beta warriors

Today is the day I turn in my dissertation manuscript, and for some reason, instead of finishing the last paragraph I have to write I am here. But it is for an important cause! It is to alert all young ladies out there to beware the beta warrior - stay clear of his path.

Who is the beta warrior? Well, basically its a fancy name for a guy in a band, sometimes also known as a musician. How did he come to be known as such? I will explain.

See, back in the day, that is, before the Agricultural Revolution, there were these hunter-gatherer types. Hunters, who were mostly men, spent their time travelling around in nomadic packs, killing animals and admiring/envying each other's skills in weaponry. The guys who were the best hunters were the alpha males, the top dogs, you know - the ones who got carte blanche to do whatever their typically violent little hearts desired. Eventually they became the elite groups of warriors who all went out and tried to kill each other instead of animals, leaving a path of death and destruction in their wake, and acquiring all the booty they could get their hands on. They became the ideal of masculinity, what all others aspired to or at least worked to support in their own way.

In modern times, these elite packs of alpha warriors still exist, but our 'civilizing' and 'humane' tendencies have rendered us less inclined to be big fans of their skills in killing and destroying. That is why we have major league sports teams - they are a sort of distilled version of the masculine ideal, which all guys can still aspire to without any of the unsavory consequences of actually hurting anyone.

But what about those guys that just don't measure up - the betas? There have always been betas and there always will, as long as guys insist on viewing themselves in such competitive and stratified terms. How do they go about achieving their androcentric dream of roving in packs and engaging in sublimated forms of violence while reaping all of the benefits that accrue to the alphas?

Enter here the modern rock and roll band. Whatever picked-on dork it was who first came up with the idea to strap on a guitar and plug it into something electrical in the company of some of his buddies was apparently a lot more of a genius than anyone might have thought. He single-handedly paved the way for every idiot who was insecure with their masculine identity to go out there and overcompensate like nobody's business.

Now you too can acquire a van and some weapons/instruments, go tooling around the world, battling each other for glory, leaving a path of drunken debauchery in your wake and acquiring some hot groupie booty along the way -- all in the name of making yourself feel better about your inadequacies as a second-rate male. Honestly it is so easy, they should just market it as a package deal and make people pay for the experience - though I guess that would take all the mystery and sense of false accomplishment out of it. Hmm...

Anyway, I better get back to work, but all I can say is - take it from someone who has been trampled over a few times on their warpath: watch out for these beta warriors. Like all men, they have something to prove to each other, but as if that isn't bad enough, they also have something to prove to themselves. Unfortunately, this is often a losing battle and the winners, well...lets not even go there. Keith Richards, anyone??

Ahh, to burn out or to fade away - I guess that really is the question.

random observations

okay, i haven't had time to write on this thing in awhile, but here are some thoughts i've collected in the meantime:

1. otherness is undesireable, but sameness is unbearable
2. comedy is pro-life; it wants to death-defy
3. at the root of all passion is suffering
4. pre-bound: the person you treat like garbage in between the ex and the rebound

suck on those for awhile, i guess....

the guy from work

So, after my previous experiences with the scientologist, i decided to play it safe and try to date someone "normal" in just the way that "normal" people supposedly do these things.

i have worked sporadically at a clothing company doing various jobs over the years, and in that time i have developed many acquaintances with the other young ladies who work there. of course, we like to gossip about guys and relationships, and keep each other posted on our latest romance drama. and of course, they knew all about my tragic break-up.

admittedly i was pretty unhappy during that time, and it was noticeable. one girl who sympathized with my plight decided to come to my aid and do what any good girlfriend would do in these circumstances - she tried to cheer me up by distracting me. 'Hey, so there is this guy who we just hired to do the company website, and he's kinda cute. He seems like the kind of guy you might like; he's into music and going to shows...he's nice and older (i.e., 33) and he has a job, it might be good for a date at least. Either way, you guys should meet.'

I perked up and thought, why not? After all, I did need to venture into the world of late-20s dating and get on with my life, right? What better way to do that than a good old-fashioned ground attack on the nearest available target? I figured I'd give it a try.

