Done Gunnin' to Get Closer

Love ain't nothin' but a blah thing.
A friend of mine recently got back with his controlling ex for the second or third time of what will most likely be twenty or thirty times. That, combined with my sister staying with her husband despite incessant cheating and lying, has really gotten me thinking about relationships. Are some people simply programmed to be with people who abuse them?

I'm not really talking about a need here. I'm wondering if some people need to be with abusers in order to survive. Would these people actually be unhappy if they were with stable people who didn't abuse them in some way? I think they'd either get bored or they'd try really hard to encourage the people they were with to abuse them.

Does every self-actualized person really want the same thing? Should every relationship work the same way? We all like to compare everybody else's lives to our own, but what if other people can really only get along in life in a certain way? I know I can't stand it when people abuse me, but there was a time in my life when I let my significant other take serious advantage of me. Could my first relationship have happened any other way based on who I was at the time? I don't think so. I needed it to happen in order to learn exactly what I didn't want as well as what I needed to change about myself in order to have the kind of relationship I really wanted. But what about people who don't want to change anything about their situation? Or, as is often the case, people who say they want change but never do anything about it? Why do we develop such unhealthy attachments to people?

The common answer is that we don't want to be alone, so we cling to whatever we have in order to avoid the emptiness that can come from being by ourselves. I think it's more due to habit than anything else. We get used to having that person there, just like we get used to having caffeine or cigarettes. We don't like empty spaces in our lives, as a general rule, and people leaving leave big ol' gaps of activity and time that we'll have to learn to fill on our own again. Some people just can't handle that.

Some people really just love the drama, too. They like having something to bitch about and want their abuser in their lives so they can feel interesting and as if they have purpose. These people need another person in their lives in order to feel complete or like a person at all. Can people with these traits "overcome" their desire to have a partner, or are they doomed from the beginning? Is it possible that they're just wired that way?

My sister's husband has cheated on her and lied to her so many times I'm just numb to it all. I can't even get outraged by it anymore, or saddened. It's just as plain as if he were eating a bagel and she kept telling me about it. Why would she complain about something so commonplace unless she felt it were her lot in life? Like she deserved it and, maybe, it defined her? I know nobody could be thick enough to think it won't happen again; this time, things really will be different. My friend has to know things will be the same, but he goes back to his ex, anyway. What propels people to avoid change so much that they'll throw their own lives away?

My own weaknesses in relationships had to do with my inexperience, with my self-loathing, with my complete uncertainty about myself. Can I legitimately cast those excuses upon other people, though? Or are they just built to require abuse in their lives in order to thrive and exist in their own way?

It makes for a fine paper weight, doesn't it?
Books. Does anybody read them anymore? Do they really serve any purpose to the general public apart from becoming the latest contents of the waste basket or taking up space in order to make a person seem literate?

I think it's safe to say that, for most people's desire to soak in stories that have nothing to do with their own crappy lives, movies have definitely replaced books on a massive scale. The books that are purchased the most today are probably textbooks, because people have to buy them, and books that people feel compelled to buy because everybody else is reading them, like Dan Brown or books about some vampires and romance and stuff that I really have no inkling about. Even Trey Parker and Matt Stone, they of definite sharp wit, have nothing good to say about books.

There was a time when books were really the only way to convey a story to a population en masse. Because books were the popular way to read and enjoy tales, it seems like attention spans and eloquence were at an all-time high, especially in comparison to the short-lived focus people possess today.

I don't think people have really changed so much, though; I think if people had the option "back then," movies would still have been much more popular than books. I think there are things that books can offer that movies never will, though, that will probably keep them around for a while.

Books offer descriptions that really let you drown in the environment, visually speaking. Movies that try to do this will have the audience crying foul. Just look at the artsy films of Gus Van Sant or some of Stanley Kubrick's movies like 2001 and even A Clockwork Orange, which moves along more like a visual novel than a standard film with its constant narration and depth of storytelling. It's funny, but people are much more willing to sit through a verbal painting than a visual one. I'm sure it has something to do with conditioning making people believe video has to be nonstop action...but that's another subject.

Characters in books have a real depth that movie characters just can't accomplish. Sure, some TV shows and movies have come close, like the aforementioned A Clockwork Orange, with its colorful and very well-defined protagonist, and television shows with real writers like Six Feet Under and The Wire, which definitely contain characters who feel very real. Books, however, can give you all sorts of nonsensical information for characters, and while this may seem trivial, in the end it makes the characters more intricate (in the hands of a good writer, of course, although that should really go without saying). People always find book characters more relatable, partially due to the driver's seat style of writing, no doubt, but most likely also because of how much detail book characters are given.

Books actually require us to use our imaginations. While this might seem like a bad thing, it really isn't; our minds enjoy stimulation. We were born that way! When reading we can create any picture we like; the visual experience of a novel is unique and the sole intellectual property of each and every reader. No matter how descriptive an author is, memory gaps and other slight variations in readers' perceptions will ensure characters and scenes look different to every person reading a particular book. This makes reading special in a way no visual story will ever accomplish.

