The Facts of Davy Jones

Fact: Davy Jones is the grim squid faced tentacled Keeper of Drowned Souls at the bottom of the Ocean.
Fact: Davy Jones is a pop star who just died.
Fact: David Bowie also used to be Davy Jones, but changed his name.
Query: Why did Bowie change his last name?
Fact: When one Davy Jones dies, his soul is sent to become the Gatekeeper of Oceanic Purgatory, and another is born to take his place. Documented.
Conclusion: all Davy Jones are Mermen.
Fact: David Bowie is still alive and now the position of Davy Jones Ferryman for the Doomed is filled.
Observation: David Bowie seems to have known what he was doing. All that black magic he's been studying since the 80s really paid off.
Conclusion: David Bowie is the Little Mermaid.
Fact: Snooki announced she was pregnant today, the same day Davy Jones died.
Fact: Snooki is famous for living on the shore.
Conclusion: Snooki is carrying the new Davy Jones.

Sunday Road Trip Part 1: Field of Corn, Dublin OH

If you've been around me at all this past week, you've heard me say at some point "I am an apex predator." It was in that Chronicle movie I won't stop telling people to see. Each moment in that film is done so well, I can't really tell you about it contextually without spoiling, but an apex predator is an animal with no natural enemies. Nothing hunts it, it's the very tippity top of the ecosystem. So yes, I am an apex predator. So are you.

 On the way down 71, we talked about the evolution of animal morals. What I don't understand is this. Predators are naturally smarter than herbivores, the prey. Predators are given the gifts of forethought, strategy, logic, higher communication skills, quick improvisational thinking. These are all things that allow us to function beyond the flight impulse. They are mental capabilities that have allowed us to develop giant complex brains, language, emotion. Humans could have never developed from herbivores. Gameplay, murder, the hunt made us who we are.

 But yet all those same gifts are seen now as hallmarks of an "evil" personality. If you are scheming, tricky with words, highly rational, those are qualities of a villain. And the "good" qualities are herbivore characteristics - innocence, simple intention, calmness, instinct without analysis. So when did we decide that cows were "good" and we were "evil"? Is it guilt from the constant murder that allowed us to survive? Or was it imposed upon us by other humans in power who out-apexed us, and wanted a morality that would encourage their civic and religious populations to be placid and quiet, instead of independent and tricky?

When we call you "good", what we mean is we're pretty sure we could kill you easily.

Then there's this - a monument to corn. Probably meant as an indictment of Big Farm, but in a couple hundred years, when the office parks have fallen down and the plaques are buried, then it might as well also stand as a memorial to the birthplace of agricultural hybridization, Ohio oh. And these are the dots I want to connect here - that agriculture also enjoys this stigma of "good" for all the same herbivore reasons - simple, sincere, quiet. But agriculture isn't some timid pretty thing. The entire human history of bloody war and world conquering, minority oppression and religious empires, might have been avoided or at least lessened if agriculture had never become vogue. Once people start staying in one place and accumulating things, then Money and Power becomes a Thing you can keep for a long time, and personal empires are possible, and corporations are only a few celestial footsteps away. Monsanto was a glimmer in the Fertile Crescent's eye, but it was definitely there. It was waiting for it's birth into our universe, like all patient hell demons.

 Not to say our history would have been less gory if the sedentary herbivore life hadn't took, our psyches are based in blood and sport after all. We might though have a version of society where less people were so stunted, if our worth wasn't based in accumulation of product but skill and smarts. If we all knew we were apex predators. At the very least, there would be less of us, and there would be far less corn. Think how different music would be. Even the way we view our environments, would there really be as many straight lines?

Since the Internet is the new Agriculture, I wonder how that will change us? Will it reverse some of the damage while leaving the good parts? While creating its own bad parts of course, that's how this whole history thing works.

Friday is the least loved of all days in this household

A few things to remember this Friday: - "deep water squid have the greatest known penis length relative to body size of all mobile animals, second... only to certain barnacles" BARNACLES - Twitter and facebook apparently cause the same chemical changes in your brain as coke addiction. But...still cheaper. Less molar damage. Also less dancing. I would say less shame too, but that one's up in the air. - Nikolai Tesla was Serbian. Smartphones have ruined bets at bars. - Slut Budgie - They want to turn trees into antennaes. Soon everyone will have an antenna hoodie too, I bet. - If you put vapor rub on your feet while you are sitting at your desk, remember not to walk. Ever. Again. - You are having a better Friday than that dog. Unless your leg is broken too. In which case, I'm sorry. - There is an entire conspiracy culture of people who think hip hop stars are blood sacrificing Masons.