Here is the scheme we cooked up: He worked from home, and so materials would often have to be shuffled back and forth between his apartment and our studio. We worked it out so that I would be the one to drop off some stuff at his house one day, since it was on my way home. That way I could suss the situation out in the guise of 'official business.' I even called him first and let him know that this was what was going to happen, just so I could hear his voice and assess his general tone.

Our meeting went really well. I managed to ensconce myself in his apartment for about 45 minutes, and chat him up in my characteristic fashion. Oh I suppose it goes without saying that I did think he was cute, and it turned out that he was pretty nice too. We talked about what we did, and music we liked, and bars we frequented, etc. When I left, I was a little bit excited.

If I recall correctly, I went by his place to drop stuff off on one other occasion, and after chatting for a bit, I just went for it. 'You know if you want we should get a drink sometime or something.' Dear jesus, I hate to show my hand like that, but sometimes you just have to risk it. He said sure thing, and a few days later we were meeting for drinks at the Bounty.

We had a nice time, we talked about where we were from and all that good date stuff, and we got a bit drunk. We went back to his house and hung out for a bit longer. I thought maybe I'd get a kiss but, alas, no go. It was a bit disappointing, but I shrugged it off because it had been so long since I'd been with a nice guy that I thought this was how things were supposed to be, and that I was supposed to find this endearing and respectful. Remember, I was trying to act normal and play by the book here.

We had another date shortly after this, and he decided we should go to the movies. I was all geared up about getting to make out in the back of a movie theater and relive some titillating teenage thrill. Apparently that really only happens IN movies if you aren't a teenager, but I didn't know that at the time. He didn't touch me or look at me during the entire film (thank god it was actually a great movie!), and, no, we didn't sit anywhere near the back. Afterwards I was slightly dejected, but I still wasn't about to be thwarted in my efforts, so I took another risk. 'So, what do you wanna do now? Should we go somewhere?' This was his response: "Um, I guess I can walk you to your car..." My heart sank a little, well, a lot, and I conceded defeat. I let him walk me to my car, and after some awkward banter, he gave me what I now refer to as the 'kiss of death.' Its that fish-lipped peck that guys give you when they never want to see you again, the physical equivalent of an 'I'll call you later' when you know they never will, and sadly, it will be making another appearance in a future installment of this little chronicle of mine.

Now I was enraged. It was just after 10pm and I was back at home, all dressed up and pacing around, yelling at my roommate. 'Don't I look cute tonite?...Well then, what the fuck am I doing back here already??' Needless to say, it wasn't pretty.

I went to work and reported the unfortunate news to the girls. It turns out that my friend who had suggested the match had also done a little digging of her own in the meantime, and had found out there was a recent ex-girlfriend, whom we could only assume was still in the picture, since he bought a bunch of clothes from us shortly after all this. For my part, I signalled my extreme disapproval of him by drawing big sad faces on the invoices we sent to him, and by flatly ignoring him whenever he came in. Oh yes, and if his name were ever mentioned, I would respond with what I considered a requisite groan and eye-rolling. It was all sort of an overblown performance that made me feel better, and after awhile it just got funny. I think at some point long afterward we even managed to exchange some polite words.

I guess what turned out to be the most "normal" aspect of the entire experience was the feeling of disappointment it inspired in me. I didn't understand what possible reason there could be for this guy not wanting to at least hook up with me, even if there was some lingering ex. On a related note, I was also starting to think that trying to date older guys was not as great an idea as I had thought - they all seemed to be damaged goods of one kind or another. In the end though, I was thankful, thankful that I hadn't actually gone down that mundane and sticky road of dating someone 'normal' guy I met at work. It just never would have worked for me.

the scientologist

Well, I've got to begin somewhere, and in some ways this is as good a place to start as any. That's because this was my first encounter with the opposite sex after the earth-shattering mid-twenties break-up I had set in motion in my life four months earlier. Given that disclaimer, I only hope you can sympathize with the less-than-ideal decision-making abilities I display in the following little vignette, and do your best never to imitate them.