This is just my fever-dream explanation for why books have a different appeal than movies that will hopefully keep them around for years to come. At the very least, for the remainder of my years on this earth.

The dark side of man.
I don't think anybody has a personality.

Let me clarify: I don't think anybody has a set of definable character traits that would remain true for each and every person they meet and each and every social situation they encounter. I think people are too fluid, too complex and, frankly, too uncertain about who they are at any given time to really ever have even a single trait that defines them.

I guess it's possible that I'm generalizing here. Maybe it's only me who feels confused about who I am as a person; plenty of people no doubt know exactly who they are at all times and never do anything they don't expect to do! I highly and seriously doubt this possibility, so much so that I'm not even going to acknowledge its existence, because I really don't think it does exist.

Which leaves me with people and their traits. I have developed a habit of not calling anybody "good" or "sweet" or anything of the sort because, even if somebody seems that way to me, there's no guarantee that they will appear that way to anybody else. Not only that, but the person may not view him or herself in that way, either, which brings up all sorts of conundrums. Is it fair to try and define another person? Especially with only a handful, or even one, trait? I don't think so. I know I wouldn't want somebody telling another person I'm nice, because what if I meet that person and I'm in a really bad mood? Or I'm really sad and grumpy? Or just downright mean because that person rubs me the wrong way?

I think this lack of definition truly makes it impossible for somebody to be good or evil. Sure, a person may do many evil things and may even think many evil thoughts, but those people have justifications and maybe even flat-out delusions for their behavior and mind. I'm not saying that makes their actions or thoughts any less evil, but, to that person's mind, and no doubt to other people as well, they are not doing anything wrong.

People are just too multi-faceted to categorize with annoying adjectives like "nice." Just look at the way neighbors always describe the quiet kid who went crazy: "He was such a nice boy." Well, clearly he wasn't really all that nice all of the time or he wouldn't have flipped his lid. He may have been nice to that neighbor, but there were most likely animals and small children who would disagree profusely with that assessment.

This is actually one of the problems I have with psychologists. How can a therapist really treat somebody when they have no idea who's visiting them from week to week? The only thing that really remains constant is the name of the patient. The mood, even the thoughts, of the patient will be different from visit to visit. On a larger scale, a person will be relatively different every time you interact with them. My sister, for example, who I see on a daily basis, may seem perfectly nice and happy one day, but then she'll be grumpy and angry on another. Is it fair for me to say, then, that she's grumpy or that she's nice? I don't think so: she's both, as are we all.

Not only do we change from day to day, we also approach different people based on our perceptions of them. For example, I'm pretty sure boys I find cute are going to have a more positive opinion of me than people I find visually neutral. I don't really do it intentionally, but seeing an attractive guy and interacting with him automatically gives me a slight boost of positive energy, especially if he's receptive and gives me a few smiles. So, on any given day, I could be happy and flirty with one person but ill and grumpy with another.

I think celebrities are a fine example of how hilariously inept of us it is to try and define people. One day, a celebutante will be a brutal monster who many writers might describe as beastly, mean, evil, cruel, etc. The next day, however, the celebrity may do something wonderful, and all of a sudden the papers will go on and on about how giving and sweet they are. Well, which is it? Who are they? Who are we? Who am I?

I really don't think there is an answer. Not one that won't change by tomorrow, anyway.

Is that a psychic knocking at my door?
I heard an amusing exchange between a customer and a coworker at work today. The first part of the conversation had to do with the customer endlessly praising how great my coworker was at her job (during which time my own customer actually made fun of her mindless prattling, to which I am guilty of snickering just a bit). After that, though, the conversation went something like this:

Customer: Oh, the Lord has such wonderful things in store for you, I just know it!

Coworker: Oh, thank you, honey, you're so kind!

Customer: You know, He always provides for you, He always takes care of you! And prayer...well...it works! At least, it works when I do it for other people. Whenever my friends are sick, they always come to me and ask me first to pray for them.

Coworker: Oh, I know, I'm going through a rough time with someone close to me right now, but I know he's going to take care of things.

Customer: Oh, honey, I'll pray for you! I hope that whatever ails your family member will pass. I hope that was somewhat close to what's going on, I just...had a feeling that was the right thing to say.

Okay, so, let me get this straight. This woman is basically saying that she has magical powers that enable her prayers to work on other people, but only if she prays for other people and not herself? Wow! That's some pretty neat magic right there. On top of that, she also claims to be a psychic! Apparently, God gives her magical insights into other people's ailments based on vague suggestions of familial distress. Nice, isn't it? Don't you wish you had a superpower?

