security on my way home from South America. In my bag I had (among other things) a little stone fertility god – penis included – and a couple jars of a carmel-like Argentine sweet called dulce de leche. I had to strip down to pants, a tshirt and socks to get through the scanner, and then these two security guys – probably my age, 23, 25, something – went through everything I had with me. They pulled the sweets out and nixed them instantly, and then took out the god and started laughing. And I laughed with them. Wanna know why? – because I didn’t want them to take it away from me. I was fucking pissed – my stuff, my sweets, a present for my grandmother! – but I didn’t want them to toss the rock, too. They had all the power, and I was standing there in my socks with a lot of good memories associated with that particular piece of marble.
And so I teased them back, said a few sexy/racy things. Almost got the dulce back, too. Walked away thinking, “at least they didn’t declare the god contraband or something…”

… So what the hell, people?!?!

Satiated people have nothing to gain and everything to lose, and let’s face it; we are satiated here, on everything – goods, services, privileges, media, news (but not ideas or ideals). Who wants to argue over a fat, greasy finger in with their lacy thongs when they might get on a terrorist watch list over the issue?

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We bend (over) to fit the circumstances.

… I think we have to face something as a nation: Freedom and safety – like, perhaps, freedom and equality – are diametrically opposed values. They’re opposites.

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Give this a think:

• If everyone’s free to do what they want, some will do better or worse than others, and there’s no equality.
• If we enforce equality, most people aren’t free to do what they want.
• Ditto with safety; for perfect safety, we all need to be audited by the IRS at least once a year, allow our every communication to be monitored, provide biometric information to the government and wear tiny electronic radios to show our every movement.

We’d get all the terrorists that way, for sure, and all the prostitutes and their pimps and their clients, and all the illegal immigrants, and the people who watch kiddie porn or cheat on their spouses, the murderers, the drug abusers, the people who cheat on their income taxes, the people who drive too fast on the highway. We’d get all the bad guys.

No problem, right? I mean, if I’m not doing anything wrong, how could it hurt? Only a bad citizen doesn’t want their wires tapped!

Social networks have historically existed both in the matrix and the interstices of law and government; we all go to church on Sunday, but then I take food to the neighbor’s kid who got herself knocked up. I don’t rat on my cube-mate when s/he comes in late to work, and then I expect him or her to stay mum when I leave at 4:30, five minutes after the boss. I take an extra cup of coffee without putting in my dollar, but I pay an extravagant sum to the neighbor’s kid who’s fundrasing for the soccer team – and, perhaps, by the way, her dad brings coffee to the office. Perhaps I drive too fast, but I mow my neighbor’s lawn. We all need to feel we’re gaming the system, just a little, and sometimes we all need to feel we’re making it better, but off the record.

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Which brings me to this:

• Freedom lies in our ability to self-regulate – both socially and personally.

• Law exists to prevent willful and gross manipulation of the system. (whether that’s war, murder, theft, whatever –).

• Law (and government, for that matter) should provide outside stability so we can participate in social networking and regulation.

• Law does not exist to provide recompense for stress, accidents, or spilled coffee.

We cannot and will never be both perfectly free and perfectly safe.

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Back to my sexy-jokes interlude with the guys at the airport: The U.S. government has decided it can divest itself of care for our dignity and privacy in the interest of our safety and security.

I – personally, and I bet you too – have decided I am willing to collude with “a certain amount” of humiliation and non-privacy, so I can keep my stuff and catch my flights.

I care more about my stuff than my dignity.

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Do I deserve my freedom? Do you?