50 shades of finished

It has been an interesting run. I read all 3 books. I liked the second best. I am ambivalent about the overall experience. It was a good story, told poorly. Most of the excitement, for me, came from the shared experience of so many friends reading it simultaneously—and their shock at some of the racier ideas. Of course, I went to Catholic school, so that’s sort of like stacking the deck a bit. 

I do not want to rehash a lot of the usual reviews of this story, but true to my thoughts on romance, I can’t let the fairytale ending go. Yuck. And, of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the heroine is an idiot. Well, maybe “idiot” is a little harsh, but I found myself sympathizing more with the evil dictator, control freak than with the “normal” girl. And lastly, I’m a guy that really gets into the willing suspension of disbelief. I have no problems with aliens chasing each other around with light sabers, Hobbits wandering the Shire, heck, even a Bahamian crab singing to a wee mermaid. Why can’t I believe in a ridiculously handsome, kinky, hung, 27 year old billionaire who hooks up with a multi-orgasmic virgin for a little light spanking?

Chapters

Our lives are a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end. The beginning of a chapter in our lives feels like a beginning, and the ending of a chapter feels like an ending; but chapters are really just a convenient place to break up our story into manageable chunks. I like beginning a new chapter, precisely because it is new, but why? Well, largely because the old chapter has become stale—it ran its course. It had its ending, and it is time for a renewal, the fresh start to a new chapter. 

I am reminded of a quote from a movie, roughly, “the real trick is in knowing there is no spoon.” Like that scene, chapters are illusory—they are just a comfortable way to break up the story. If chapters were real, I would argue that every day begins a new chapter. Every time I wake, there are fresh and new possibilities. Do we, the characters in our own stories decide on the chapters?

it was a sunny, breezy day

Today, as I sat beneath a stand of palm trees blowing in the strong sea breeze, I saw beauty. First, a completely bald woman walked past me. She was bald like an egg…completely. Her head was tanned and her face was aged, but she had a very nice demeanor; she seemed fit, which had me wondering why she was bald. If she had stopped to talk to me, I would have told her it was a good look for her, although I’m thinking that might be sort of condescending or something. I was very pleased for her that she did not look sickly, like I would expect of a completely bald woman. I was glad she did not have a wig; maybe she realized this was a good look for her.

I was thinking about the bald woman as I looked out on the sea, and an ugly couple walked by. They were like two trolls. She was a lumpy, sallow woman, squeezed in a dress that was too small. The man was short, squat, wearing a buttoned-down checkered shirt and shiny nylon basketball shorts, with dark shoes. It’s a good thing there really aren’t fashion police—I shudder at their fines. The couple walked slowly, chatting to themselves as they took in the gorgeous scene. Believe me, it was just an amazing day by the water today. Their mutual regard for each other was evident from the touching and eye contact. These were no newlyweds, but I like to think they were much in love, as they walked along the docks. It struck me—these two ugly people were the most beautiful couple I’d seen all day.

I smiled as I realized this. Then I started to think other thoughts: Truth, Beauty, Love…these things that people have contemplated so much. Are they eternal? Are they constants? Are they objective? I have recently read that beauty can be objectively measured and scientists have catalogued the various facial ratios, and can measure the symmetry in a person’s face and score them for beauty. How would these two trolls in love score? I’m betting they would be on the Ewww-end of the scale, and yet I thought they were beautiful. I must be wrong.

Truth, ah Truth with a capital “T”. Is it objective? Writ small, of course, Truth is easier to handle. When the chicken crosses the road, there is a road, a chicken and a crossing…voila! But more complex things have their own Truth, and one must examine various perspectives. Truth, then, becomes a slippery thing—something that needs some thought before a declaration is made. Is Truth objective? Can there be more than one Truth? Can they conflict with one another? I don’t think I am smart enough to know the answers.

Love. Love has always given me trouble. Ask someone to define love and there is confusion and consternation, yet most people can point out love when they see it. Hmmmm, something ill-defined, but readily identifiable? That just reeks of ambiguity to me, and ambiguity bugs me mightily, like sand in my swim trunks. There’s a passage from the Bible, of all places, that starts with “Love is…” Sure there are probably many like that, but I’m thinking of the passage that is read at many, many weddings, “…love is patient, love is kind…” blah, blah, blah. It tells me many of the ingredients for love, but the recipe seems a little scant on detail. If you baked that recipe, you might get a cake, or a muffin, or an iguana sandwich. Is love constant? Almost certainly not; I don’t even think I need to go into it. Is love eternal? Oh, hell no. Is love objective? I’m going to go out on a limb and say no. I have no fantastic argument, but anything that is so slippery to define almost has to be subjective.

So, in a world where Truth and Beauty and Love are inconstant, and fleeting and subjective, what is there to hold onto? Well, the beautiful moments, the flashes of truth and the magical nuggets of love. Sure, they may have a beginning and an end, but they do exist. Perhaps like life, I shouldn’t fret about the end of them, but revel in the here and now. To seek them out like sunsets, marking them, and be thankful.

Umm, wow

"After 30 years of practicing law, elder-law attorney Bradley Frigon of Denver said he is seeing more of these contentious relationships. People are living longer, he said, and are more likely to enter into new romances after death or divorce."

Ummm, really? That's pretty creepy.

I read this in an online MSN article. Needless to say, I was surprised.