I just can't stand such blatant, unnecessary arrogance on the part of the "faithful." What a vile woman to outright say that her friends go to her when they need somebody to pray for them and they want results. I mean, really, how is that not the most arrogant thing to say, ever? How can this woman not realize what a braggart she is to let everybody know just how much God works in her favor? Not to mention how she tops it off with a tasty helping of psychic ability! The last time I checked, witchcraft and taking credit for God's works was something along the lines of blasphemy. This woman really needs to pull her head out of her sanctimonious ass and start following her own fucking guide to life. Oh, yeah, and she needs to keep her proselytizing far away from the ears of mildly annoyed heathens!

Gay Daters of the 21st Century!
Gay dating, really, is beginning to seem like a big, fat joke to me. I'm not going to lie. With the marriage debate rollicking the country's prejudices like never before, I have to wonder: is all of the tumult really worth it?

I suppose the simple answer is, yes, chaos is always fun and pretty productive for society. It at least gets people thinking. But do gay men really want to get married?

Okay, okay, hold on a second, you're saying. Gay women do! Gay women LOVE getting together forever! They believe in that whole commitment thing, baby. You see, in hetero relationships, the woman is always the sassy brick who keeps the couple grounded in monogamy. Can there be monogamy without a woman? And, ultimately, is monogamy even necessary?

For a while, I lived with the idea that monogamy was really something of a joke, an impossibility. Silly fundamentalists, I thought; two people, living together and only screwing each other, is such an archaic and silly idea that only Christian cuckoos would consider it. While, them, and sheep, of course! Baaa, baaa, silly sheep!

Then I really sat down and thought about it. We, who are always railing against how we shouldn't follow our natural impulses like murder and decapitation, nevertheless like to throw out how natural it is to want to screw multiple people no matter what kind of relationship we are currently cultivating. Isn't it actually somewhat human, somewhat admirable, for us to want to stay committed to another person romantically? Shouldn't we actually aspire to do more than wallow in the shit of humanity from time to time? I spend my life railing against everybody doing what the masses tell them to do only to do it myself when it comes to gay men and dating.

I realized how much the concept was poisoning me, very slowly, leading into more and more destructive behaviors as I allowed my ideals to drift away and my "gritty, realistic" view of the world to take hold. I struck bottom in a big way and am slowly pulling myself out of the mire, and, in so doing, I've come to laugh at the ideals I once held. Ideals? More like swan songs. How much can I expect to live and to experience when I hold myself and others to the lowest common expectations I can have concerning romance?

Sure, it's tough, going out there and dating and actually having some hope that something might develop. Even so, there are plenty of hilarious stories that I now have thanks to my disastrous dating experiences, and no doubt there are plenty more in store. I'm going to start dating both with more of an openness and with my usual caution. After all, when I look back at the people I might have dated if I'd gone against my instincts, I really can't help but shudder a little.

The biggest challenge in all of this, really, is accepting how many men blindly follow the thoughts that I once did, and separating the wheat from the chaff in the hopes that something worth finding is there. If it isn't, well, life is all about the chase, anyway, isn't it? I mean, isn't that what Moby-Dick was all about?

Fuck Twilight.
I can remember a time when Harlequin Romances were mocked. Everything from the poor writing to the trashy emptiness of the stories to the Fabioesque mock-ups sweeping chicks into bliss on the covers was insulted on a more or less universal level. Sure, there were obviously people who funded the books' continuation, but those people seemed to do it under either the cover of darkness or senility.

Now that a book series has been released that is of an even lower quality than Harlequin novels--it is sub-Harlequin in its awfulness--people have responded to it with a fiery passion that once was reserved for a series that deserved its acclaim. How do people go from loving Harry Potter to, heaven help us, Twilight?

I think self-aggrandizement plays a huge part in Twilight's popularity. You have to take the basic story as a whole and observe it to find the source of its life-changing effect on people. The main concept that I take from the stories is that Bella Swan, a plain, ordinary girl who has lived a very boring life (oh, haven't we all?) first becomes the love toy of the sexiest man ever made, and then she is given the gift of eternal life as the most beautiful vamp ever made with absolutely no flaws whatsoever. People see this, and they think: Hey, I want that! I want somebody to love me who is physically gorgeous even though I'm plain. Eventually, his love will transform me into a gorgeous queen who will never die! Weeeee!

While the movies play up the "love triangle" angle, the books never really presented Jacob as a serious love interest for Bella at all, so I'm not even going to go there. I don't think the book obsessives ever really gave Jacob any real consideration until he was suddenly given the physical form of a teen Adonis with hair that is anything but properly Native American, anyway.

The second thing fans relate to is Bella's heroic "struggle." Her battle can be summed up as follows: She deals with the pain of not being allowed to have sex with Edward because he wants her to finish school first (not because the author is Mormon--honest!). So, she can still make out with him and touch his nasty, cold body, but she can't have sex with him, so that makes her noble and strong. Like all Twilight fans fancy themselves to be.