Malls Give Me Panic Attacks

An awful reality of the modern age is that now all spambots have the same names as your friends. And maybe someday soon, they will manifest as real beings, so that everyone out there will have a spam doppelganger, an evil twin that looks like them and has the same facebook interests, but out of whose mouth only drop flies about payday loans, girls next door, and exciting business opportunities. Then all the spam twins will gain sentience, and gather in Nigeria, to grow in a community where they are free to be themselves and live without persecution from the Realsies. They will hide in the jungle, and through isolation develop their own culture and language, where "Special Offer" means love and "Click to Open" means hope. They will work tirelessly to bring all the newly born Spam Twins to freedom, and their population will grow, until one day they are too big to hide. Then there will be a war, and the world will be forced to recognize their moral imperative to live, and we will give them their own country, where they can be a real and true people, but without constantly freaking out the rest of us.

We went to go see a movie, and the place closest to us to see it was in a mall, a very particular mall I never go to because it lies in the very depths of the worst suburb in this whole town. But we had been driving around and seeing the movie was a split decision that required the nearest viewing time, and so here we were. Actually, right as we made the decision, we had been in another strip mall parking lot, and my friend said "do you want to stop at this Applebee's and slam a few drinks before the movie?". To which I replied, "no, there will be another Applebee's there, closer" and GUESS WHAT there was. Because there is an Applebee's at every mall ever.

 The horrible part was that this movie theater didn't have an outdoor entrance, you actually had to go in the mall to get to the theater. I think that's bullshit, what theater does that to poor unsuspecting patrons? So we had a few drinks very fast, and then tried to park at this monstrosity of shopping development, which was practically impossible because it was a Sunday afternoon. Then, god THEN I had to walk through the mall. Like, ALL the way through it. My friend even abandoned me one block in, to use the restroom, and he was all like, "just meet me at the theater", so then I had to walk by myself through these crowds of suburban mall dwellers - tiny little pre-teens and moms with strollers, and everyone paying attention only to themselves so that you have to actually push past them. Also they were all walking 2 miles an hour. Who was it that sent me that article about how you can predict someone's IQ level based on how fast they walk? Well, something like that. I was having a mild panic attack by the time I actually found the theater entrance, which was on the other fucking side of the food court. Mall food courts are what purgatory would be, if I thought any of those people actually had souls.

 I don't get social anxiety really. I mean, mildly so in super large out of control crowds, but I think that's less mental disorder and more good common sense. But I swear, walking into a mall, I immediately feel judged and found wanting. I feel like everyone in there thinks that a) I am ugly and weird looking b) poorly dressed and c) they are better than me. Maybe it's that every "normal" expectation in the country is somehow laser focused on these particular ley line spots of "who are you and why do I hate you?", and the metal of my very identity vibrates when I come into contact with them, like it might shatter apart at the seams.

 After the movie, which was really great, we came out of the doors and the mall was almost empty. I assumed because everyone had gone home, don't malls close at like 6 or something? Its been so long since I bought something at an actual mall store, I forget how this works. Anyway, we walked easily through the plastic chairs and kiosks, and I could feel the disdain still rising in my chest, but when they are empty, malls are much more interesting to look at. We were on the second floor, and as we passed by escalators, with the cut away rotunda to the 1st floor, we saw where all the people had gone. They were waiting in line.

 We couldn't see what the line was actually for. It started beyond our vision, and wrapped underneath our feet, going to who knows where. They were just standing there, in the empty mall, waiting for some unknown goal, and frankly I had no curiousity as to what that was, I just saw it as an opportunity to escape. As if the line itself was a dangerous dumb beast which might notice me at any moment, and come rushing at us. Besides, the end of the line isn't the important part, it was just that the line existed at all, in a mall, at 7pm on a Sunday, in a suburb. And lines like that exist everywhere, all the time. Everyone grouped in the same order they had been taught to respect since gradeschool, since DMVs and fast food, standing there waiting waiting waiting. There was a short story I read once where something happened, and all the people of modern society that were in lines suddenly became trapped and stuck to each other, and morphed into these horrible centipede-like amoebae, that then starting fighting and eating each other like amoebae do. I don't think anyone could put it better. This fear that if you find yourself stuck in a line, you might never get free and you might die there doing nothing.