After a night of dancing, I ended up at the apartment of some 'friends' of new friends I'd been out with. Actually it was the apartment of two mid-thirties hollywood dudes, and the one who I ended up hooking up with introduced himself mostly by way of making out with my friends in a nonchalant and random spin-the-bottle fashion (read: sober), all the while taking poloroids of each encounter and presenting it to the lucky girl of the moment as an evidentiary momento. I was not so blessed and was actually rather annoyed by his clowning, or so I thought, but as it turned out, in a dysphoric spate of destructive curiosity brought on by my lonliness and my drunkenness, I was compelled to accompany him to the garage to 'fuck around with the pool heating' upon being summoned to do so.

What happened next is easy enough to piece together without my adding that it involved a dress pushed up in a very underemployed elevator. It was over before i knew it, and it felt pretty gross. But it sort of suited the low place I was at during that time, and so I liked it. In fact, I apparently liked it so much that i did it again, on two other occasions.

I've never really been sure what the term 'hate-fucking' refers to, especially when it is used by a guy, and while I'm still not sure about its Webster's definition, I can say that my experience in this particular instance has forever imbued it with its own special meaning in my life. To put it concisely, in my world hate-fucking is an enactment of desire that derives from despair and self-loathing. I know that sounds all scary and psychobable, but let us look at some of the details characterizing this fateful pairing, and it will soon become clear how unsavory it actually was.

First of all, he sucked. He took himself very seriously, and as you can imagine, it seriously sucked. I am not saying this just to be an asshole; it happens simply to be true (and highly convenient). He was a scientologist, a born-and-raised angeleno trust-fund type with a navel piercing, and (of course) a serious and inspired artist who painted, played music and acted with all the mediocrity of an entitled white kid, while working some lame day job. In other words, quite the phenom, or hadn't you already heard? During sex he would give me 'tips' in a dry matter-of-fact tone, such as "You should do this with your mouth when I kiss you" or "When I say 'Do you like that?', you should say 'Oh yeah bay-bee'." It was really creepy and of course, I wouldn't go along anything, just to be antagonistic and retain my sense of self. It also had the effect of making me truly hate him. However, let the record show that I also broke my own cardinal rule by hooking up with him, which is do not do ANYTHING with a guy if you are not really attracted to him, either in looks or personality (Why bother?). And this made me hate myself even more than I hated him. Yet somehow the ironic appropriateness of it all was completely satisfactory in its unsatisfactoriness, at least for a moment. I felt like I was getting just what I deserved and that actually felt good. This interaction had been a pathological panacea for my masochistic tendencies, and in that way it served its purpose, though I must admit I quickly shook him off and moved on. After all, the ego always has to triumph and gross is only hot for so long....

To this day, when I see this guy I pretend I don't know him. Thankfully, most of the time he doesn't recognize me.

recreation

This will be short and stupid, I suppose, but whatever, I've been wanting to write about it to see what comes out.

I recently realized that the word 'recreation' is kind of awesome. Here's what I've been thinking about it: we all know what it generally refers to, taking it easy by engaging in some pastime, more or less. The OED defines it as 1. Refreshment by partaking of food; a refection; nourishment; 2. Refreshment or comfort produced by something affecting the senses or body; 3. Comfort or consolation of the mind; that which comforts or consoles; 4. The action of recreating (oneself or another), or fact of being recreated, by some pleasant occupation, pastime or amusement; 5. An instance of this; a means of recreating oneself; a pleasurable exercise or employment.

In other words, its a way of stimulating the senses as a means of reviving, renewing or restoring oneself. I think its meant to be a literal 're-creation'. Now, if you think about it, the way that most people these days prefer to recreate is precisely by consuming re-creations. Its as if the word itself has taken over the nature of the activity in some sort of imperialist fashion. Mostly what we want to do is watch movies/TV or look at pictures or the internet, listen to recorded music or sing karaoke, play sports (which I think is like some kind of mini war or survival technique re-creation), and dress up for halloween or renaissance fairs. I mean shit, the examples abound, when you really get down to it. Human beings these days love to create re-creations! That seems to be the most pleasureable activity there is.