Her second struggle is "dealing" with Jacob and his annoying advances. She's so strong because, even though she has already decided Edward is the one and she never stops thinking about how beautiful he is or even just thinking about him in some way, any way, for more than one page, she still avoids the advances of some cheap excuse for a teen wolf. Woo! She is one tough chick, isn't she?

Her third struggle comes after her marriage, when she is pregnant with a vampire baby. Let's all ignore the fact that she chose to have this vamp baby with her broken little human body and instead focus on what a noble spirit she is (as even Jacob refers to her in Book 4) for always sacrificing herself for others! No, she is truly being godlike when she perseveres against the hopes of her family and friends to keep her stupid body alive in order to nest a baby she cannot possibly contain.

In the end, Bella faces the final struggle of dying and becoming Vampira on Acid. Let's all once again roll the Amnesia dice and forget that this is what she wanted--she's truly heroic for going through all of this pain for her own selfish desires. I mean, for going through it all for her baby and Edward. Uh, what? So, now, Meyer wants us to believe she's a noble spirit who struggled through human death for the baby she never wanted until after she was knocked up? Okay, whatever you say, Mormon dudette.

After Bella's transformation, she finds out she has uber powers and uses her power to protect everybody ever, therefore making the final conflict a confrontation that completely lacks any conflict. After surviving this minor nuisance, the heroic Bella Cullen drifts off into Happyland with the other Cullens, her long, arduous battles finally won. Forever and ever and ever. Yayziez!

These are what I think really draw the fans to Twilight: these are the lessons the books teach. That's all of them, more or less. When Twilighters defend the books, what they are defending is their very obvious desire to be "heroines" like Bella who brave great odds by simply existing and letting things happen. I could get into the notion that a lame, tired joke is absolutely hilarious, or that beauty really is all that matters in life, but I won't. Not this time around, anyway.

Shell of a man.
I can't really remember when it started, but my life with my family was a life of suppression.

I'm not just talking about holding back with the cursing, either, or avoiding slang phrases or anything silly like that. I'm talking total and complete repression of character, to the point where absolutely no character exists at all. I was a non-person.

Oh, sure, I had feelings and thoughts and I walked and talked and acted like a person, more or less. But I was always censoring myself, ever trying to cover my tracks and avoid letting slip my total and complete self.

I know I started hating myself after I moved to Altus, but I think it's unfair to blame it on a move. My repression went deeper than fear of the unknown; actually, it was complete and total fear of the known that made me want to hide. So, I suppose the real culprit was probably my gayness, which I figured showed itself through the expression of any smarts or thoughts that I might have. Period. Anything that I said or did, I knew, somehow, that it would be a display of my homosexuality, and I would be busted, and my life would come crashing to a great and terrible end.

It all started out pretty simply. I started censoring the words I would use if I thought they might sound "smart" and people wouldn't understand them. After all, I needed to be as terse as possible: people couldn't hear a slight lisp or girlish tilt in my speech if I didn't speak too much. Having to explain strange words I'd learned while reading Dean Koontz and Stephen King books would lead to my speaking more, which would eventually lead to people hearing me talk. I didn't want people thinking I was smart, either; as a child, I had this most wonderful notion that gay and smart were equivalent. You see, I was certain that, when I grew up and went off into the adult world, I would find that all other gays had suffered as I had, self-loathing and god-fearing individuals, all of them, and they would all be terribly intelligent as a result of their collective repression. I knew this as fact. I'll leave it to you to decide how I fared when I finally began to meet real gays at large.

My repression grew from speaking to trying to avoid honors classes. I knew if I was put into classes for the upper crust of junior high that I would be outed as a fag for sure. Not because there weren't straight smart people: there sure were, plenty of them, in fact. No, I was certain because it would single me out and that would somehow make people view me so differently that they would come to realize, perhaps through their own keen intuition, that I was also guarding a most horrid secret. I had a combative call with my mother about taking honors courses: I told her I would most certainly not take them, because I didn't want to be a freak. Screw challenges! I wanted to be just like everybody else. I perhaps also had the slight hope that mingling with the normals would turn me slowly into the straight boy I some day dreamed of becoming.

Alas, the phone call resulted only in an angry, crying mother and my subsequent enrollment into the dreaded honors courses. I hadn't managed to avoid that pitfall, so instead I opted to continue with keeping to myself as much as possible and only speaking when necessary. As a result, a quiet, but very straight-acting, teenage boy emerged.

By the time high school arrived, I was friends primarily with boys. A girl had a romantic interest in me, and my family knew about it. There were always niggles, sure, little spurts of gayness that slipped through the cracks, but my facade was easily held up by my very secretive nature and the fact that I didn't act even remotely like a homosexual. I fancied myself a man of few words (despite the fact that I was a natural writer--figure that one out), a quiet type, and my demeanor reflected that. The rebellious, chatty, expressive boy I was, was gone, and in his place was somebody who held to religion and manliness as the only paragon that mattered. It's funny, though--any way I sliced it, I still couldn't get myself to enjoy sports, try as I might. I suppose some things are simply permanently beyond my grasp.