February Made Me Shiver

So they came upon a field of empty trees, stark and witchlike against the country winter sky. The ground was dirty, muddy, the patches of frozen ( then thawed then frozen then thawed still tenaciously clinging to it's green) grass, now petrified in a permanent taxidermy of an orchard. The gnarled and burned branches lay broken haphazardly underneath the victims. He pulled over, and she got out to take pictures, but the farm dog tied up to the distant barn heard them and sounded the alarm. So they drove further down the empty road, and found a more inconspicuous spot for her to pretend to be a photographer. He stayed in the car.

 "What do you think they are?"

"I think they are monsters."
 "I think they are trees. Probably apple trees."
"I think you are wrong. They are monsters."
 "Well if they are not apple trees, they are too sad to be monsters."
 "Don't you think monsters are sad? I think monsters must be the saddest of all animals. They are all alone. There are very few of any one kind, they are all different and alone and have no one to relate to their own particular monstrosity."
 "But all these trees, they aren't alone. They are just dead together. They must have been alive together at some point too."
 "What if it's not just lots of monsters, but only one monster, buried under the ground, with lots of arms sticking up and out, all connected by tentacle roots, and they all look dead together because only one huge massive thing underneath our feet is dead?"
 "You are a weird funny girl"
 "It's not weird or funny. It's tragic and sad. You only think I'm funny cause you feel like somewhere deep in your chest I might be right. And that's why you put up with me."
"I put up with you because you are brilliant and beautiful."
"That isn't the point. The point is I am right. In some world, these are not trees, this is the brittle rotting skeleton of a creature we might only see in our dreams, something low and long and buried and slow like a glacier or like that giant fungus that is basically the whole state of Washington. That makes much more sense than individual lifeforms that grow up uniformly despite being separate creatures, then die every winter and come back every Spring and just magically give us stuff to eat."
"So that would make sap blood."
 "Yes, and apples would be..."
"...fingernails..."
 "...or warts...."
"something that falls off."
 "right, falls off a living creature, and then we eat it."
 "gross."

Suppose that each black and wizened broken trunk was broken open, that you drove your car straight into the field and mowed them down like kindling. Then as you get out of your Cadillac in the middle of the orchard, looking at the path of dead tree devastion behind you, your radiator starting to smoke, the ground around you starts to sparkle. Slight at first, then stronger, building momentum and light. Gathering like fireflies, only it's daytime though a dark daytime, and yet you can see them clearer and clearer. A thousand pricks of light, little diamonds rising out of the organic wreckage and war, floating hovering through their own pulsing a few feet above their former prisons.

 And every single one is a wish someone made before winter began, something that grew shimmering from a bit of dirt or bark or glass that got lodged one day in your chest, that was coated layer by layer over time with hopes you had for what might happen next year. Then the new year came and went, and February's winds stole all these pearls while we were sleeping, sucked them out of our mouths like cats sucking souls, blew them out of the houses and apartments and into the outlying forests and farms and jesus we're all hidden out there, our real selves and the prettiest part of ourselves, stuck cursed little summer souls in cold dark lifeless magic trees.

 So obviously, you have to knock them all down and free them.

 "But wait, what if our wishes need to hibernate and sleep through the winter like the trees, or they won't bloom when it gets warmers? What if I let them all out and then a frost kills them?"

 You're right, of course. But she doesn't like that conclusion, because it smacks of sentimentality, and spirituality, and purpose. And she'd rather have everything made of conflict.

 The little sparks from the crunching wreckage are now milling about, gusts of wind making them eddy and flow like Northern Lights. They haven't got anywhere to go, and so they blend and bleed with each other until it's a shimmering indistinct fog, diluting with the mud and asphalt of the road as it drifts up and over and into other fields.

Brite Bubbles

This is a conversation I just had with someone I love.
 "You don't think I'm more emotionally mature than you? I'm way better at maintaining friends and social circles."
 "Yeah, but that's your choice. I could have that many friends if I chose to."
"Well, I don't want a family or kids, so I have to have a lot of friends. Otherwise who is going to be your family when you're old? I don't want to die alone."