This whole realization has given me a newfound respect for so-called culture-mongers. I must confess that I am something of an avoider -- I don' t read magazines (but I do read books), I don't usually watch movies (but I do watch TV), I love music, but I am trying to create it rather than consume it these days, and I swim alot, which I like to think is the closest thing there is to some kind of pure womb-like human state. Basically I have a troubled relationship with representation, and since this is what a great portion of recreation consists of in my world, I feel like I often have to just say no. But maybe there is something to this whole "re-creation" idea, and if that's the case, I guess I better start looking at YouTube, downloading mp3s and reading Vice, or something. Or I guess I could always stick with the old standbys, food and sex and drugs, which are probably my favorite recreations of all time.

romance graph

here is a very rough sketch of a graph i designed.

now, i don't fancy myself a mathematician of any kind, and perhaps that is why i am so taken with it. after all, to novices like me numbers don't lie. okay, i realize there are no numbers on this thing so let me explain.

this graph represents the development of the average relationship over time. the red line represents the girl's progression of feeling, which, once it is set in motion, generally tends to increase steadily if there are no major obstacles in the way. i suppose it could have an ascent that is more or less steep, depending on how much of a psycho or a romantic you are, but for the sake of uniformity, lets just say this is average.

the blue line represents the male progression of feeling over time, which careens erratically between caring more or less about the situation, but can generally be expected to follow the pattern of up and down once it gets going. this is why, for example, upon meeting a girl, a guy will be gung-ho about calling, texting and expressing himself for a minute, but once he encounters the girl's corresponding demonstration of feeling, he will disappear for about a week or so.

now all of this is well and good, as long as the "maxima", or peak (thanks karl) of the boy line periodically reaches the ever increasing level of the girl line. in other words, as long as you keep calling, my level of interest will remain on the up-tick.

but then there is what i call the "danger zone". this is represented by the nebulous yellow area with the sad face inside it. this is the space that a couple encounters when a guy's interest in the relationship peaks at a certain level and no longer extends beyond it, even on the best of days. the girl line, however, in its steady fashion, continues on its incremental path. this is the time when we start freaking out and guys start disappearing for real. in fact, it might have been better to show the blue line start decreasing in general intensity here, but i am no graphic designer.

as long as the two lines continue to touch occassionally, and the red line eventually begins to plateau, then all is well. but as i have discovered, this is a notoriously difficult balance to obtain. and although the graph doesn't show this, if the danger zone begins to takes up a significant amount of space (say, more than what the entire progression consisted of before its appearance), the red line will take a definitive plunge downward, and this will most like take the form in real time of a crying fit, and proclamations of the guy's inherent tendency toward selfishness, assholedom and an inability to truly love.

so there you have it. learn it and live it. i know some of you out there will say it is essentializing, but i am not making any claims about anyone's inherent way of being. i think its pretty much all nurture driven, and while i won't go into why people end up behaving along these lines, suffice it to say that i think there is something to this. let me know what you think.

wordself

i just had this thought in a clear and perceptible way, even though I've thought about it hazily at many other times in the past. I feel lazy and dishonest if I don't include pronouns in my written communication. Let me explain - pretend I am writing you a text message. I write "wanted to meet up with you later" by which I mean that "I wanted to meet up...etc.", does this make sense? I feel like speaking English may somehow force you to convey yourself unambiguously by using pronouns all the time. Its alot of pressure! I guess I can compare to the languages I know where you really don't have to do that; to get slightly grammatical, the subject is just internal to the verb, there can be one word in place of two. When I say "bailo" in Spanish it is like a mirrored opposite of "I dance" or something. In Spanish, its as if the verb overtakes the person, literally attaches it to itself at the end of itself! (Okay now this is getting weird...Has someone else written about this somewhere, I wonder?) Anyway, I think that maybe this difference makes one person different from another on some fundamental level. I wish I knew about Asian languages and ideograms! That is a whole different can of worms!! So to get back to my point then, I am compelled to express myself in English with the appropriate pronouns and that is probably just a result of my over education, but I don't do it when I speak necessarily so its really neither here nor there. Writing just sucks sometimes, so I try to outsmart it.