Even during senior year in high school, when I slowly started coming out to friends after my mom dragged me out of the closet and just as suddenly threw me back in, I maintained my emotionless silence. I suppose it had simply become a character trait by then; indeed, even after I left home for the Navy and came out to my friends there, I was still a very quiet, subdued individual. When was it, then, that I finally decided to just be me and stop pretending?

Oh, for the glory of retail.
Working as a slave to the common man for the past year has alerted me to a rather tragic truth: Americans have lost their social graces. Of course, seeing as even the elderly are rotten to the core when interacting with the "slave race," perhaps it is more appropriate to say that we, the people, have never had social graces in the first place.

Many crimes have been committed against me since I joined the retail workforce in February of 2008. Mainly, they were crimes of rudeness, but sometimes they went beyond rude and were unbelievably cruel.

It seems that people are incapable of answering a few questions in a polite manner. I have questions that I have to ask people: "Did you find what you were looking for today?" "Would you like that in a bag?" Lastly, there is the only question that really matters to the store: "Do you have a store credit card?" This question is what ordinarily leads to terrible behavior on behalf of the people.

A reaction I receive quite often is "NO," usually cutting me off before I can even finish the question. When I try to say anything else, the customer will repeat "NO" very loudly and then laugh, as if the whole affair is simply hilarious. Yes, you bet: it is incredibly funny to be rude to a poor sap who works for minimum wage who is simply asking what is required of him. Thank you so much, good sir or ma'am, for laughing as a way of passing off your rudeness as simple folly.

Another method I love is the Children as Aversion routine. Parents will use their children as an excuse to be rude to you so they can rush away as quickly as possible and continuously tell you they are in a hurry as they stare at their child or children and don't pay any attention to what you are saying. For some reason, the children always seem to act up at the register, and the parents naturally have absolutely no control over their little fleshbags of terror.

Customers apparently receive a thrill from speaking at me from afar when I am clearly either speaking to a customer on the phone or interacting directly with a customer at my register. They feel their need for the bathroom or even to ask a question about item placement or availability is entirely appropriate despite the fact that my mouth is moving and I'm looking at another customer. What is sad is only one person has ever mentioned how rude people are for butting into my customer interactions; apparently, it is acceptable behavior to interrupt others so long as one of the people is a lowly retail clerk.

Customers also love to speak to me as if I am the Company itself. If an item is out of stock, they will say "YOU never have this item in!" as if I, personally, have made it a goal to make their desired item unpurchasable. I am also to blame for any problems they have ever had with the Company, whether it be store credit card difficulties, trouble with questionable returns, or any action the store took that didn't produce the results they desired.

We live in a society where people believe they are due everything for nothing. We, as people, tend not to think of what a store requires from us besides money: courteous behavior is reserved only for people we know, not punk kids at registers who ask a couple of questions in a polite manner. We are far too prone to push our miseries onto other people, ruining moods and days for those who are in similar social situations rather than trying to raise them up with kindness and politeness. We are strongly divided on an emotional level from those we consider "strangers"; it is unfortunate how little people care for those they consider "the help."

Such a fucking humanitarian.
It turns out the reason Ben wanted to break up is so he could go wild online and start hooking up with random boys. He's created an online profile and even has a skanky photo. His reception is as one might expect for a tall, white gay boy with nice teeth.

I'm actually amused by this information; the answer to the ever-present question of "Why?" having been answered exactly as I felt it would has given me a sense of satisfaction. I've come to realize that, once again, my attraction to a guy was based almost entirely on my hero complex. I knew once he had the chance, he'd go slut, and so I tried to prevent that by pulling him into a loving relationship and keeping his libido entertained. Of course, as any sensible person knows, you can't steer fate from its course, no matter how damn hard you try to pull it in the right direction.

Really, though, when am I going to start trying to save myself? This is the second time I've attempted and failed to make somebody a better person. Why do I try so hard to help others who don't ask to be helped when I could be working on myself? I daresay I have plenty of personal issues that need work. This whole situation has actually caused me to focus, pretty intently, on my path, on where I've gone wrong and how I can correct it. I've always suppressed so much of myself--in particular, my anger and my opinion--because I was always so afraid they'd get me into trouble. I've been working on speaking my mind, on focusing on exactly who I am and what I want to take away from this life.

I've spent years tucked away inside myself, afraid of me. Now I am working, quirk by quirk, to pull myself out of the muck and find out who and what I really am.

Why do you do me like you do?
I don't know how it all came to this.

I'm tired of trying to be strong all the time. I'm tired of telling myself all of the old cliches, that if he doesn't want to be with me, there's no need to pine over him. I know that, but I pine, anyway.