 The important thing to recognize is how different our friendships are now than ever before. People in the history before this, they didn't have this many friends. They had no reason to. They were from small places, or they were beholden to small circles - workplaces, churches, extended families. Now we get to pick and choose how many people we want to know, we could know everyone if we wanted to. Think of that, you could make it your life's goal to meet all the people ever, and then divide the world up in parcels grids online networks. You would have to try and meet 38,357 people a day. I feel like if you were willing to partner up, collective up, and join networks, this would be totally possible.

 The real point is we are reinventing the human relationship on a grand fundamental level, everyone knows that, but the choices we are making now in what are appropriate ways to relate to each other, these will be passed down as the New Manners to the next generations, just like how one day some girl complained about guys being too enthusiastic about this new thing the telephone, and the three day rule was born. Or maybe we will have no manners. Maybe anarchy is going to be born in the personal courtesies quarter.

There were layers on layers of social interactions happening Saturday, at the Brite Winter Festival, which took over all of W. 25th.  An entire onion of social experience, every shape and size, and each sharper than the other. There was me walking there alone, along city blocks I've known my entire life, while avoiding the huge crowds of traffic. I cherish that feeling now, the moments you have alone to appreciate a happening before the people you know find you. It's an awkwardness and self consciousness that tastes like hard water. Then some friends showed up, and the girl I was meeting, and the wandering started. The back and forth from bar to bar, the constant chatter of where the other people are, where you want to go, what we're going to do now, how to find each other later.

There were people I barely knew, and people I've known since we were bratty little children, and people I just met that night. Girls standing in the bathroom line that you stood in line with at the last bar too. Everywhere, complete strangers to make eye contact with. How long to say hi to someone, and when to detach and pay attention to the next person. How to remember everyone's names. The joy of being really happy to see someone you only met the week before, the enthusiasm of finding friends in crowds. The careless twirling from one face to another as the alcohol takes effect in everyone. The people you find out you missed the next morning, who were only down the bar from you but impossible to find without intention. And halfway through I started clinging affectionately to my friend, because after all that restlessness and exposure, you start to crave the steadiness of some bar cuddling, leaning on each other and being kind of tired and debating whether going to this party afterwards is going to happen or not. Maybe, as someone else pointed out, I really am a social introvert. I love having one on one conversations, but in a crowd. I need anchors. I need a hand steady on the small of my back.

 If the point of the festival was to get everyone together and remind us all that we were a community, like it or not, it worked. It was like a really good work party for the scene, for the job we all have of being whoever we are to our friends. The good jobs, the ones we like. And thank goodness that exists, because I would suck if I was stuck in one village my whole life.

Dear OK Cupid

A lot of you already know that I've been playing around on Twitter a lot, because I love Twitter. I mean, I love it more than almost anything. There is so much WEIRD on there, like Dogs Doing Things  or Death E-Books or Harry Finch. Twitter is where all the odd people go to babble surreal nonsense into the void and hope it comes back as prophecy, it's basically a bunch of Cylon hybrids all hooked up into the nets and screaming. It's a living breathing subconscious death trip. Also, there was that time the tsunami ate Japan? And I was up late at night watching it live with a million little icons chattering away about it, and it was a social high like you've never felt before, disaster and immediacy and man, I feel bad if you're not using Twitter correctly and all you've got in your feed is a bunch of friends and food trucks.

So my own very inferior contributions are BridgetCallahan and Dear OK Cupid. The latter is my ongoing conversation with the insanity demon that is free online dating, and since I worked on writing samples all day for other things and haven't got a lick left in me for the blog, I'm just going to give you some of my thoughts about that whole Vortex of Inferiority Complexes with some cut and paste. Whatever, it's the day after VDay, you are all bitter anyway, even the happy ones. We are romantically hungover. We need to drink some orange juice.


Dear Ok Cupid: "Staff Robot thinks you'll like them." Staff Robot sucks at this game.


Dear OK Cupid: Why do they keep asking if I like black guys? Does my profile pic look racist?


Dear OK Cupid: Once upon a time there was a guy who wrote ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT in his profile, in all caps, all by itself.


Dear OK Cupid: The more obscure the bands you put on your profile, the more I assume you cannot drunk fuck.


Dear OK Cupid: If you list Pulp anywhere on your profile, then I know all you DO is drunk fuck.


Dear OK Cupid: when I see that someone in the bathroom at the bar has been cutting their pubic hair cause it's on the floor? I think of you.