Ramble

Preface: Sometimes I start to write something and it turns out differently than I expect. A lot of the time, I just delete the whole mess, but I think I'll share today's mess...

There’s a saying I find amusing and often true: 

A woman marries a man, hoping he’ll change; 

a man marries a woman hoping she’ll never change. 

I’ve never really thought through some of the implications of this. A friend is looking for Mr. Right, and I was curious about something, does she want a “project” or a guy that is already independent and happy? I realize that is loaded question, and a bit of a bifurcation, but I’m genuinely curious about how she and other women would respond. 

Another friend advises me that she finds a man’s independence and confidence an attractive quality. But is too much independence a bad thing? Many a woman will tell you, Mr. Right is perfect—he just needs the love of a good woman. A woman to complete him. Let’s all take a moment to reflect on the image of a teary-eyed Tom Cruise admitting, “You..complete…me…” Go ahead, I’ll be over here trying to keep my lunch down. 

Perhaps my disdain, in evidence above, will tip you off? I think the best (\) relationship is between two fully-formed, independent adults. It’s been a long time since I wandered around, feeling like half of something, desperate for my missing half. Don’t get me wrong, I have needs; but this two-halves-making-a-whole bit is just not for me. I admit, I may be atypical. Very likely, this is a continuum, with needy incompletes on one end, and happy hermits on the other. Where do I fall? Where do my friends fall? And if they are more needy than me, are they looking for someone that is equally needy? More so? Less so? 

When shopping for a perfect tie, you might ask the sales clerk for advice. Their first question is likely to be: tell me about the rest of the outfit? What color is the shirt, pants and jacket? I think that is likely true of relationships. If you seek the perfect mate, perhaps it is best to know about the rest of the ensemble…and that is you. 

I was chatting with a friend of mine recently. She is a lovely creature, and she asked me for input about her recent relationships which had been a little rocky. I told her honestly, “you are just not a 24/7 type of gal.” She looked a little hurt, but she is very independent and her last boyfriend was very needy. She tends to immerse herself in her relationships, jumping straight into the deep end. But in that end of the pool, you can’t touch bottom. (Meaning there’s not a lot of me-time left). She likes to think a couple that truly love each other could spend all their time together, waking and asleep, and the bliss would be majestic. In contrast, it should be a surprise to on one that I think people need a balance between me-time and our-time. You can call me Mr. Compartmentalize, if you like.

Where is all this going? Well…

•   It is important to know what you need before you go shopping.
• What you want and what you need may be different things.

yikes!

Grey: we have the same safewords.

a time and a place for all things

PREFACE: A lot of times, I am surprised about how little elements in my life connect up. I’ll be reading a book, or watching a movie, and something relevant to my life will pop up. Insane people will take this as a sign that Fate exists in our lives. I believe all these connections are always there, but I only notice them when convenient.  It’s like cherry picking your data. I think numerology is stupid, too.

*  *  *  *  * 

So, I’m reading this book, and there’s a weird billionaire seen through the eyes of a naïve, yet intelligent young woman. When I read a review, I expected the billionaire to be this freak, and almost didn’t buy the book. Well, here I am, a few pages in, and, surprisingly I’m on the billionaire’s side when it comes to many of his quirks. For instance, he doesn’t sleep in the same bed with anyone. This is a sign of his bizarre nature. I think he just sleeps better alone. I, too, sleep better alone. It is a treat to share a bed with someone, but treats every day will give you type-2 diabetes.  (That was a joke).

Another example of his peculiarity: he is often abrupt in his work communications. Even within the context of the story, he gets a steady stream of phone calls and visitors and each time he is abrupt to the point of rudeness. The heroine thinks it is rude; I call it efficient. If every one of his minions got the idea it was okay to be chatty, this guy’s world would be a nightmare; at least his work day would be a hell of a lot longer. In order to have a life, an executive needs that level of efficiency and detachment.

Where is this going? Nowhere fast. The larger issue for me is compartmentalization. I am all excited because I have vacation coming up. And when I’m vacationing, I want to be so far removed from work that I am like a different person. You dress differently for vacation than for work, right? But should you adjust your personality, too? Maybe it’s weird, but I do it, and I like it. I think it is a natural extension of compartmentalization. Heck, on vacation, I often change my name. (Genesis: Corky). Soon, I will try to put aside the more mundane portions of my existence in favor of fun-loving Vacation Dongo. 

When I spend time with my GF, Jenn, I try not to talk about work. Primarily, I do this because I don’t think she would find it interesting. (And generally, we have a lot better things to do). I have to admit, though, that I don’t really want Jenn getting too familiar with Work Dongo. I behave differently at work, out of necessity. It’s kind of like sailing. When sailing, there is a skipper. When I’m skipper, I have no problem making decisions, issuing commands. When I am crew, I have no problems abiding by the skipper’s decisions and following the skipper’s commands. I think many lovers would be surprised to see their loved ones out sailing. I often say: there's some people you just shouldn't sail with. It’s the same at the office—maybe we should just leave that where it belongs…nicely compartmentalized.

I was going to chatter on a bit about Pavlov’s dogs and how I’ve conditioned myself for various activities, including vacation. When the vacation bell rings, I start to salivate. Sound familiar?

I wonder, though, if the way I’ve tailored my life has changed me?  Intellectually, of course, I’m sure of it. Is it a good thing?