I feel like I've been sucker-punched by emotions I never thought I'd feel before.

I was seeing a boy, for a while, for a very short month. He went on a vacation for a couple of weeks, and when he came back, he told me that he really liked me and that he wanted to be my boyfriend. So, I asked him out.

A week later, before we've even had the opportunity to talk or hang out again, he's telling me being in a relationship is too much stress, that he can't handle work and school and me all at once. He says we should take a break. Now that we're "on break," he won't even talk to me or look at me when he sees me at work.

He told me that I was "nice" and "attractive" and that I would be free to pursue other "interests." He stated this last bit with a flick of his tongue, as if to insinuate the salacious goodness of the act.

I can't help but see these images again and again in my mind and to feel absolutely empty because of them. I hear him telling me, again and again, that he really likes me. I hear over and over his insecurities and his thoughts and my responses. No matter how much booze I drink, no matter how much pot I smoke, no matter how many days I waste away with NyQuil on my bedside, these thoughts pursue me.

I don't want to be this weak person. I was very happy being just me, finding myself, figuring things out for myself, before this blight named Ben alighted upon my soul and gave me a small sense of hope, the hope that maybe I'd found somebody who wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with them. I wasn't thinking of things in the long-term, but a few months of bliss would have been nice. Would have been all I'd needed to feel sane, to feel like I was capable of being a part of the romantic world.

I can't fathom meeting people the way other guys do. How have so many people met people on MySpace? I certainly haven't. I haven't really tried, but it seems like an odd thing to do, trolling through the online locals and asking them "sup?" I've gone fishing for people on other sites, but those sites are made for meeting.

There has to be a better life than this. I know that doesn't mean that I deserve it, but it would be nice to have more than a taste of it.

Cliche, cliche, all I have are cliches. All I am is cliche. It seems that what I'm really missing here is not the boy but the opportunity, the chance that I've lost to pursue something sweet for a while.

I wish there was sense in all this.

Straight Man Got No Pain
Blind Fall, by Christopher Rice

I really wanted to like this novel. Rice's previous effort, Light Before Day, was a decent enough read: it was campy, yes, but the campiness worked for the novel because everything about it was so over-the-top. Not to mention the main character was likable and flawed.

Blind Fall is about a straight Marine whose former Marine buddy turns out to be a homo. The straight Marine finds this out when he goes to visit his old friend after years of not talking to him and just so happens to walk in at the exact same time his friend is getting murdered. Crazy, huh?

The madness only gets more ridiculous from there and includes a femmy gay boy walking a blindfolded, handcuffed Marine through a forest and into a cave where he gives him a "lesson" in what it feels like to be a gay, and a prim and proper mother who carries a wooden shank under her sleeve.

The main character is woefully improbable. In the world of Christopher Rice, apparently, straight men have no feelings--not even within their own minds. The former Marine feels like a porn character rather than the suddenly accepting person he becomes by the end of the novel.

The twists and turns in this book all feel not only unlikely but too well planned to be effective--anybody who gives the story a thought while reading will no doubt figure it all out on their own. The dialogue also cries out for more attention and less bravado, as it is often so convoluted it sounds like the end result of an Asian linguist trying to decipher an Indian language version of Pulp Fiction.

4/10

Breaking Yawn
I never thought I'd manage it, but I finally achieved the impossible: I trudged through the endlessly infuriating tome that was Breaking Dawn for god only knows what reason and managed to come out alive.

I don't really know what to say. I hate the self-serving characters, I hate the pretty ribbon that ties up every single relationship and every single issue perfectly, and I hate the anticlimactic everything that sums up this series. Bella and Edward remain intact, they never learn a damn thing about themselves or each other or anybody else. Bella gets everything she wants and then some, as do Edward and Jacob. Not only that, but the werewolves are magically revealed to not be werewolves after all! They're only shapeshifters, a ha ha. Never mind that they multiply in response to the influx of vampires the way werewolves supposedly do. And don't even get me started on Bella as a vampire. What a nice way for Meyer to eradicate any redeeming qualities whatsoever in a character by making her perfect: perfect beauty, perfect strength, a superpower so ridiculously perfect all I wanted to do was cry because of the vainness of it all.

Here is a series that you should read if you've ever wondered: What would life be like if there was no awful? If everybody was perfect and everything turned out exactly like you wanted it to with very little struggle? What would life be like if all people were empty, character-less vessels who never learn anything and who have not even the slightest bit of introspection?

This series saddens me primarily because of the mindless emptiness of it all. I can't understand why so many people would flock to a story that is so unchallenging and so impossibly sanctimonious.

1/10

Eclipse
I started reading Stephenie Meyer's Eclipse with pretty low expectations after the disappointment that was New Moon. My expectations were not met but were instead lowered even more by this tedious example of why having a plan for a series is always superior to just making things up as you go along, Lost-style.