Dear OK Cupid: how about a sister site where all members' profile pics have to be of the last person who bothered to love them?


Dear OK Cupid: how about if I ignore or stop replying to someone, you have them killed so I never have to run into them at a bar ever?


Dear OK Cupid: If you are a middle aged white guy who's into Zen Buddhism, you might as well just say "divorced".


Dear 22 yr old Hook Up Artist: Maybe you are shirtless because you are trying to guilt me into buying you a shirt? In which case...smart.


Dear OK Cupid: How about a feature where you offer to sleep with someone only after they complete 3 dares of your choosing?


Dear OK Cupid:So you listen to "everything"? You'll like my friends band. Experimental noise rock on Casio with Korean lyrics & cat samples.


Dear OK Cupid: I'm no longer talking to boys who have numbers in their profile names. I think you're all robots.


Dear OK Cupid: Is it okay to run promotions for myself, like "If you buy me drinks, I'll let you talk about The Hobbit"?

Dear OK Cupid: I had a nightmare that you started to allow people to post videos on their profiles.

Dear OK Cupid: Thanks for showing my friends I'm more compatible with their husbands than they are.

Dear OK Cupid: We should start treating match percentages as legally binding. As in, we are 96% compatible, you HAVE to like me.

Dear OK Cupid: "Message Me If: you regularly discover you are bleeding from somewhere, and have no idea how or why."

Dear OK Cupid: From now on, I am messaging guys who are at least 50% my enemy. Because they probably have actual careers.

Dear OK Cupid: Apparently I'm going to have to learn to care about sports

Dear OK Cupid: To the guy who likes Ayn Rand, vampires, reggae, and "enjoying life!" - You are my fucking mortal enemy.

To OKC user SFCatnip: I know you think you've thought that name through, but I don't think you've ever seen a cat really high..#blood

Dear OK Cupid: If you are wearing a tri-cornered hat in your profile pic, I'm going to take that to mean you might have syphilis.

Dear OK Cupid: Hell is a fuzzy cropped photo of a man in glasses and a blue button down, asking you over and over again "Hey, what's up?

Dear OK Cupid: profiles should have disclaimers like "best viewed after 2am" or "for when your mom makes you feel bad about being old/single

Dear OK Cupid: This guy just told me he's been an "automatic" for 14 years. Robots need love too.

Dear OK Cupid:Your name should not be "Punk Guy" if all you're going to do is talk about how sweet your son is & how much you love your job.

Dear OK Cupid: Let's be clear. Saying you like Wes Anderson is like saying you like Vampire Weekend. I like them too but shut the fuck up.

Dear OK Cupid: In my mind, your techs and the Craisglist techs play each other in softball, and there is a hidden romance masked by hate.

Dear OK Cupid: Quick grammar lesson - " I am a meat and potato, girl."

Dear OK Cupid: If you are wearing a black hoodie in your pic, with the hood up, I am only communicating with you in ICP lyrics

Dear OK Cupid: The minute someone says Kerouac is their favorite author, I start to have a stroke. My eyes glaze over and I taste pennies

Dear OK Cupid: STOP MATCHING ME WITH PEOPLE WHO LIKE TOM ROBBINS. I am not 15 anymore. NO MORE NIETZSCHE EITHER THANK YOU

Dear OK Cupid: Let's have a profile question that asks "Where were you when you realized love was dead and the world was dark and mean?"

Dear OKcupid: "interested in getting together with myself & a female friend?" Dear Marlon, I'm sorry but your name reminds me of a fish.

Dear OK Cupid: the lesson of Craiglist Missed Connections is some creep is masturbating thinking about you, no matter who you are.

DearOKCupid: Unless you have a superhero power where you can hear a pin drop ten miles away, take the fucking headphones off in your pic.

Dear OK Cupid: Don't you dare ask me for a casual hookup if you don't care enough to upload a pic,cause I bet there's no sheets on your bed.

Dear OK Cupid: Does anyone ever think "this guys into jazz, he's perfect!"?

Dear OK Cupid: "good attitude, fun, friendly, outgoing" makes it sound like you are trying to give away a puppy.

Dear OK Cupid: That face you're making looks like you are holding a live baby squirrel in your mouth and you are proud of yourself #creep

Dear OK Cupid: Pro tip. When you tell a girl your house is cold, she doesn't want to warm you up. She wants you to pay your gas bill.

Dear OK Cupid: You have an old soul? Is your soul rotting in your chest, all moldy and demented, babbling about Buddy Holly and juju beans?

Dear OK Cupid: No, I do not want nude pics of you. Nobody wants nude pics of you. First of all because you used the word NUDE, gross.

Dear OK Cupid: I see your Sufjan Stevens and I raise you one Nobody Gives a Shit about Your Vinyl if it's from 2008.

Dear OK Cupid: I take it all back. You are still a thousand times better than Plenty of Fish. That place is terrifying.

Sex in Motion

I had two things happen in the last 24 hours that had me contemplating sex. No, nothing like that. And if that kind of stuff happened, I don't talk about that here.

 The first trigger was I met a guy over the weekend, a friend of a friend, one of those very lucky people who has sexual charisma just glowing from him. I had met him briefly before, in a sort of hi, who are you, how are you, nice to meet you sort of way. And in that first drive by I had seen what my friend had told me about him, saw how he could very well be the kind of guy who could get any girl he chose to. He's cute, but he's not like, super model boy. It's never super models who have this power anyway, it wouldn't work if they looked perfect. This time I got to observe him at a party, and actually talk to him, and the way he did it came through clearly. He made eye contact. He paid attention. He gave everyone attention, he touched your hands, shoulders, back. He stood close to people. He asked them things sincerely. He was quite wonderful, and it was pleasant even to watch him flirting with a girl, because it was so seamless and smooth, it was just how he treated all people around him. I told my friend this guy was the Incarnation of Flirt, a real witch. I meant it in jest, but it's true nonetheless.

 I've met a few people who have this Glow, the ones who ARE sexual in every aspect of their being, so that there is no strain or falsity to their interactions. I've dated two of them. I think a long time ago, I had that power myself for a minute, but I let it fall apart during a long relationship, and it's gone for now, I just don't have enough attention to give to others like that, I no longer care enough. I find I only have it with people I've already known for a while. Now I just appreciate watching others practice it. I was going to write you a list of the sexiest people I knew in real life, the people who when you look at them it's impossible to not think of things that are illegal in Missouri, who make you feel that you would be immediately comfortable with them in bed and with anything they did. But I hate the word sexy so much, I couldn't get past it. If you call it mojo, I will stop talking to you immediately, don't do it. Charisma sounds like a word boys came up with to call it when they meant it about another boy but didn't want to seem gay. It's just, this thing, you know when you see it, or when it stands close next to you. It's beautiful, the Pure Flirt.

 Anyone who thinks being sexual has anything to do with your actual plain straight of the box attractiveness is an idiot, and you should never sleep with someone who thinks that, they are terrible in bed. Pretend we are all dolls, deactivated and lying still in a showcase. In that scenario, then sure there are the pretty people and ugly people. But once you put in the batteries in, well then it depends on who keeps themselves charged up best.

 The second trigger was that I went to go see Pina, a film which is a collection of dance pieces by this choreographer I had never heard of, because I'm not the sort of person who knows choreographers. The film had faults, but the dances were amazing, and I had a revelation about the experience of watching modern dance. I think when I had seen performances prior to this, I was looking at the dancers' bodies as moving sculptures, visual art. But sitting in the theater with my silly 3D glasses on and wrapped up winter clothes, I finally understood that modern dance is supposed to be about physical empathy. That when the dancer stretches their legs, or writhes on the stage, flips and flies and stomps, you are supposed to feel that motion in your own bones. As if it is your own skin against skin, your own muscles pulling and chest heaving with breath, your own toes on that cold floor. I could feel the water splashing, and the smell of the studio's glass and concrete, how that wisp of transparent cloth would feel on my torso. I don't know, maybe this choreographer in particular was just that good, maybe the dance company was that good, but it worked. I get it.

 If you're looking for something to do on Valentine's night, I suggest this movie. Because it makes you want to be physical, to really use your body, and you'll come out of that theater into the dark February ice feeling keenly every movement you now make and the textures of your own clothes will feel heavy and burdensome. What could be a better feeling for the end of a date? Certainly not an expensive dinner, or a box of chocolates, or even some half thought out promises. Real romance is this, the connection between bodies, this transcending of judgement and perfection. When you can just be yourSelf, not the self you catalogue in dating profiles or even private diaries. A Self that is your body and mind working together, unaware of fear or expectation. We call it raw, but it isn't some newborn scar of red and pink, it's a whisp of clear elemental, air or water or dirt depending on who you are. I hesitate to call it familiarity, though that would be the easiest way to say it. Maybe familiarity with everything in the universe, yourself, others, things, feelings, that strong comfortable familiarity with the entirety of creation. Imagine how you were in bed with your longest term lover, in the mornings, on your best days, when you stayed in bed for hours just moving your limbs around each other. Now imagine if you felt that way all the time, about everybody. You would be the most powerful person on the planet.