I have to admit, I was a little intrigued by the idea of the vampires versus the wolves. Surely Meyer would work out a fascinating battle between the two men in Bella's life using these interesting creatures...or not. The conflict is lamely resolved in order to deal with a much more crucial issue in the larger scheme of the world: keeping Bella alive. Naturally, this is far more important than any lifelong conflict, right?

Meyer also manages to inject one of her many backpedals by having Bella decide, after having made clear that she had no romantic feelings for Jacob, that she actually DID have romantic feelings for her werewolf friend. The hilarious conclusion that is drawn from this "realization" is that, while she loves both wolf and vampire, she can only live without the wolf while she would just die without the vampire. So the wolf gets the boot based on this not-at-all melodramatic and silly reasoning and our favorite couple remains as intact as my dread at having to read the terrifyingly large volume that is the end of the Twilight saga.

3/10

Under the Moon
New Moon, Stephenie Meyer

This book is when the cracks really start to show in Stephenie Meyer's vampire "epic." Meyer tries to set the mood of the novel by abandoning the light sense of humor of the first book and plunging us into teenage melodrama. This attempt at setting the scene shows why you should let a story's mood present itself to the reader through the actions and dialogue of the characters rather than trying to force the mood on the reader by heightening the cheesy dramatics.

New Moon is all about our quippy, fun-loving vampire friend, Edward, suddenly becoming Sparkly Emo Edward and realizing, despite his worries in the first book, that a human living among vampires can lead to some dangerous situations. Who knew?

Bella spends the majority of the book moping and coming to realize that she is a lifeless, goal-less, personality-less vessel who can only exist with a man-vamp in her life.

The vampires reveal their personalities to be even more paper-thin in this installment. Despite the fact that they've lived hundreds of years collectively, they have very little insight into much of anything and they rarely seem to think things through despite the fact that they have 24 hours a day to do so. The characters have flimsy, cliched backstories...needless to say, I was very disappointed in the wasted potential of the secondary vampire characters, who are all so boring and plain for people who occupy such a unique position in Meyer's poorly planned world.

There are some bright spots in this novel, though. Meyer writes best when creating mindless action sequences; I'm seeing a bright future for her as a collaborator with Michael Bay.

The werewolves, introduced in this novel but an obvious injection to anybody who managed to pull away from Edward-obsession in the first book to read the werewolf "folk stories" told by Jacob, actually have some personality, which is a nice change of pace in this otherwise mundane tome. Jacob has a sense of humor and deserves much better than boring Bella, so, naturally, he is forced to be hopelessly in love with her by Meyer's poisonous pen. He at least has some justification for his attraction to her in this book, however, as she is acting rebellious in order to try and end her man-less and therefore worthless life.

The scenes featuring the Volturi give us the only characters with any real presence befitting vampires, although they are quite talky in a cheesy, 1930's movie kind of way. Naturally, despite the fact that they are exceptionally gifted, they are eluded by the much folksier, less intelligent Cullen clan.

I can't really recommend this book as a whole; unless you loved the first one to pieces and you absolutely must find out what happens next in Bella's soapy world, I say skip it and read something worthwhile.

5/10

At the movies
Walking past a movie poster featuring a giant, colorful candy heart with the words "He's Just Not That Into You" on it while on a mediocre date is pretty much the funniest shit ever.

This isn't about reason. It's about the sparkles.
I decided to read Twilight because my friend insisted it was a great book, and I was really missing out on something special. I don't usually cave to peer pressure, but I figured I would try the book out and see how much I could possibly hate it.

You all know the story by now, so I'm not going to elaborate on plot. What I'm going to say about Twilight is that it surprised me. The story in the first book is light, there is actually some decent humor throughout, and the characters seem interesting. The vampire family has a mysteriousness about them that, while it fizzles out and turns into a disappointing nothingness by the end of the "saga," I found intriguing during my initial reading. There are some interesting points brought up in this first book: What does it mean to be human? Is it worth giving up for something "more"? While these questions are completely ignored and maybe even made fun of by the awful writing of the later books in the series, I found them to be relevant to this book.

The vampires in this book sparkle in the sunlight. A cop-out? I'd say so. What kind of threatening monster sparkles all pretty-like just so they can look even more dazzling than usual? Well, the kind of monster that lives in a teenage romance, of course.

This is really all I have to say about the book; it didn't leave much of an impression. A light, amusing read, with an ending that was decent enough that it should have never been continued.

8/10

Prop 102 Passes in Arizona.
Thank you, voters of Arizona, for letting me know just how little my rights as a human being matter to you.

26 Today.
I'm 26 years old today. I have to say this is the first time I really feel older on my birthday. As my wrinkles start to form and my arthritis starts to kick in, I have to ask myself: Do we all lose our minds in our 20's? Can anybody reach this decade of parental freedom without going over the edge and losing themselves completely? I used to think I knew what life was all about. It seems like I always had the answers to life; even at the age of 10 I knew exactly what life was. Now I am not only not so sure, I am absolutely uncertain. What really makes life worth living? If we have no goals are we worthless? If we have no hobbies or interests what do we truly gain from life?