It would figure I would be my most spiritual only when talking about sex.



 Other Valentine's Day posts:
  Cleveland is my Valentine
Happy Valentine's Day, St. Valentine!

Plastic Wrapped Girl

"What is that?" his friends asked, pointing towards the large metal box that sat at his side next to the bar. It was strangely not sinister looking, though person sized and being a large person sized metal box at a bar should have been inherently sinister. The metal was a soft burnished gray, rubbed down and kitten colored. 

"That's just something I bring with me, in case there aren't any girls at the bar." They all laughed. 

"Well there's certainly no one good here," his friend glanced bitterly at a group of young butterfly girls at the other end of the bar, one of whom had decisively shrugged him off by the bathrooms. 

"I don't know, it's early. You never know who might show up."

"Whatever dude, just do it."

"Well, okay...give it a minute to warm up," he said as he pressed a button on his key fob. A little red light glowed on the door. They had another beer. 

Ten minutes later, the light flicked off, and he unsealed the door. Inside was a figure nested tightly in a cocoon of plastic wrap. He carefully, affectionately, unwrapped her. 

She was a nice looking girl, average height, average build. Her shoulder length hair was brown, her clothes were casual, a cardigan and jeans, so average. But when she opened her eyes, they were a deep warm hazel, and when she smiled she suddenly became very pleasant looking. She reminded every boy there of their 1st grade teacher.

She was visibly confused for a minute, her eyes darting over the scene around her in animalistic fright, and then she saw him. She clung to his eye contact like a life preserver. "Hi! How are you? I haven't run into you for a while. How are things?"

"Oh, they're good. Just out with these guys. Worked today. How are you?"

"I'm peachy. Just had dinner with the girls, cause Sarah, you know Sarah who works over at Eastwick? She just got engaged, so we had to do the whole listen to her blab about it thing, look at the ring, ect. I don't know where they all are right now, but they should be back..." and she glanced around again as if unsure where she was exactly. 

"Would you like a drink?"

"Oh um yeah, ginger and Jameson. And actually, I'll be right back, I have to make a phone call. But I'll be right back." She walked off towards the bathrooms, stiffly and slowly, peering around at people surprised, remembering how to move her legs. 

"DUDE"

"No, c'mon, it's not a big deal."

"But doesn't she get upset?"

"No, she doesn't know. I met her at this other thing, and you know, she's cute and we've got a ton of stuff in common, I really like talking to her. But she's not exactly hot. And she's older than I usually like them. But I figured, what if in 5 years I still haven't found someone better? You know, when I'm ready for something like that. But she would be even older then, or she might have met someone. So this way, she just stays exactly the same. And I manufactured a bunch a memories for her, so it's just like she's been living her life for real. Cause otherwise, you know, she'd be so boring."

"What are you going to do with her if you do meet someone?"

"I don't know. Probably keep her around until I know it's going to work out. And if it does, then I guess I would just let her go."

"You should totally give her to me."

"Dude, don't be a dick. I can't just *give* her to someone."

"No, I know, it would be weird. But you could let me have a chance with her."

"Whatever, you're totally not her type."

She came back from the bathrooms. The brief panicked look was off her face and she had reapplied her lipstick.

"It's so weird, my phone isn't working. Also, did you see Krista over there? She looks so much older, I don't think that new hairstyle is doing her any favors. I...I...I wonder where the girls ran off to..." He handed her the drink and turned away from the boys to talk with her, putting his hand on her shoulder and leaning in, as if they were the best of friends. 

It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp

I don't know, I feel weird pimping stuff on this blog, because everyone I know is trying to sell something or sell themselves or pitching events, and it's like dude, this is not that kind of blog. So I feel like if I mention some of my friends shit, but don't mention others, people are going to have hard feelings. And this is Not That Kind of a Blog. It's not a tame blog. I don't have some sort of plan here folks, or theme, or whatever. I love ending sentences with "whatever". But these are all February-centric things, so maybe that's sort of a theme? This is exhausting already.