I feel like I hear buzzwords all the time. People form arguments based solely on what they are told to think and never bother to investigate whether or not what they are saying is even true, let alone a valid argument. My dad told me the reasons he was voting Republican for the first time in his life this year and he may as well have been using a Fox News talking points checklist. I know what it all boils down to is he refuses to vote for a black man. I can't understand why so many people are incapable of being honest, but I think it has something to do with being so filled with the words and opinions of those they consider authorities that they really aren't sure what they believe themselves, they just know what they are supposed to believe because they have been told to believe it.

I wonder how many genuine individuals there really are in this world. I strive to be true to what I think and feel, but how many of my thoughts and feelings are based on subconscious notions that have been so ingrained into me I cannot help but use them as a guide? Can anybody really be free from the restraints forced upon us by growing up in a civilized society? I think we know very little about this world; but, perhaps, all there is to know about this world is all here, and that is why it feels so elusive, because this is it. Because there is no grand scheme of things, no ultimate plot. Life is what it is, and all of this thinking and trying to dig to the bottom of it all is simply time well wasted.

Insincere
I think I'm finally waking up from my depression...and becoming an alcoholic instead. From one addiction to the next, isn't that how it always works?

I've been overanxious and mad in the head for the past three years, so I figure it's about time for something a little different. Some things are returning to normal, like my ability to think straight and my ability to read, while others, like my memory, remain spotty at best. What am I to do about this dilemma? Does anybody care? Do I even care?

The one thing I am certain about in life is that I am a writer. I have always been a writer, I will always be a writer. Even if I am brain dead, a part of me will cry out for the ability to put words to paper. The question now is...what am I meant to write? How can I write when I am so disgusted with the human race? These are the questions that plague my mind.

The Truth (or, Stop That, it Hurts!)
I dated Matt despite grave misgivings that eventually all came true. When I met him, he had only recently gone through a tragic situation that was still strong in his mind, and it was affecting his judgment and his personality. I knew even before he told me what had happened that he was suppressing a part of himself, but I stuck with it in the blind, foolish hope that what he was telling me was true: that he was different, that he was a changed person because of what had happened. I knew in my mind that people do not change no matter how traumatic something is (unless it is so traumatic that they lose their mind completely, of course, which is not the case with Matt), but my heart wanted to have faith, oddly enough, despite my enrollment in the art of cynicism.

Well, warning signs built up in the form of Matt's constant need for attention and self-professed loneliness and self-hatred. He made friends with people I loathed and, when I questioned his reasons for befriending such people, he told me they were better than nothing, which was what he would have without them. As time progressed I grew to realize that this was not true; he talked with these people because he liked them and related to them. He confided in them far more than he ever did in me. Meanwhile, his sulking convinced me that I needed to support him financially, and so I made the mistake of trying to buy his happiness (not his love: god forbid I should ever sink that low!).

In the end, I sought out others both because I felt trapped and because of the way he was never satisfied with me and my lackluster performance (due largely to my depression and the crippling medications that accompany such an illness). I admit that acting out in such a way was wrong, and I deeply regret my actions, because they were the actions of a coward and a fool. He ended up cheating on me based on his own confused notions about whether or not I had cheated on him, and he wound up avoiding sex with me after he cheated, which turned out to be the final warning sign for me. I finally realized I had to end it, and so I did. Matt moved out to god knows where, and I had my independence--but I wasn't quite ready to strike out on my own yet, and so wound up dating somebody I didn't really find attractive at all, Chuck.

Ah, Chuck, or The Jew, as I so affectionately referred to him, was escapism at its finest. Why not attach myself to somebody I would never truly find attractive? What damage could it possibly cause? As it turns out, it could--and did--cause plenty of damage.

Don't get me wrong, Chuck is a nice guy, but we weren't really very compatible, and a part of me knew that from the beginning. It was easier, though, to fall back into something I was familiar with--a relationship that wouldn't work--than it was to stand up for myself and accept it for what it was, a relationship that would have been perfectly fine as a friendship, but nothing more. No, I went with it because it was there and because it felt comfortable, which is funny, really, because I tend to try to avoid things that keep me within my comfort zone.

Well, he turned out to be clingy and needy, two things I didn't need or want in my life, so I ended it in the worst possible way--on the phone. I would have done it in person, but he called after I had made it clear I would be seeing him soon, and I had had enough. And that was that, really.

Now I am on my own and happily there. I think my family's alienation lent a lot to my need for another person in my life. Now, however, I am comfortable with being by myself, and am ready to finally give life a go with people who are more like me, regardless of whether or not they are as ridiculous or as crazy as I am. Actually, insanity is probably preferred, as long it's the selfless, self-defeating kind.

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