Listen, here are some things you should do because I like these people a lot:

1) Donate money to this Kickstarter project: Nightingale by Cath Gulick

Cath is a girl I went to high school with. She was the weird Quaker girl in the army jacket who listened to British bands, and totally got As in everything. She is also one of the smartest people I know when it comes to narrative. She has been literally killing herself in NYC trying to make this movie, so much so that probably someone should have made a movie about her trying to make this movie. No, I'm not joking. Like living in squalor and eating rice to make this film. So if you can send 10 or 15 bucks her way to get this fucking thing done, please do it. Because I'm relying on her to get successful, so I can ride on her coattails. 

2) Buy this book The Irish Hungarian Guide to the Domestic Arts by Erin O'Brien 

I first met Erin when she won a Lit Award for her blog, and I went up to her all shy and was like "heeey, I'm Bridget, I read your shit, congratulations" and she knew who I was! I can't tell you how much love and support Erin has given me for my blog. She wrote an article about me. She even wrote me a goddamn letter of reference for colleges. So I owe her. Also the book is really good, and really funny, and SWEET in a way that is very particularly Cleveland Sweet. ALSO her publishing company is a local start up Red Giant Books, so hey Support them and Maybe Someday they will Publish Me. Below is a quote from the book. I'm not gonna lie, I took it from her site because with no context at all, it's even better and also I didn't have to retype anything. 

"Any consenting adult is duly encouraged to use any vegetable matter as a marital aid. Please carefully consider the following guidelines for a safe, convenient and enjoyable experience. Choose firm, high quality organically grown products. Wash vegetable matter first. Carving/peeling vegetable matter into realistic shapes can make the experience whimsical and more satisfying. Any person who has used the vegetable matter as a marital aid is welcome to consume the vegetable matter after a thorough washing (of vegetable matter). DO NOT, however, serve the vegetable matter in question to parties who are unaware of the vegetable matter's previous employ, no matter how thoroughly they have been washed. Said practice is considered uncool. "

Since I pimped out those two (they deserve it, give them money), I might as well mention all this other stuff happening this month too.

3) Come to  Brite Winter 2012 

You should already know about it, but I feel like too many people have been asking me when it is, SO HERE YOU GO Not this Saturday but the NEXT. Plan on it. Buy a mug from their website and get some free liquids.

BRITE WINTER: Saturday, February 18, 2012, 5-10pm Ohio City (W26th and Bridge Ave)
 Cleveland’s Third Annual Winter, Art, and Music Celebration:
The community-organized BRITE WINTER festival takes place at West 26th    and Bridge Avenue, in Ohio City, on Saturday February 18th from 5-10pm. Entrance is free and open to the public.

4) Come to Pechakucha this Friday

There are two reasons to come to this event: 1) Almost every single new person I've met in the past year has been to one of these, which is to say all the coolest most interesting people in town show up. 2) You never know what you're going to learn about, or who, or if you're just going to see me and my friends doing shots (that happened at the Higbee one). Oh and 3) It's free.

WHAT: PechaKucha Night Cleveland - Volume 14
WHO: Public (anyone interested in any variety of the topics listed above)
WHERE: House of Blues Cleveland, Main Music Hall
WHEN: February 10th, 2012
7:00pm - Doors Open (and of course the bars open)
8:20pm - Presentations Begin
9:10pm-9:30pm - Beverage Break
9:30pm-10:30pm - Presentations
10:30pm-?? - Music and Beverages
HOW MUCH: FREE (cash/credit bar)

 Other Things Happening in Town You Can Check Out:

Cash Mobs - an ongoing event put together by my friend Andrew, who has been getting a ridiculous amount of press for it.

Love Lounge - This girl Elana pretty much knows every decent single person in town by now. Also my sister will be there, since she made some list of Sexiest Cleveland Singles. So I can promise, if you come, Carrie will hit on you.

Fundraiser and Film Screening for my friend Erin's organization Drink Local Drink Tap. The film is about their recent trip to Uganda designing a project to bring clean drinking water to a local school there. That's cooler than anything you've done in your life ever.  Hey guess what? She did a Pechakucha presentation at one of the events I did. Also I met her through Cash Mobs Andrew. ALL THESE THINGS CONNECT.